**My p.t. has finally (once again) been reduced from 3x a week down to 2x's. The doc said in all likelyhood, he'll only keep me on that schedule for a couple of weeks and then knock me down to once every couple or three weeks. Yea!!!
**Tonight is aerobics night w/my friend Leslie. As it's only her 2nd time doing this, we're taking it easy, starting slow and doing a routine that's easy to follow. Did I mention it's a video geared towards senior citizens?? Actually, it inspires me. I figure if the ol' geezers can finish the work-out without falling over from a coronary, then I can do it too!!
**In the mail today... an exercise gizmo (Leg Magic) I've had on back-order finally arrived. Of course, assembly is required, which that alone should provide me with plenty of work-out time. hmm, maybe I can skip aerobics... The box is somewhat heavy, and I'll have to carry it down a flight of stairs and out to my car... think that could qualify as yet another work-out?
Aw, don't worry Les, I'll see ya at 7pm!! Actually, the husband has a meeting at the firehouse tonight, so that means I'll probably come home after our senior citizens stroke-out, uh, I mean, work-out, and then do some more aerobics. Must keep shedding those pounds!
**Also in the mail today... another package arrived at work, addressed to the boss, but the contents were actually for me. To commemorate my 5 year anniversary with the company (on the 3rd of Feb.) I was presented with a cheesy plaque (won't ever hang on the wall), a tiny lapel pin (won't ever wear), and a catalog from which I could choose a gift. About half of it is jewelry... one pair of gold hoop earrings (which I don't need any more of) and everything else was sterling silver, which I seldom wear; fancy watches, which, anybody that knows me, knows I prefer the $10 cheapies w/a velcro band; a globe, but let's face it, it would be out-dated in no time at all as so many countries keep changing names and borders; a cutting board of which I already have 4; a crock-pot of which I already own 9; a cooler, of which we already own several; a golf club of which I don't play; some fancy ink-pens which are skinny and I only write with big fat pens; a set of knives of which I've already got plenty; some tools, which I can always borrow my husband's; and some other useless stuff. Honestly, I'd much rather have the money that the company spent on the plaque, lapel pin, shipping all this stuff to us UPS, and the cost of the gift (whichever one I choose). **sigh** Haven't they learned by now that money talks the loudest?? Oh well, perhaps I'll come into this century of technology and choose the MP3 player... if only I could figure out how to load tunes on it and work the darned thing.
**The husband is on a diet (hate that word!!) too. So far he's doing pretty good, for John that is. He gripes and complains a lot that I'm trying to kill him by a slow death of starvation, but then he turns around and thanks me when I least expect it. He told his fellow dieting firefighters that he owed his success thus far to his drill sargaent, a.k.a. PITA (moi).
**The weather is supposed to turn rather sucky tonight. Not so bitterly cold as we had a few days ago, but freezing rain/snow. Yuck! Hate driving in that muck. Even though I'm typically a winter-type of girl, preferring the winter months to the summer, I think even I'm getting tired of this weather and am ready for the spring. I mean, seriously, if we're not going to have at least one SERIOUS SNOW, then what's the point?? Cold and gray all the time just doesn't cut it.
**If I can get a fire lit under the husband, and the f-i-l agrees to let us "purchase" the use of one of his time-shares like he did last year, then I'm hoping maybe we can go south this year, to the mountains. I think we learned a few things from our trip to Illinois that will better prepare us for this trip (if it actually takes place)... #1) pack some bug spray. #2) request a condo on ground level... ie: no steps involved, since Olivia refuses to go down stairs.
Okay, I guess I should get off here and actually do some work. ttfn
Thursday, January 31, 2008
What's in a name?
Growing up, I had a last name that was often fodder for the other kids to make fun of, and as a result, suffered with a terrible complex until the day I got married and could change my name.
So as a result, I try (emphasis on try) to refrain from poking fun at other people's names.
But I came across one today that just simply BEGS to be made fun of. It's worth calling these people just to hear them answer the phone.
I received a fax from a funeral home located out of state, requesting some info. The name of the other funeral home is: Brown-Butz-Diedring.
Brown-Butz???
Excuse me, don't you think these people should, at the very least, put the Diedring in between the Brown and the Butz?
I have laughed so hard over this today!
So as a result, I try (emphasis on try) to refrain from poking fun at other people's names.
But I came across one today that just simply BEGS to be made fun of. It's worth calling these people just to hear them answer the phone.
I received a fax from a funeral home located out of state, requesting some info. The name of the other funeral home is: Brown-Butz-Diedring.
Brown-Butz???
Excuse me, don't you think these people should, at the very least, put the Diedring in between the Brown and the Butz?
I have laughed so hard over this today!
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Stormy weather
My word, the wind was so bad last night! I thought for sure there would be all kinds of damage, if not to our house, then some of our neighbors. But when I went out this morning, nothing seemed amiss. The patio furniture was still in place, as were the trash cans. My free-standing wind-chimes were the only thing I could see that the wind had blown over.
But the howling of the wind, the creaking of the house and the whistling noise coming in around doors and windows (obviously I live in a less than hi-quality home), was loud enough to keep me up for several hours past my usual bedtime. Indeed, a bit of insomnia. Needless to say my arse is dragging today.
Some areas of town lost power for several hours, some for only a few minutes. We were fortunate, ours only flickered once. It didn't even go off long enough to cause all the digital clocks to blink. But the milli-second that it was off, it caused the tv to make a loud popping noise. Loud enough to scare even Bootsy, and things rarely ever seem to faze her. Eliott is normally the scaredy-cat when it comes to storms, but he seemed to ignore it all. But when the tv made that loud pop, Bootsy bolted up off the futon and ran over to me. This dog, in the 3 1/2 years we've had her, has never once crawled into my lap while I sat in the recliner, but that's exactly what she did this time, and sat there shaking violently... I was afraid she was going to pee in my lap. Her bony feet and "elbows" were digging into my legs, so as much as I hated to, I had to push her off. Instead I went and sat on the futon where she could curl up next to me... that is until Eliott decided he wanted in on the attention, and pushed his way in between us. Such big babies!!
But the howling of the wind, the creaking of the house and the whistling noise coming in around doors and windows (obviously I live in a less than hi-quality home), was loud enough to keep me up for several hours past my usual bedtime. Indeed, a bit of insomnia. Needless to say my arse is dragging today.
Some areas of town lost power for several hours, some for only a few minutes. We were fortunate, ours only flickered once. It didn't even go off long enough to cause all the digital clocks to blink. But the milli-second that it was off, it caused the tv to make a loud popping noise. Loud enough to scare even Bootsy, and things rarely ever seem to faze her. Eliott is normally the scaredy-cat when it comes to storms, but he seemed to ignore it all. But when the tv made that loud pop, Bootsy bolted up off the futon and ran over to me. This dog, in the 3 1/2 years we've had her, has never once crawled into my lap while I sat in the recliner, but that's exactly what she did this time, and sat there shaking violently... I was afraid she was going to pee in my lap. Her bony feet and "elbows" were digging into my legs, so as much as I hated to, I had to push her off. Instead I went and sat on the futon where she could curl up next to me... that is until Eliott decided he wanted in on the attention, and pushed his way in between us. Such big babies!!
: )
Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday dear John
Happy Birthday to you!
And many mooooore!!
Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday dear John
Happy Birthday to you!
And many mooooore!!
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
What would you do...?
I have a "situation" I'd like to present to my readers, and I'd like your honest opinion on the matter. I don't want you taking my side, just to appease me, I'd like your sincere, honest thoughts on the matter.
My husband's company requires that it's employees choose their weeks of vacation for the upcoming year in December. So the first week John has scheduled is late in April. Even though he's been there 20+ years, he's not high man on the totem pole, so he often has to take whatever is left, and doesn't always get what he really wants. His company isn't flexible about letting the employees change their weeks once they've chosen them either, so John is pretty much stuck with what he has.
About three weeks ago, at my office, we were discussing what weeks we'd like to take off. I asked a co-worker what week in April she'd be taking off, as I knew she usually took the same week each year. She told me she'd check with the resort where her time-share condo was located that very day and let me know.
Needless to say, that day came and went and she never told me. A couple of days later, I finally went on and filled out my vacation request for the week that my husband has off and presented it to my boss. I told him of my predicament about not knowing if it conflicted with my co-worker. He knew she had told me she'd check on that date and he also knew she hadn't done so. He went on and approved me taking off that week, signing off on the request form.
Well, you probably know by now where I'm headed with this blog. You guessed it, late last week she comes in and announces to me the week she wanted off in April, and of course it was the same week I'd already requested. Hmmm, what to do, what to do? I told her we'd have to see what the boss wanted to do. He's been off work ever since then with the flu, so we've not been able to present our situation to him so that he can determine who gets the week.
On the one hand, I did fill out the request and he signed off on it.
But on the other hand, she has seniority (and already has a time-share reserved for that week).
As of right now, we don't have any set plans for our vacation. I suppose I could change mine, but then it would mean my husband would be off by himself and I'd eventually be taking a week off without him... not something either of us wants to do.
So I ask you kind people: if you were our boss, which way would you decide: For the person who has seniority? or for the person who requested it first (and only requested it after the other person failed to tell me in a timely manner that they wanted that week).
My husband's company requires that it's employees choose their weeks of vacation for the upcoming year in December. So the first week John has scheduled is late in April. Even though he's been there 20+ years, he's not high man on the totem pole, so he often has to take whatever is left, and doesn't always get what he really wants. His company isn't flexible about letting the employees change their weeks once they've chosen them either, so John is pretty much stuck with what he has.
About three weeks ago, at my office, we were discussing what weeks we'd like to take off. I asked a co-worker what week in April she'd be taking off, as I knew she usually took the same week each year. She told me she'd check with the resort where her time-share condo was located that very day and let me know.
Needless to say, that day came and went and she never told me. A couple of days later, I finally went on and filled out my vacation request for the week that my husband has off and presented it to my boss. I told him of my predicament about not knowing if it conflicted with my co-worker. He knew she had told me she'd check on that date and he also knew she hadn't done so. He went on and approved me taking off that week, signing off on the request form.
Well, you probably know by now where I'm headed with this blog. You guessed it, late last week she comes in and announces to me the week she wanted off in April, and of course it was the same week I'd already requested. Hmmm, what to do, what to do? I told her we'd have to see what the boss wanted to do. He's been off work ever since then with the flu, so we've not been able to present our situation to him so that he can determine who gets the week.
On the one hand, I did fill out the request and he signed off on it.
But on the other hand, she has seniority (and already has a time-share reserved for that week).
As of right now, we don't have any set plans for our vacation. I suppose I could change mine, but then it would mean my husband would be off by himself and I'd eventually be taking a week off without him... not something either of us wants to do.
So I ask you kind people: if you were our boss, which way would you decide: For the person who has seniority? or for the person who requested it first (and only requested it after the other person failed to tell me in a timely manner that they wanted that week).
Party planner
I'm trying to plan an event, but it is still several months away, and it's hard to do too much in advance. I'm chomping at the bit to really get started, but there really isn't much point right now. Only three people (2 besides myself) know of the reason behind the party. It's purpose will remain a mystery 'til the very day of the event. I hope we can keep it's purpose a mystery... perhaps the mystique will motivate more people to attend that might not otherwise come.
The exact date, time and location haven't even been decided. All I can say is it will be sometime the later part of August. On a weekend of course, so that more people can attend.
Suffice it to say that everybody is invited. Some people will receive written invites, some emailed invites, some word-of-mouth invites, but everyone is definitely invited.
More info to follow at a later date...
The exact date, time and location haven't even been decided. All I can say is it will be sometime the later part of August. On a weekend of course, so that more people can attend.
Suffice it to say that everybody is invited. Some people will receive written invites, some emailed invites, some word-of-mouth invites, but everyone is definitely invited.
More info to follow at a later date...
Oops!
I've spent the past 20 years fussing at my husband to make sure he empties his pockets before putting dirty clothes in the hamper. I don't know why I've bothered wasting my breath, because I end up checking the pockets anyway. Typically all I find anymore, besides an abundance of lint, is an occasional wrapper from a roll of mints, or a wadded up papertowel or napkin. Of course, if I miss finding these things, they always appear after I've washed a load of clothes, disentegrated and stuck to all the other clothing.
I will say he's gotten somewhat better, as I now rarely find anything. I now only occasionally miss checking his pants or jacket pockets, and never check the shirt pockets.
I guess I should follow my own advice though.
Sunday was laundry day. I was almost done clearing away the mountain of dirty clothes. I threw in a load of my own stuff consisting of a pair of blue jeans, a blue denim shirt (actually the husband's shirt, but I had worn it to the farm), a dark blue long-sleeved t-shirt, a black sweater, black pants, some socks & underwear.
I didn't notice anything amiss when I transferred them from the washer to the dryer. But after I'd turned the dryer on and walked away, the tumbling clothes started making a noise. Every couple of seconds a Clank, Clank, Clank. I heard it. I ignored it. Dumbass!! I convinced myself that it was the zipper on the sweater-bag making that noise. I knew better, but was simply too lazy to investigate. Dumbass!!
When the buzzer finally sounded and I went to remove the clothes, I discovered red smudges on the denim shirt and the underthingys that were light enough for it to show on. What the !!!!??? Where had it come from. I emptied the contents into the clothes basket, and when I set about separating everything, my brandnew tube of lipgloss fell out. **GROAN!!** I'd forgotten that I'd stuck it in the breast pocket of the denim shirt while at the farm.
Yeah, I really should learn to heed my own advice.
Well, thankfully it doesn't show on the sweater or slacks. The jeans were a very dark blue, so any smudge is barely noticeable. I really didn't care about the underthings. The biggest oops was the husband's denim shirt. Well, I guess it's officially mine now for farm-wear. So I guess something good did come out of this after all. ; )
I will say he's gotten somewhat better, as I now rarely find anything. I now only occasionally miss checking his pants or jacket pockets, and never check the shirt pockets.
I guess I should follow my own advice though.
Sunday was laundry day. I was almost done clearing away the mountain of dirty clothes. I threw in a load of my own stuff consisting of a pair of blue jeans, a blue denim shirt (actually the husband's shirt, but I had worn it to the farm), a dark blue long-sleeved t-shirt, a black sweater, black pants, some socks & underwear.
I didn't notice anything amiss when I transferred them from the washer to the dryer. But after I'd turned the dryer on and walked away, the tumbling clothes started making a noise. Every couple of seconds a Clank, Clank, Clank. I heard it. I ignored it. Dumbass!! I convinced myself that it was the zipper on the sweater-bag making that noise. I knew better, but was simply too lazy to investigate. Dumbass!!
When the buzzer finally sounded and I went to remove the clothes, I discovered red smudges on the denim shirt and the underthingys that were light enough for it to show on. What the !!!!??? Where had it come from. I emptied the contents into the clothes basket, and when I set about separating everything, my brandnew tube of lipgloss fell out. **GROAN!!** I'd forgotten that I'd stuck it in the breast pocket of the denim shirt while at the farm.
Yeah, I really should learn to heed my own advice.
Well, thankfully it doesn't show on the sweater or slacks. The jeans were a very dark blue, so any smudge is barely noticeable. I really didn't care about the underthings. The biggest oops was the husband's denim shirt. Well, I guess it's officially mine now for farm-wear. So I guess something good did come out of this after all. ; )
Monday, January 28, 2008
PEACE
I think I've mentioned a few times in the past how much I enjoy taking the quizzes on the tickle.com website. I don't know how valid they are, but they are fun. And I find the results of the tests to be very accurate with what I know (or perceive) to be true about myself. I hadn't taken any of the tests in several months, so when I went to it a short while ago, I took a moment to look back at some of the tests I've taken over the past couple of years.
The results of the ink-blot test are are follow:
"Pita", your unconscious mind is driven most by Peace, it appears that you feel a level of comfort with yourself and with your surroundings that many people lack. By having respect for others and caring about the world around you, you may have gained a reputation for kindness and personal integrity. This can make you a role model for others who'd like to be as driven by the same high ideals as you seem to be. While you may want to be comfortable and have nice things, ambition and financial gain probably aren't the things that drive you most. You're more likely lead by a desire to live by your own high personal standards and moral code. People who have peace as their unconscious drive tend to be independent thinkers who appreciate taking the time to get to know themselves well. If this is true for you, you're probably not one to shy away from life's big questions. You may even seek out chances to learn new things about yourself. By being willing to examine who you are and staying open to your environment, you foster a kind of fearlessness that can continually enrich your life.
Your responses to the inkblots reveal more than just what drives your unconscious mind. They also uncover some central details about your personality, perspective, and relationships with others. Your unconscious mind colors these characteristics but is different from them. Here's what your responses indicated: Your concept of reality is highly similar to that of others but not an exact match. Your perceptions seem to fall in between those who create their own unique realities and those who possess more mainstream perspectives. Because you straddle that middle ground of being in agreement with others and having your own opinions of the world, you can be both a follower and a leader. You can be a follower in the sense that you probably don't have trouble going along with the group most times since others' ideas will usually seem rational to you. You can be a leader because your creative viewpoints may sometimes allow you to guide others in new directions.The difficulty for people like you is that at times you may feel pulled between taking the popular viewpoint and accepting your own vision of what is right. Because your concept of reality is rarely off the deep end, you can generally feel confident that there's something valid in your perspectives. Even if others don't always share your views, try not to let the masses talk you out of them. There can sometimes be great value in forging your own path. Finding a healthy balance between others' ideas and your own can be key to both your relationships and success.
You Level of Fantasy: Some people fantasize nearly nonstop, others rarely do, and the majority of people fall somewhere in between. Imagination and the ability to create alternate realities are the two factors that determine whether or not a person is capable of having a highly colorful fantasy life. However, not everyone who can fantasize does. For example, if two strangers who were both capable of fantasizing were sitting next to one another on a bus, one might still spend the whole ride thinking about paying their bills and formulating their next to-do list, while the other could be envisioning taking a siesta on a tropical island. For Tickle's Inkblot Test, having a high level of fantasy involves both having the mental tools necessary to fantasize and putting them to use.Being prone to fantasy can be thought of as a spectacular gift. Fantasy can give one the ability to create a made-up world much more captivating and pleasurable than the usual day-to-day realities. This can be a wonderful asset as you go though life - a free form of entertainment that you can use any time.Some people look at those who are fantasy prone in a derogatory way. They feel that the more realistically a person thinks, the saner they are. Indeed, most definitions of "abnormal" refer to what is "unusual" or "not frequent". Clinical experts sometimes look at fantasy as a means of trying to escape reality, rather that face what's there.Regardless of how one feels about fantasy, its value is heavily dependent on how it's used. If you use fantasy to visualize improvements in your life without ignoring important realities, then fantasy can be a useful talent. It can help you maintain your optimism and even to devise novel solutions to your problems. However, if fantasy is something you retreat into as a way of denying reality, then you might want to reconsider your use of it. Tickle's experts found that you are certainly capable of fantasizing and may even enjoy keeping yourself entertained that way. However, based on your responses, your first reaction to stress probably isn't to create an alternate universe or to imagine things differently than they actually are. In fact, you appear to have the nice balance of having the gift of fantasy at your disposal without having the tendency to overly rely on it. In other words, when it comes to fantasy, you typically use it, but don't abuse it.
The results of the ink-blot test are are follow:
"Pita", your unconscious mind is driven most by Peace, it appears that you feel a level of comfort with yourself and with your surroundings that many people lack. By having respect for others and caring about the world around you, you may have gained a reputation for kindness and personal integrity. This can make you a role model for others who'd like to be as driven by the same high ideals as you seem to be. While you may want to be comfortable and have nice things, ambition and financial gain probably aren't the things that drive you most. You're more likely lead by a desire to live by your own high personal standards and moral code. People who have peace as their unconscious drive tend to be independent thinkers who appreciate taking the time to get to know themselves well. If this is true for you, you're probably not one to shy away from life's big questions. You may even seek out chances to learn new things about yourself. By being willing to examine who you are and staying open to your environment, you foster a kind of fearlessness that can continually enrich your life.
Your responses to the inkblots reveal more than just what drives your unconscious mind. They also uncover some central details about your personality, perspective, and relationships with others. Your unconscious mind colors these characteristics but is different from them. Here's what your responses indicated: Your concept of reality is highly similar to that of others but not an exact match. Your perceptions seem to fall in between those who create their own unique realities and those who possess more mainstream perspectives. Because you straddle that middle ground of being in agreement with others and having your own opinions of the world, you can be both a follower and a leader. You can be a follower in the sense that you probably don't have trouble going along with the group most times since others' ideas will usually seem rational to you. You can be a leader because your creative viewpoints may sometimes allow you to guide others in new directions.The difficulty for people like you is that at times you may feel pulled between taking the popular viewpoint and accepting your own vision of what is right. Because your concept of reality is rarely off the deep end, you can generally feel confident that there's something valid in your perspectives. Even if others don't always share your views, try not to let the masses talk you out of them. There can sometimes be great value in forging your own path. Finding a healthy balance between others' ideas and your own can be key to both your relationships and success.
You Level of Fantasy: Some people fantasize nearly nonstop, others rarely do, and the majority of people fall somewhere in between. Imagination and the ability to create alternate realities are the two factors that determine whether or not a person is capable of having a highly colorful fantasy life. However, not everyone who can fantasize does. For example, if two strangers who were both capable of fantasizing were sitting next to one another on a bus, one might still spend the whole ride thinking about paying their bills and formulating their next to-do list, while the other could be envisioning taking a siesta on a tropical island. For Tickle's Inkblot Test, having a high level of fantasy involves both having the mental tools necessary to fantasize and putting them to use.Being prone to fantasy can be thought of as a spectacular gift. Fantasy can give one the ability to create a made-up world much more captivating and pleasurable than the usual day-to-day realities. This can be a wonderful asset as you go though life - a free form of entertainment that you can use any time.Some people look at those who are fantasy prone in a derogatory way. They feel that the more realistically a person thinks, the saner they are. Indeed, most definitions of "abnormal" refer to what is "unusual" or "not frequent". Clinical experts sometimes look at fantasy as a means of trying to escape reality, rather that face what's there.Regardless of how one feels about fantasy, its value is heavily dependent on how it's used. If you use fantasy to visualize improvements in your life without ignoring important realities, then fantasy can be a useful talent. It can help you maintain your optimism and even to devise novel solutions to your problems. However, if fantasy is something you retreat into as a way of denying reality, then you might want to reconsider your use of it. Tickle's experts found that you are certainly capable of fantasizing and may even enjoy keeping yourself entertained that way. However, based on your responses, your first reaction to stress probably isn't to create an alternate universe or to imagine things differently than they actually are. In fact, you appear to have the nice balance of having the gift of fantasy at your disposal without having the tendency to overly rely on it. In other words, when it comes to fantasy, you typically use it, but don't abuse it.
Teaching the teacher
Once upon a time, many, many years ago, I took a class (horseback riding lessons) that was offered through the Jefferson County Adult Education Program. Ever since then, I've been on their mailing list. Twice a year, they send out a schedule of upcoming classes that are being offered. Many times I've been tempted to sign-up for other classes that have piqued my interest... ballroom dancing, quilting (at least, I think that was one of them), forensic investigation, writing, photography, just to name a few.
The latest mailing I received a few weeks ago had a class that taught you how to: Get Organized and Reduce Clutter. For a modest fee, you'd be instructed how to let-go of things, put them away, toss things out, decide what was important and what was rubbish, blah, blah, blah. I had to laugh at this course. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for getting organized and reducing clutter. But for those that know me well, my house is the exact opposite of organization. I take clutter to a whole new level. In the class description, it suggested taking a photograph of the area of your home you wanted to straighten out. This is the part that really made me laugh out loud. How could I possibly choose one area??
Should I choose the dining room table that is lost under a sea of stuff? So lost in fact that we haven't sat down to eat at it in months, if not a couple of years. Or should I take a photo of our bedroom, which, sadly, is probably the least cluttered area of our house, but still a mess. We can't even find the top surface of our dresser/chest of drawers, they are buried under so many articles of clothing. Ah, and then we have the 1-car garage, which at this moment, doesn't even have room to park a Hot-Wheels car in it, much less a real auto. I've often complained to my husband about his obsessive need to save every empty dog food bag, but I will say, in his defense, he does recycle them and use them for yard waste, as they are sturdier than plastic trash bags... it's just annoying how they get in the way as they pile up 'til lawn season arrives.
But I'd have to say my favorite cluttered room is the spare bedroom. I use the term "spare bedroom" loosely, as it's anything but that. It's a catch-all for all our other STUFF... you know, the camping gear, the sporting equipment, craft supplies, collectibles from Coke & the fire departments, "toys", seasonal clothing that's out of season, now out of style, and long since out-grown, yet we continue to accumulate it. How many times have I donated stuff to Good Will, Wayside Christian Mission or Cedar Lake Lodge?? Yet it seems for every item I send out of our house as a donation, three items come in to fill the void. My husband long ago stopped using the coat closet to hang his coat up, instead just tossing his coat/jacket onto a pile in that room as he walks into the house, and pulling it off the stack as he exits. It seems more convenient for him.
The stuff is piled waist deep into this room, with only a small path leading from the door over to the spare bathroom. Yet for all of our clutter and chaos, I know where pretty much everything is. I have witnesses! A neighbor once came over and asked to borrow something (I don't recall now what it was). But I stood back and thought for a moment, then headed to the spare bedroom, where I waded through the stuff, pushing things aside, 'til I'd reached a far section of the room. I reached under a pile of stuff, felt around and pulled out the object she had requested.
I dare say, if I took a photo of this room to that class, I'd be teaching the teacher a whole new meaning to the phrase: Organized Living.
The latest mailing I received a few weeks ago had a class that taught you how to: Get Organized and Reduce Clutter. For a modest fee, you'd be instructed how to let-go of things, put them away, toss things out, decide what was important and what was rubbish, blah, blah, blah. I had to laugh at this course. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for getting organized and reducing clutter. But for those that know me well, my house is the exact opposite of organization. I take clutter to a whole new level. In the class description, it suggested taking a photograph of the area of your home you wanted to straighten out. This is the part that really made me laugh out loud. How could I possibly choose one area??
Should I choose the dining room table that is lost under a sea of stuff? So lost in fact that we haven't sat down to eat at it in months, if not a couple of years. Or should I take a photo of our bedroom, which, sadly, is probably the least cluttered area of our house, but still a mess. We can't even find the top surface of our dresser/chest of drawers, they are buried under so many articles of clothing. Ah, and then we have the 1-car garage, which at this moment, doesn't even have room to park a Hot-Wheels car in it, much less a real auto. I've often complained to my husband about his obsessive need to save every empty dog food bag, but I will say, in his defense, he does recycle them and use them for yard waste, as they are sturdier than plastic trash bags... it's just annoying how they get in the way as they pile up 'til lawn season arrives.
But I'd have to say my favorite cluttered room is the spare bedroom. I use the term "spare bedroom" loosely, as it's anything but that. It's a catch-all for all our other STUFF... you know, the camping gear, the sporting equipment, craft supplies, collectibles from Coke & the fire departments, "toys", seasonal clothing that's out of season, now out of style, and long since out-grown, yet we continue to accumulate it. How many times have I donated stuff to Good Will, Wayside Christian Mission or Cedar Lake Lodge?? Yet it seems for every item I send out of our house as a donation, three items come in to fill the void. My husband long ago stopped using the coat closet to hang his coat up, instead just tossing his coat/jacket onto a pile in that room as he walks into the house, and pulling it off the stack as he exits. It seems more convenient for him.
The stuff is piled waist deep into this room, with only a small path leading from the door over to the spare bathroom. Yet for all of our clutter and chaos, I know where pretty much everything is. I have witnesses! A neighbor once came over and asked to borrow something (I don't recall now what it was). But I stood back and thought for a moment, then headed to the spare bedroom, where I waded through the stuff, pushing things aside, 'til I'd reached a far section of the room. I reached under a pile of stuff, felt around and pulled out the object she had requested.
I dare say, if I took a photo of this room to that class, I'd be teaching the teacher a whole new meaning to the phrase: Organized Living.
Good for a laugh
Yesterday was bunco day for the Pease women. Ruby, Anita, Becka, we missed you! Tina, glad you could join us... I just love meeting new family. Just sorry it's taken nearly 40 years to do so.
After we'd finished playing, Tina having a grand bit of beginner's luck, we sat around talking about a variety of things, ranging from memories of childhood to shaving our legs (or in my case, shaving the head) to incontinence and other embarrassing moments in life.
I was telling of one of my most embarrassing moments, and got to laughing so hard I was crying. I think I may have blogged about this before, but if I did, it's been a good while. I know I've got a friend out there that's been a bit blue of late, and maybe this will help put a smile on her face. If not, well, then maybe somebody else can have a laugh at my expense...
I've had more than my fair share of embarrassing moments in life. In my high-school days, I ripped the seat out of my favorite pair of jeans, right in front of my mother and boyfriend, while pretending to do a Jane Fonda work-out. There was also the time my freshman year in phys-ed when we were sent to run laps on the track, but the gate was locked. Instead of waiting for my classmates to climb some steps that led over the fence, I, being the impatient one, decided to climb the fence. When I went to jump off the top of the fence, my shorts got hooked on the chain-link and nearly came clean off. They were ripped something awful and my panties were exposed for all the world to see. There was also the time, in that same class when we were lying on the gym floor doing sit-ups, with another classmate holding down our feet. Donna, I know you're probably reading this, but I've never forgotten that I farted right in your face while doing those sit-ups. The fact that I nearly killed you with my flatulence and we're still friends to this day I think is quite a testament to friendship!
But probably what has been my most embarrassing moment happened about 12 years ago while I was working at the cemetery. It was a frigid November day. When I woke up that morning, for some insane reason, I just felt that I had to wear my short black dress. This dress only looked good with black hosiery. When I was getting ready for work, the only black stockings I could find were an old pair of thigh hi's I'd had for many years, never worn because I didn't like the way my thighs rubbed together above the elastic. Why I never threw them away, I'll never know. But I put them on, suffering through the thigh-rubbing, and went to work. As the day wore on, I kept having to go to the bathroom to pull them back up. The elastic had started to dry-rot and they weren't staying up very well.
Towards the end of the day, a woman came into the office wanting to know where her relatives property was located. As I was alone that day, I was forced to take her out and show her the location. I put my cape on and walked out with her. Her car was parked right in front of the office, but as the property wasn't too far away, I told her we'd just walk to it instead of driving, so we headed off, on foot. As I walked across the cemetery, I could feel my thigh hi's slipping lower and lower down my legs. My thighs were rubbing together more and more, in danger of blistering, but that was the least of my concern. I could feel the stockings bagging in deep wrinkles around my ankles. I was starting to have so much trouble walking from the stockings gathered around my ankles, my steps had gotten very small. I let the woman get a few paces ahead of me so that she wouldn't see my predicament. I took of my cape despite the cold temperatures and held it in front of me to block her view of my fallen stockings. At one point she asked me, "aren't you freezing?"
Through chattering teeth I replied, "N-n-no, I-I'm f-f-fine."
After locating the property, we turned and headed back to the office. I was now in danger of either tripping from the stockings gathered around my ankles or of receiving frost bite. Thankfully she didn't want to come back into the office and she went straight to her car, where her husband sat watching us from her car. Oh cripes! He'd no doubt seen me struggling with my droopy stockings. I was mortified!!! I stopped behind her car to try and reposition my cape to again block their view of my now bare legs before shuffling on into the office. Once there I stopped and peeled the offending things off and trashed them. To this day I've never purchased or worn another pair of thigh hi's. They're more trouble than they're worth!
Now that a few years have passed, I can now look back and laugh at the moment.
After we'd finished playing, Tina having a grand bit of beginner's luck, we sat around talking about a variety of things, ranging from memories of childhood to shaving our legs (or in my case, shaving the head) to incontinence and other embarrassing moments in life.
I was telling of one of my most embarrassing moments, and got to laughing so hard I was crying. I think I may have blogged about this before, but if I did, it's been a good while. I know I've got a friend out there that's been a bit blue of late, and maybe this will help put a smile on her face. If not, well, then maybe somebody else can have a laugh at my expense...
I've had more than my fair share of embarrassing moments in life. In my high-school days, I ripped the seat out of my favorite pair of jeans, right in front of my mother and boyfriend, while pretending to do a Jane Fonda work-out. There was also the time my freshman year in phys-ed when we were sent to run laps on the track, but the gate was locked. Instead of waiting for my classmates to climb some steps that led over the fence, I, being the impatient one, decided to climb the fence. When I went to jump off the top of the fence, my shorts got hooked on the chain-link and nearly came clean off. They were ripped something awful and my panties were exposed for all the world to see. There was also the time, in that same class when we were lying on the gym floor doing sit-ups, with another classmate holding down our feet. Donna, I know you're probably reading this, but I've never forgotten that I farted right in your face while doing those sit-ups. The fact that I nearly killed you with my flatulence and we're still friends to this day I think is quite a testament to friendship!
But probably what has been my most embarrassing moment happened about 12 years ago while I was working at the cemetery. It was a frigid November day. When I woke up that morning, for some insane reason, I just felt that I had to wear my short black dress. This dress only looked good with black hosiery. When I was getting ready for work, the only black stockings I could find were an old pair of thigh hi's I'd had for many years, never worn because I didn't like the way my thighs rubbed together above the elastic. Why I never threw them away, I'll never know. But I put them on, suffering through the thigh-rubbing, and went to work. As the day wore on, I kept having to go to the bathroom to pull them back up. The elastic had started to dry-rot and they weren't staying up very well.
Towards the end of the day, a woman came into the office wanting to know where her relatives property was located. As I was alone that day, I was forced to take her out and show her the location. I put my cape on and walked out with her. Her car was parked right in front of the office, but as the property wasn't too far away, I told her we'd just walk to it instead of driving, so we headed off, on foot. As I walked across the cemetery, I could feel my thigh hi's slipping lower and lower down my legs. My thighs were rubbing together more and more, in danger of blistering, but that was the least of my concern. I could feel the stockings bagging in deep wrinkles around my ankles. I was starting to have so much trouble walking from the stockings gathered around my ankles, my steps had gotten very small. I let the woman get a few paces ahead of me so that she wouldn't see my predicament. I took of my cape despite the cold temperatures and held it in front of me to block her view of my fallen stockings. At one point she asked me, "aren't you freezing?"
Through chattering teeth I replied, "N-n-no, I-I'm f-f-fine."
After locating the property, we turned and headed back to the office. I was now in danger of either tripping from the stockings gathered around my ankles or of receiving frost bite. Thankfully she didn't want to come back into the office and she went straight to her car, where her husband sat watching us from her car. Oh cripes! He'd no doubt seen me struggling with my droopy stockings. I was mortified!!! I stopped behind her car to try and reposition my cape to again block their view of my now bare legs before shuffling on into the office. Once there I stopped and peeled the offending things off and trashed them. To this day I've never purchased or worn another pair of thigh hi's. They're more trouble than they're worth!
Now that a few years have passed, I can now look back and laugh at the moment.
Chance meeting
I was reading another blog about a chance meeting, and was suddenly reminded of one I had had several years ago. I thought I'd take a moment and share...
There used to be an event called "Dog Days of Summer" held around July, when it truly is the dog days of summer, not fit for man nor beast to be outside in the high temperatures and humidity. After a while, it was eventually moved to later in the year when it had cooled off, but now I don't even know if the event is still held.
Anyway, it was taking place at Seneca Park. Not exactly close to my home, more in towards Louisville. I'd never been to that park before, so I wasn't familiar with it's parking areas, traffic patterns, rules and regulations.
Smokey, our first dane, was about 17 months old. We'd had him since he was not quite 5 weeks old (yes, a bit young, but that's another story for another time), and he was my constant companion. As we made our way from booth to booth set up by various vendors, dogs of all shapes, sizes, colors and heritage milled about, most stopping for the obligatory sniffing of the butt. As we were passing by one booth, a man and his daughter crossed our path and they too had a Great Dane with them. Their dane was a merle, as was mine, only theirs was a mantled-merle. The dogs were very close in size and it was obvious theirs wasn't full-grown yet. I wondered...
When we had gone to pick out Smokey, all three pups from the litter were present. Him, another male that was nearly solid white, and a female mantled-merle. Could this possibly be Smokey's litter sister?
As most fellow dane owners seem to do, we smiled at one another, let our dogs investigate one another and started talking. I asked how old she (the dog's name was Nip) was and they informed me that she was about a year and a half old. I spark of excitement went through me and then I asked where they had gotten her. The man told me and the spark dimmed. I don't remember what part of town he referred to it as, but we had gotten Smokey from a man that lived in the area known as Germantown. We wished each other well with our danes and went our separate ways.
A little while later, the man and his daughter caught up with me again, having sought me out this time. This time he put the question to me about where we'd gotten Smokey. I again told him Germantown. He seemed puzzled, and said the guy they'd purchased from was in the heating and a/c business and had lived on Kentucky Street. Now my spark was rekindled and I brightened up and asked him, "was his name Keith?" Nip's owner confirmed that it was and now we both started talking excitedly at the same time. Yes, as it turned out, Smokey and Nip were littermates.
Nip's owner hadn't realized that part of town was Germantown. We talked for quite a bit, finally exchanging addresses and phone numbers. He lived way out on the south side of the county, and I truly figured I'd never see these people again.
I left the park, feeling good about the days events, until I reached the car and found I'd been issued a parking ticket for parking in a "No Parking Zone". There were other cars parked there, and I looked around for a sign. It took quite a bit of looking, but I finally found it, hidden out of site by a leafy tree branch. That really put my panties in a wad!
But back to the story. Keep in touch we did, and even got together a few times over the years to let the dogs visit. I don't know if Smokey and Nip realized they were siblings, or even cared for that matter. But it was fun for the owners. We even had a little reunion with the owner and their momma-dog at that same park several weeks later. We almost got another citation while there, this time for letting the dog drink water from our cupped hand under the water fountain. Of all the anal cops!!! I've since stopped going to that park, too many run-ins with the law to suit me.
Over the years, the dogs exchanged Christmas and birthday cards/presents. Nip passed away a few months after Smokey. While they went on to get other danes as did we, our communication, while not as frequent, has remained because of that common bond of loving Great Danes.
There used to be an event called "Dog Days of Summer" held around July, when it truly is the dog days of summer, not fit for man nor beast to be outside in the high temperatures and humidity. After a while, it was eventually moved to later in the year when it had cooled off, but now I don't even know if the event is still held.
Anyway, it was taking place at Seneca Park. Not exactly close to my home, more in towards Louisville. I'd never been to that park before, so I wasn't familiar with it's parking areas, traffic patterns, rules and regulations.
Smokey, our first dane, was about 17 months old. We'd had him since he was not quite 5 weeks old (yes, a bit young, but that's another story for another time), and he was my constant companion. As we made our way from booth to booth set up by various vendors, dogs of all shapes, sizes, colors and heritage milled about, most stopping for the obligatory sniffing of the butt. As we were passing by one booth, a man and his daughter crossed our path and they too had a Great Dane with them. Their dane was a merle, as was mine, only theirs was a mantled-merle. The dogs were very close in size and it was obvious theirs wasn't full-grown yet. I wondered...
When we had gone to pick out Smokey, all three pups from the litter were present. Him, another male that was nearly solid white, and a female mantled-merle. Could this possibly be Smokey's litter sister?
As most fellow dane owners seem to do, we smiled at one another, let our dogs investigate one another and started talking. I asked how old she (the dog's name was Nip) was and they informed me that she was about a year and a half old. I spark of excitement went through me and then I asked where they had gotten her. The man told me and the spark dimmed. I don't remember what part of town he referred to it as, but we had gotten Smokey from a man that lived in the area known as Germantown. We wished each other well with our danes and went our separate ways.
A little while later, the man and his daughter caught up with me again, having sought me out this time. This time he put the question to me about where we'd gotten Smokey. I again told him Germantown. He seemed puzzled, and said the guy they'd purchased from was in the heating and a/c business and had lived on Kentucky Street. Now my spark was rekindled and I brightened up and asked him, "was his name Keith?" Nip's owner confirmed that it was and now we both started talking excitedly at the same time. Yes, as it turned out, Smokey and Nip were littermates.
Nip's owner hadn't realized that part of town was Germantown. We talked for quite a bit, finally exchanging addresses and phone numbers. He lived way out on the south side of the county, and I truly figured I'd never see these people again.
I left the park, feeling good about the days events, until I reached the car and found I'd been issued a parking ticket for parking in a "No Parking Zone". There were other cars parked there, and I looked around for a sign. It took quite a bit of looking, but I finally found it, hidden out of site by a leafy tree branch. That really put my panties in a wad!
But back to the story. Keep in touch we did, and even got together a few times over the years to let the dogs visit. I don't know if Smokey and Nip realized they were siblings, or even cared for that matter. But it was fun for the owners. We even had a little reunion with the owner and their momma-dog at that same park several weeks later. We almost got another citation while there, this time for letting the dog drink water from our cupped hand under the water fountain. Of all the anal cops!!! I've since stopped going to that park, too many run-ins with the law to suit me.
Over the years, the dogs exchanged Christmas and birthday cards/presents. Nip passed away a few months after Smokey. While they went on to get other danes as did we, our communication, while not as frequent, has remained because of that common bond of loving Great Danes.
Strawberry, Milkshake
Don't let the title of this blog fool you, it's not at all what you probably think it's about.
You all know how much I look forward to my Saturday afternoons at the farm. This past Saturday was no exception.... It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...
The weatherman seemed to have missed his prediction for the high-temps by quite a few degrees, as it never seemed to get above freezing, and it was so very cold. Cathy and I arrived shortly after 1pm and set about bundling ourselves up in layer upon layer of clothing. Megan arrived a short time later with her boyfriend Tim to help with the chores. Meg is also house-sitting for the farm's director while she's on vacation, so she's pulling double-duty, so to speak. Long about 3pm, after taking care of the mares, Cathy and I stopped to feed/water the goats. I always bring some kind of treats for them from home, whether it's stale bread, crackers, cherry tomatoes or whatever. On this particular day, it was strawberries. They always gather around, very excited to be receiving a little something extra. They push and shove one another around, in an effort to be closest to whoever is doling out the treats, often they even climb right over top of the rest of the herd. I was feeding the berries as I walked, and Cathy reached their mini-barn ahead of me. She suddenly called out, "Oh my God, Kim, come quick, look what I've found!"
I couldn't tell from her excitement whether it was a good kind of surprise, or a bad surprise. But never in my wildest imagination did I expect anything at all like what we found. Honestly, I half expected there to be a newborn goat, but for some off the wall reason, I jokingly called out to her (not so funny in hindsight), "Oh please tell me you didn't find a dead goat."
Well, a dead goat was indeed what she'd found.
While it's startling and upsetting to find any animal dead, at least if it's to natural causes you can accept it. If it's to something such as another animal having attacked it, you're still upset, but you can somehow rationalize that that is the law of nature. But what had happened to this poor little kid was such a freak accident, it just made the whole situation that much more unbearable.
The 13 month old goat, was somewhat of a pet. While all the goats are pets, per say, he was more so because his mother had abandon him at birth and he was hand-raised on a bottle. It was because of the milkshake concoction he was fed that he earned the name "MILKSHAKE".
We can only theorize on how the accident happened since none of us was around to witness it, but best we can figure is that when the morning crew had fed the goats, after they left, the herd had all clamored around the hanging hay-feeders, pushing and shoving as they do. Somehow, Milkshake got caught between the stall door and the post that it latches to (which is normally left open so they can come/go) and the shoving herd of bodies pushed the door shut on him, latching shut, and crushing him.
We can only hope that death was instantaneous and that he didn't suffer, although in reality it was probably something quite different.
He was wedged in there so tight, we couldn't get the latch to open. I climbed over the stall wall and knelt down beside his front half, lifting his little head, looking for any signs of life. But it was too late, he was long gone. I was sick to my stomach and had to fight to hold down my lunch. Cathy ran for the Kuboda(sp?) and drove off to get help. I called her on her cell phone and told her to come back with a Phillips-head screw driver, as removing the hinges was the only way we'd ever be able to get the door off of him. I walked outside to get some fresh air and the rest of the herd gathered around again and I realized I still had the box of strawberries in my hand. I finished feeding them then waited for help. Cathy & Megan arrived and I thought Megan was going to totally lose it when she walked in and saw him lying there. My heart was breaking for her as much as for the goat, as I know she felt somehow responsible since she was taking care of the place in Paula's absence.
In all honesty though, even if it had happened right in front of one of us, I seriously doubt anyone could have saved him. As tight as the latch was and refused to un-latch, he would've no doubt died by the time the hinges could be removed. I don't even think the boards could've been kicked and broken down in time to save him. Once we finally had the stall door removed, Megan scooped him up in her arms and carried him to the Kuboda. Cathy and I drove him up to the barn, where he was placed in an empty stall and covered 'til the farms asst. director could arrive to take care of burying him on Sunday. Once we'd covered him up and closed the stall door behind us, we could only stand in the middle of the stables and group-hug one another and cry.
Later that evening, the husband and I were at an awards banquet. I was quieter than normal, and kept completely to myself, not wanting to socialize at all. The dinner was good, and when they brought out the dessert and placed it before me, I started to quietly cry again. It was cheesecake (which I loathe!!!), but next to it on the plate was a large strawberry, cut in half. I tried to keep my tears and sobs to myself, but my husband, knowing me all too well, leaned over and whispered, "what's the matter?" I couldn't answer, only shook my head. He persisted, "something's wrong, what is it?" Finally I sniffled, and answered in a halting voice, "I was feeding them strawberries when we found Milkshake cut in half."
I may never be able to look at another strawberry ever again.
You all know how much I look forward to my Saturday afternoons at the farm. This past Saturday was no exception.... It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...
The weatherman seemed to have missed his prediction for the high-temps by quite a few degrees, as it never seemed to get above freezing, and it was so very cold. Cathy and I arrived shortly after 1pm and set about bundling ourselves up in layer upon layer of clothing. Megan arrived a short time later with her boyfriend Tim to help with the chores. Meg is also house-sitting for the farm's director while she's on vacation, so she's pulling double-duty, so to speak. Long about 3pm, after taking care of the mares, Cathy and I stopped to feed/water the goats. I always bring some kind of treats for them from home, whether it's stale bread, crackers, cherry tomatoes or whatever. On this particular day, it was strawberries. They always gather around, very excited to be receiving a little something extra. They push and shove one another around, in an effort to be closest to whoever is doling out the treats, often they even climb right over top of the rest of the herd. I was feeding the berries as I walked, and Cathy reached their mini-barn ahead of me. She suddenly called out, "Oh my God, Kim, come quick, look what I've found!"
I couldn't tell from her excitement whether it was a good kind of surprise, or a bad surprise. But never in my wildest imagination did I expect anything at all like what we found. Honestly, I half expected there to be a newborn goat, but for some off the wall reason, I jokingly called out to her (not so funny in hindsight), "Oh please tell me you didn't find a dead goat."
Well, a dead goat was indeed what she'd found.
While it's startling and upsetting to find any animal dead, at least if it's to natural causes you can accept it. If it's to something such as another animal having attacked it, you're still upset, but you can somehow rationalize that that is the law of nature. But what had happened to this poor little kid was such a freak accident, it just made the whole situation that much more unbearable.
The 13 month old goat, was somewhat of a pet. While all the goats are pets, per say, he was more so because his mother had abandon him at birth and he was hand-raised on a bottle. It was because of the milkshake concoction he was fed that he earned the name "MILKSHAKE".
We can only theorize on how the accident happened since none of us was around to witness it, but best we can figure is that when the morning crew had fed the goats, after they left, the herd had all clamored around the hanging hay-feeders, pushing and shoving as they do. Somehow, Milkshake got caught between the stall door and the post that it latches to (which is normally left open so they can come/go) and the shoving herd of bodies pushed the door shut on him, latching shut, and crushing him.
We can only hope that death was instantaneous and that he didn't suffer, although in reality it was probably something quite different.
He was wedged in there so tight, we couldn't get the latch to open. I climbed over the stall wall and knelt down beside his front half, lifting his little head, looking for any signs of life. But it was too late, he was long gone. I was sick to my stomach and had to fight to hold down my lunch. Cathy ran for the Kuboda(sp?) and drove off to get help. I called her on her cell phone and told her to come back with a Phillips-head screw driver, as removing the hinges was the only way we'd ever be able to get the door off of him. I walked outside to get some fresh air and the rest of the herd gathered around again and I realized I still had the box of strawberries in my hand. I finished feeding them then waited for help. Cathy & Megan arrived and I thought Megan was going to totally lose it when she walked in and saw him lying there. My heart was breaking for her as much as for the goat, as I know she felt somehow responsible since she was taking care of the place in Paula's absence.
In all honesty though, even if it had happened right in front of one of us, I seriously doubt anyone could have saved him. As tight as the latch was and refused to un-latch, he would've no doubt died by the time the hinges could be removed. I don't even think the boards could've been kicked and broken down in time to save him. Once we finally had the stall door removed, Megan scooped him up in her arms and carried him to the Kuboda. Cathy and I drove him up to the barn, where he was placed in an empty stall and covered 'til the farms asst. director could arrive to take care of burying him on Sunday. Once we'd covered him up and closed the stall door behind us, we could only stand in the middle of the stables and group-hug one another and cry.
Later that evening, the husband and I were at an awards banquet. I was quieter than normal, and kept completely to myself, not wanting to socialize at all. The dinner was good, and when they brought out the dessert and placed it before me, I started to quietly cry again. It was cheesecake (which I loathe!!!), but next to it on the plate was a large strawberry, cut in half. I tried to keep my tears and sobs to myself, but my husband, knowing me all too well, leaned over and whispered, "what's the matter?" I couldn't answer, only shook my head. He persisted, "something's wrong, what is it?" Finally I sniffled, and answered in a halting voice, "I was feeding them strawberries when we found Milkshake cut in half."
I may never be able to look at another strawberry ever again.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Weekend preview & the battle at hand.
Ah, TGIF! to ya! Yes, it's Friday once again. That can only mean one thing... tomorrow is my much beloved day to go to the Luci Ctr. Thankfully, the temperatures are supposed to go up into the 40's, so hopefully it won't be so blasted cold. Of course, that means the ground will thaw and be muddy as all get out. Oh well, must take the good with the bad.
Tomorrow evening we have an awards banquet to attend for Harrods Creek F.D. These things are usually held during the Christmas holiday-party-season, but the past couple of years they've been getting later and later... it seems to work out for everyone better that way. Normally it's held at a venue close to the district, but this year they're holding it at the Frazier Arm's Museum (I think) in downtown. It should be interesting.
As many of you know, John "retired" from HCFD back over the summer, after having been a volunteer for 26 of the past 30 years (he did leave for 4 years when we were first married and lived too far out of the district). It was somewhat of a forced retirement on my part. After having played 2nd fiddle (2nd?, who am I kidding?, I'm not even in the orchestra!) to two fire departments for the past 20 years, I'd had enough and gave him an ultimatum: Me or the fire department(s). Actually, all I asked is that he give up one of them. I couldn't very well ask him to give up both. As we don't even live in HC's district, and he seldom made runs with them anymore, he chose, with a heavy heart, to retire.
All this took place during those months of the summer when he was off with his knee injury and couldn't actively participate anyways. Even though he has returned to work driving the Coke truck, he still hasn't been cleared by the Worthington fire department's doctor to return to active duty (oh yeah, that's because he won't even go see the doctor because he knows he won't pass the physical). Worthington's chief isn't willing to find a place for him as an "auxiliary member", even though there are still a number of tasks John is quite capable of performing. I think John knows his days with that department are numbered.
He went to play poker with some of his ol' buddies from HCFD a couple of weeks ago, among them that departments chief. He brought up the subject of doing auxiliary work for them.
It gives me great distress to tell you he's now again a "member" of the Harrods Creek F.D. Complete with pager for making fire/emergency runs with them.
I'm not happy about this. I pointed out to him that we had an agreement.
I'm giving him a couple of weeks to see if he hangs up his helmet for good with Worthington now, if not, all hell is going to break loose at our house.
After we went to bed the other night, I was watching a few minutes of t.v. and thought he'd already started dozing off when he startled me by saying, "Thank you".
For what? I asked.
For trying to make me eat healthier.
I nearly fell out of the bed at this comment. I've been nagging him to do so for many, many years. Every time I've gone on a diet, I've begged him to do so with me so I wouldn't struggle so. Every time he's "gone on a diet" (and I use that statement lightly where he's concerned) it's been a bit of a joke as he rebels at every healthy thing I try to feed him. He has no concept of portion-control. The man absolutely LOVES salads, but he loads them down with so much stuff that they cease to be healthy. But I will say he's doing somewhat better this time around. So I applaud his efforts and accept his crankiness at my starving him too death in his mind, as I know he appreciates it when he steps on the scale to see our efforts paying off. I also now think the reason he passed up the chance to go to the movies with his father/sister yesterday isn't because he wanted to go with me so much as because he knew if he went, he wouldn't be able to resist buying a jumbo sized Coke and gallon-sized bucket of butter flavored popcorn. He's trying to be good.
Tomorrow evening we have an awards banquet to attend for Harrods Creek F.D. These things are usually held during the Christmas holiday-party-season, but the past couple of years they've been getting later and later... it seems to work out for everyone better that way. Normally it's held at a venue close to the district, but this year they're holding it at the Frazier Arm's Museum (I think) in downtown. It should be interesting.
As many of you know, John "retired" from HCFD back over the summer, after having been a volunteer for 26 of the past 30 years (he did leave for 4 years when we were first married and lived too far out of the district). It was somewhat of a forced retirement on my part. After having played 2nd fiddle (2nd?, who am I kidding?, I'm not even in the orchestra!) to two fire departments for the past 20 years, I'd had enough and gave him an ultimatum: Me or the fire department(s). Actually, all I asked is that he give up one of them. I couldn't very well ask him to give up both. As we don't even live in HC's district, and he seldom made runs with them anymore, he chose, with a heavy heart, to retire.
All this took place during those months of the summer when he was off with his knee injury and couldn't actively participate anyways. Even though he has returned to work driving the Coke truck, he still hasn't been cleared by the Worthington fire department's doctor to return to active duty (oh yeah, that's because he won't even go see the doctor because he knows he won't pass the physical). Worthington's chief isn't willing to find a place for him as an "auxiliary member", even though there are still a number of tasks John is quite capable of performing. I think John knows his days with that department are numbered.
He went to play poker with some of his ol' buddies from HCFD a couple of weeks ago, among them that departments chief. He brought up the subject of doing auxiliary work for them.
It gives me great distress to tell you he's now again a "member" of the Harrods Creek F.D. Complete with pager for making fire/emergency runs with them.
I'm not happy about this. I pointed out to him that we had an agreement.
I'm giving him a couple of weeks to see if he hangs up his helmet for good with Worthington now, if not, all hell is going to break loose at our house.
After we went to bed the other night, I was watching a few minutes of t.v. and thought he'd already started dozing off when he startled me by saying, "Thank you".
For what? I asked.
For trying to make me eat healthier.
I nearly fell out of the bed at this comment. I've been nagging him to do so for many, many years. Every time I've gone on a diet, I've begged him to do so with me so I wouldn't struggle so. Every time he's "gone on a diet" (and I use that statement lightly where he's concerned) it's been a bit of a joke as he rebels at every healthy thing I try to feed him. He has no concept of portion-control. The man absolutely LOVES salads, but he loads them down with so much stuff that they cease to be healthy. But I will say he's doing somewhat better this time around. So I applaud his efforts and accept his crankiness at my starving him too death in his mind, as I know he appreciates it when he steps on the scale to see our efforts paying off. I also now think the reason he passed up the chance to go to the movies with his father/sister yesterday isn't because he wanted to go with me so much as because he knew if he went, he wouldn't be able to resist buying a jumbo sized Coke and gallon-sized bucket of butter flavored popcorn. He's trying to be good.
Losing my hearing
I just had a woman scream in my left ear, and I'm now not so sure I haven't lost part of my hearing. Ah, she didn't mean to deafen me, but deafen me she did.
She called to inquire as to when her brother's funeral and visitation would take place. I had to inform her that we weren't handling his arrangements, and she proceeded to scream a very loud, "WHAT!?!??!?!?!" Then an "aw shit, wonder what he's done with him?"
He who? I asked.
His son.
I don't know ma'am.
This is the funeral home in LaGrange isn't it?
Yes ma'am.
Well, you're the only one around there, ain'tcha?
No ma'am. There is another one that opened up this past summer.
Well surely he ain't that stupid. Ya'll've been there forever. Well, okay, I'll find him.
I hung up the phone and less than 15 seconds later she called me back. My ear was still ringing from our previous conversation, and I only hoped she wouldn't yell at me again.
*****
I make mention of this event because it does seem to startle and astound quite a few people in this community, that somebody else would even dare think about, much less carry out the thought, of opening a second funeral home around here. It's a small community, and most don't see a need for a second funeral home. Other's have been doing business (or rather, their family's have been doing business) with us for so many decades, they can't fathom going anywhere else.
Many people have asked us if the other place has hurt out business any since opening about 8 months ago. We just smile and say "No". And it's true, they haven't hurt our business. Yeah, they have done 2 or 3 funerals that perhaps would've otherwise come our way, but the vast majority of business they've had has been "stolen" from the other funeral home in the other part of this rural county. And the funerals they've done don't seem to have been "big" funerals, so it's not like we lost a lot of money.
Part of me can understand the shock, anger, disbelief that the community is feeling. But another part of me can't help but wonder if they were as outraged everytime a new gas station, bank, restaurant, or pharmacy opened in this town to compete with the already existing businesses. That other funeral home has a right to open up shop and try to serve the public. Whether or not it will succeed remains to be seen....
She called to inquire as to when her brother's funeral and visitation would take place. I had to inform her that we weren't handling his arrangements, and she proceeded to scream a very loud, "WHAT!?!??!?!?!" Then an "aw shit, wonder what he's done with him?"
He who? I asked.
His son.
I don't know ma'am.
This is the funeral home in LaGrange isn't it?
Yes ma'am.
Well, you're the only one around there, ain'tcha?
No ma'am. There is another one that opened up this past summer.
Well surely he ain't that stupid. Ya'll've been there forever. Well, okay, I'll find him.
I hung up the phone and less than 15 seconds later she called me back. My ear was still ringing from our previous conversation, and I only hoped she wouldn't yell at me again.
*****
I make mention of this event because it does seem to startle and astound quite a few people in this community, that somebody else would even dare think about, much less carry out the thought, of opening a second funeral home around here. It's a small community, and most don't see a need for a second funeral home. Other's have been doing business (or rather, their family's have been doing business) with us for so many decades, they can't fathom going anywhere else.
Many people have asked us if the other place has hurt out business any since opening about 8 months ago. We just smile and say "No". And it's true, they haven't hurt our business. Yeah, they have done 2 or 3 funerals that perhaps would've otherwise come our way, but the vast majority of business they've had has been "stolen" from the other funeral home in the other part of this rural county. And the funerals they've done don't seem to have been "big" funerals, so it's not like we lost a lot of money.
Part of me can understand the shock, anger, disbelief that the community is feeling. But another part of me can't help but wonder if they were as outraged everytime a new gas station, bank, restaurant, or pharmacy opened in this town to compete with the already existing businesses. That other funeral home has a right to open up shop and try to serve the public. Whether or not it will succeed remains to be seen....
Another check's in the mail
I've been biting my tongue so far this week on our governments plan to jump-start the economy by sending a check to every American family that qualifies. But I can't smother my comments any longer! Don't get me wrong, we could use the money. I'd like to get the roof replaced. I'd like new carpet/tile in the house. I'd like to get the house painted. I'd like to get a real, qualified handi-man to come in and fix several things. I'd like a new dishwasher. I'd like to pay off some debt. I'd like to take a nice vacation. I'd like to put it back for a "rainy day", but there seem to be so many rainy days of late (figuratively and literally).
But I guess it all just really pisses me off because it will sink our nation even further into debt.
If the gov't. really wanted to do something to help us out, how about for those of us that owe taxes every year, waiving those taxes or requiring we only have to pay 50%? Or how about forcing the gas companies to lower the price of gasoline back down to under, say, $2.25/gallon. Sure, under a dollar would be nice, but I'm not that greedy! Or how about forcing these credit card companies to lower their interest rates for 12 months, give people a chance to pay down their credit card balances? I could think of a lot more reasons, but I think you get my drift.
I just don't think our politicians really think when it comes to okaying these "rebates". Isn't this like the 3rd one we've had since Bush took office? If the other two didn't fix things, what makes him think a third one will work?
But I guess it all just really pisses me off because it will sink our nation even further into debt.
If the gov't. really wanted to do something to help us out, how about for those of us that owe taxes every year, waiving those taxes or requiring we only have to pay 50%? Or how about forcing the gas companies to lower the price of gasoline back down to under, say, $2.25/gallon. Sure, under a dollar would be nice, but I'm not that greedy! Or how about forcing these credit card companies to lower their interest rates for 12 months, give people a chance to pay down their credit card balances? I could think of a lot more reasons, but I think you get my drift.
I just don't think our politicians really think when it comes to okaying these "rebates". Isn't this like the 3rd one we've had since Bush took office? If the other two didn't fix things, what makes him think a third one will work?
Numbers
Life is all about the numbers. Trying to lower the number that shows up on the scale's display everytime I step on it. Trying to increase the number in my bank accounts. Counting down the days 'til certain things happen. Trying to decrease the amount of our debt, trying to increase the mileage my car gets in an effort to battle the rising cost of gasoline.
In less than a week, the husband will turn 48. In another two years he can qualify for certain senior citizen discounts. Good grief, when did my ol' man get to be so old?
Today is the 25th of January, that means in 17 days I'll turn the big FOUR-OH. YIKES!!!, how did I get to be sooo old?
I don't really think we're old, persay, old is only as old as you feel. Somedays I feel 25, other days I feel 95. It just depends on whether or not my joints ache that morning. My husband on the otherhand is a perpetual 14 year old boy.
A friend of mine has a quote posted on her refrigerator: "Age is a number, and mine is unlisted." Perhaps for her this is true. I've known her for over five years and I've no earthly idea how old she is or even when her birthday is. Hmm, makes me wonder what kind of friend I really am to this person?
Here's another number for ya, 36. Thirty-six days left 'til the Costco membership expires. I can hardly wait!! I don't think it's any secret how much I dislike that store. I curse the boss everytime I have to go in there for making us change the membership from Sams to Costco. He thought he was doing me a favor since it's closer to home and the office. I tried telling him I'd rather stay with Sams, but he wouldn't listen. One day he finally went in there for himself and came back to the office and declared: "Costco sucks!" Duh, do ya think? So he's agreed to switch back to Sams Club now, so I keep telling myself, only 36 more days...
In less than a week, the husband will turn 48. In another two years he can qualify for certain senior citizen discounts. Good grief, when did my ol' man get to be so old?
Today is the 25th of January, that means in 17 days I'll turn the big FOUR-OH. YIKES!!!, how did I get to be sooo old?
I don't really think we're old, persay, old is only as old as you feel. Somedays I feel 25, other days I feel 95. It just depends on whether or not my joints ache that morning. My husband on the otherhand is a perpetual 14 year old boy.
A friend of mine has a quote posted on her refrigerator: "Age is a number, and mine is unlisted." Perhaps for her this is true. I've known her for over five years and I've no earthly idea how old she is or even when her birthday is. Hmm, makes me wonder what kind of friend I really am to this person?
Here's another number for ya, 36. Thirty-six days left 'til the Costco membership expires. I can hardly wait!! I don't think it's any secret how much I dislike that store. I curse the boss everytime I have to go in there for making us change the membership from Sams to Costco. He thought he was doing me a favor since it's closer to home and the office. I tried telling him I'd rather stay with Sams, but he wouldn't listen. One day he finally went in there for himself and came back to the office and declared: "Costco sucks!" Duh, do ya think? So he's agreed to switch back to Sams Club now, so I keep telling myself, only 36 more days...
Dane blog re-run
This blog is somewhat of a re-run. But I'll post it again, since I've recently come across some other Daneluvrs, especially of black danes.
So "Abbey" & "M", these are for you...
The first is of my Bootsy, doing her best to seek sympathy for being in the crate. Don't let her pathetic look fool you, she frequently paws at the door 'til she gets it open (if it's not locked) and goes in on her own, especially after she's just eaten. It's her choice to be in there.
And this lovely is Bootsy's litter-sister, Bella. Owned by our breeder. She's one of many I refer to as my "step-children". She's debating whether or not to breed her this spring... if she does, I can hardly wait (not that I want another dane right now), but it's always fun to play with all the pups and smell the puppy-breath!
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Losing touch...
Of late, I've been following the blogs of some fellow-bloggers from "down under" and other parts of the world. It got me to thinking about a friend/former co-worker I had that was from New Zealand. Jonathan.
Jonathan was a neat man. Very dignified and refined. He drove around in a very old, yellow Mercedes. Smoked disgusting little cigars, or some kind of wierd cigarettes, I'm not sure exactly what they were. He had such a delightful sense of humor and was so engaging to listen to. I don't know if it was his accent that drew people in, or just the flair he had for telling a story... some people are gifted that way..., or perhaps a combination of both things.
He frequently wore a very tacky tie. As I recall, it was a horrid shade of olive green, and it had a naked woman on it. I couldn't believe he wore it on sales calls, or for that matter, nor could I believe that the company allowed him to wear it. I was even more amazed that none of his customers ever called to complain.
He was a widower, having lost his wife to cancer a number of years before. He himself was also a cancer survivor. He smoked marijuana for "medicinal purposes" as he put it, and made no effort to hide this habit. If what he told us was true, he was a self-made millionaire, twice over, but lost it all both times. I'm not sure about the first time, but he said his wife's medical bills cleaned him out the second time. He had a new fiancee, Debra. I never met her face to face, but spoke to her on the phone a number of times, and I liked her. She was easy to talk to, with a throaty laugh.
I only worked with Jonathan for about 10 months. He came into the office one day and announced he was quitting because he and Deb were moving to Florida. A part of me was sad to see him go as he was a fun person to be around, but another part of me breathed a sigh of relief that he was going...
Ya see, Jonathan had a very annoying habit of eating cloves of garlic much the way some of us might eat a tangerine. Blech!! Forget what it did to his breath, he REEEEKED! of this stuff. The stench oozed from his pores. This is no exaggeration folks, I could smell him from two rooms away!! It was like that little Peanuts character, Pigpen, who always had a cloud swirling around him. There was a garlic cloud around Jonathan at all times. It always amazed me that he did as well in sales as he did. I don't know if his customers purchased things just to get him to leave or if the perhaps felt sorry for him.
We kept in touch off and on for a couple of years after he left the company, but have since lost touch with one another. I've often wondered what became of him... did he and Debra ever marry?, did her daughter finally drive them apart?, or is he even still alive? And I wonder if he still eats garlic cloves?
Jonathan was a neat man. Very dignified and refined. He drove around in a very old, yellow Mercedes. Smoked disgusting little cigars, or some kind of wierd cigarettes, I'm not sure exactly what they were. He had such a delightful sense of humor and was so engaging to listen to. I don't know if it was his accent that drew people in, or just the flair he had for telling a story... some people are gifted that way..., or perhaps a combination of both things.
He frequently wore a very tacky tie. As I recall, it was a horrid shade of olive green, and it had a naked woman on it. I couldn't believe he wore it on sales calls, or for that matter, nor could I believe that the company allowed him to wear it. I was even more amazed that none of his customers ever called to complain.
He was a widower, having lost his wife to cancer a number of years before. He himself was also a cancer survivor. He smoked marijuana for "medicinal purposes" as he put it, and made no effort to hide this habit. If what he told us was true, he was a self-made millionaire, twice over, but lost it all both times. I'm not sure about the first time, but he said his wife's medical bills cleaned him out the second time. He had a new fiancee, Debra. I never met her face to face, but spoke to her on the phone a number of times, and I liked her. She was easy to talk to, with a throaty laugh.
I only worked with Jonathan for about 10 months. He came into the office one day and announced he was quitting because he and Deb were moving to Florida. A part of me was sad to see him go as he was a fun person to be around, but another part of me breathed a sigh of relief that he was going...
Ya see, Jonathan had a very annoying habit of eating cloves of garlic much the way some of us might eat a tangerine. Blech!! Forget what it did to his breath, he REEEEKED! of this stuff. The stench oozed from his pores. This is no exaggeration folks, I could smell him from two rooms away!! It was like that little Peanuts character, Pigpen, who always had a cloud swirling around him. There was a garlic cloud around Jonathan at all times. It always amazed me that he did as well in sales as he did. I don't know if his customers purchased things just to get him to leave or if the perhaps felt sorry for him.
We kept in touch off and on for a couple of years after he left the company, but have since lost touch with one another. I've often wondered what became of him... did he and Debra ever marry?, did her daughter finally drive them apart?, or is he even still alive? And I wonder if he still eats garlic cloves?
More this and that
The husband was on-call this morning, and since the boss didn't call him into work by 7am, that left him off work for the day. His dad, sis and her kids are all going to a movie and want him to go, but he declined, saying he'd rather go with me sometime. At least, that's the story he told me. I'll accept his story.
He offered to come to LaGrange and take me to lunch. At first I declined, but the more I thought about it, I thought, "why not?". So I told him to pick me up at 12:30. So he should be here in the next few minutes. It's a toss-up between Applebees where I know I can get something off the Weight-Watchers menu, or Cracker-Barrel, where it will be hard to resist temptation, but I can eat there for free since I have a gift-card for that place. Decisions, decisions.
My blog-friend Abbey sent me a link to another blog-site written by another daneluvr. The site moved me to tears, for more reasons than one. I've since added it to my list of sites I check regularly.
Speaking of regularly checked blogsites: hey Lakeshorestrangler, whatever happened to you? You've not posted anything since July. Have you given up blogging altogether???
Yesterday, when I was checking the St. Baldricks site to get the date of the upcoming event, I had no sooner opened the website which showed a bunch of bald headed children, then the cleaning crew came walking into the office. I seldom see this couple, as they usually work nights, but since we had a funeral yesterday morning, followed by a visitation they came to fluff the place up. When I saw the elder "D", I stopped short and inhaled sharply. Even though she wore a hat, I could tell she had no hair. Before I could stop myself, I asked, "what happened to you?" Of course the reply was breast cancer. All I could do was give her a hug. I followed the girls downstairs to help them move flowers so they could start cleaning, and I was telling about my date with St. Baldricks, and my voluntary baldness vs. her involuntary baldness. We laughed about the ease of getting ready in the morning without having any hair to take care of and the different hats we'd wear. But finally she turned serious and said, "all I can say is, make sure you get your mammograms!" Not to worry. I told her mine was already scheduled for next month. It doesn't seem that long since the last one, but I guess it has been five years. Not something I'm looking forward to, but given that at least 4 women I know in the past couple of years have been struck with this disease, I'm not taking it lightly.
He offered to come to LaGrange and take me to lunch. At first I declined, but the more I thought about it, I thought, "why not?". So I told him to pick me up at 12:30. So he should be here in the next few minutes. It's a toss-up between Applebees where I know I can get something off the Weight-Watchers menu, or Cracker-Barrel, where it will be hard to resist temptation, but I can eat there for free since I have a gift-card for that place. Decisions, decisions.
My blog-friend Abbey sent me a link to another blog-site written by another daneluvr. The site moved me to tears, for more reasons than one. I've since added it to my list of sites I check regularly.
Speaking of regularly checked blogsites: hey Lakeshorestrangler, whatever happened to you? You've not posted anything since July. Have you given up blogging altogether???
Yesterday, when I was checking the St. Baldricks site to get the date of the upcoming event, I had no sooner opened the website which showed a bunch of bald headed children, then the cleaning crew came walking into the office. I seldom see this couple, as they usually work nights, but since we had a funeral yesterday morning, followed by a visitation they came to fluff the place up. When I saw the elder "D", I stopped short and inhaled sharply. Even though she wore a hat, I could tell she had no hair. Before I could stop myself, I asked, "what happened to you?" Of course the reply was breast cancer. All I could do was give her a hug. I followed the girls downstairs to help them move flowers so they could start cleaning, and I was telling about my date with St. Baldricks, and my voluntary baldness vs. her involuntary baldness. We laughed about the ease of getting ready in the morning without having any hair to take care of and the different hats we'd wear. But finally she turned serious and said, "all I can say is, make sure you get your mammograms!" Not to worry. I told her mine was already scheduled for next month. It doesn't seem that long since the last one, but I guess it has been five years. Not something I'm looking forward to, but given that at least 4 women I know in the past couple of years have been struck with this disease, I'm not taking it lightly.
Dog-harmony
Every once in a while, my children actually settle down together and behave, and everything is in harmony. If only it were always like that.
Snow-pups
Bootsy & Eliott got to enjoy the snow-covered ground, if only for a short time before it all melted.
Peanut Butter Day
Today (01/24/08) is National Peanut Butter Day. Can we get a crunchy Hip-Hip-Hooray!!!??
I love the stuff, but really don't consume very much of it. When I do eat it, it's usually in the form of a cookie. On rare occasions on a sandwich, sans the jelly... blech!, can't stand that combination!! When I'm sick and having to force down medicine, then I go through a lot of peanut butter and saltines, as it helps the meds go down and gets rid of the nasty cough-syrup taste.
I was reading on the Hungry-girl website some interesting facts regarding peanut butter treats from some common places, and nearly fell over. I copied it for you to read. It just floors me the calorie and fat content of these items... I'm allowed 64 fat grams per day, which I typically stay well below. I can't fathom someone consuming a milkshake that has 61 grams of fat for a small serving. Egads!!!
From the Hungry-girl website:
Dunkin' Donuts Peanut Butter Cup Cookie PER SERVING (1 cookie): 590 calories, 29g fat, 530mg sodium, 73g carbs, 3g fiber, 49g sugars, 11g protein -- POINTS® value 14* How dare ONE single cookie be so freakishly high in calories and fat? We strongly suggest you drive past the Double D and hit the supermarket for a box of Kraft's South Beach Diet Cookies in Peanut Butter. You get two cookies per pack, and it'll only cost you 100 calories and 5g fat (a POINTS® value of 2*).
Baskin Robbins Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Shake PER SERVING (small, 16 oz.): 920 calories, 61g fat, 550mg sodium, 76g carbs, 5g fiber, 67g sugars, 25g protein -- POINTS® value 23* AHHHHHHH 920 calories?!? 61 grams of fat??? And what's most alarming here is the fact that these stats are for the smallest size shake available. A large one has 2,160 calories and 147 grams of fat (POINTS® value 55*)! Get your sippable peanut butter fix with a Hungry For Peanut Butter Milkshake. With just 142 calories and less than 4g fat (POINTS® value 3*), this shake puts Baskin Robbins' to shame.
I love the stuff, but really don't consume very much of it. When I do eat it, it's usually in the form of a cookie. On rare occasions on a sandwich, sans the jelly... blech!, can't stand that combination!! When I'm sick and having to force down medicine, then I go through a lot of peanut butter and saltines, as it helps the meds go down and gets rid of the nasty cough-syrup taste.
I was reading on the Hungry-girl website some interesting facts regarding peanut butter treats from some common places, and nearly fell over. I copied it for you to read. It just floors me the calorie and fat content of these items... I'm allowed 64 fat grams per day, which I typically stay well below. I can't fathom someone consuming a milkshake that has 61 grams of fat for a small serving. Egads!!!
From the Hungry-girl website:
Dunkin' Donuts Peanut Butter Cup Cookie PER SERVING (1 cookie): 590 calories, 29g fat, 530mg sodium, 73g carbs, 3g fiber, 49g sugars, 11g protein -- POINTS® value 14* How dare ONE single cookie be so freakishly high in calories and fat? We strongly suggest you drive past the Double D and hit the supermarket for a box of Kraft's South Beach Diet Cookies in Peanut Butter. You get two cookies per pack, and it'll only cost you 100 calories and 5g fat (a POINTS® value of 2*).
Baskin Robbins Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Shake PER SERVING (small, 16 oz.): 920 calories, 61g fat, 550mg sodium, 76g carbs, 5g fiber, 67g sugars, 25g protein -- POINTS® value 23* AHHHHHHH 920 calories?!? 61 grams of fat??? And what's most alarming here is the fact that these stats are for the smallest size shake available. A large one has 2,160 calories and 147 grams of fat (POINTS® value 55*)! Get your sippable peanut butter fix with a Hungry For Peanut Butter Milkshake. With just 142 calories and less than 4g fat (POINTS® value 3*), this shake puts Baskin Robbins' to shame.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Check's in the mail
I got another check in the mail the other day, from the county attorney's office. I was expecting another $15 (+/-), but wasn't prepared for the amount I actually received. A whopping $3 and .09cents.
Honestly now, was it even worth them putting a postage stamp on that, in addition to the cost of the envelope and letterhead they used?
I think the taxpayers money could be better spent if they'd let the criminals moneys accumulate in an account for a little while and then send us (the victims) a check on perhaps a quarterly basis, or whenever it had built up to a higher amount. Say like a $50 check or something.
This nickel and dime stuff is getting ridiculous.
But, I guess I shouldn't complain. At least the punks that stole from us are making some effort to pay restitution.
Honestly now, was it even worth them putting a postage stamp on that, in addition to the cost of the envelope and letterhead they used?
I think the taxpayers money could be better spent if they'd let the criminals moneys accumulate in an account for a little while and then send us (the victims) a check on perhaps a quarterly basis, or whenever it had built up to a higher amount. Say like a $50 check or something.
This nickel and dime stuff is getting ridiculous.
But, I guess I shouldn't complain. At least the punks that stole from us are making some effort to pay restitution.
"An Odum County Mystery", chapter 5
It took three attempts for Katie to dial the simple number of 9-1-1. The tears in her eyes and her trembling hands made it impossible to dial the numbers correctly. While she waited for the emergency operator to come onto the line, Katie heard the side door open and close, but didn't bother to look and see who was coming in.
Once the emergency operator answered, it was all Katie could do to tell him what the emergency was or to even think straight and give accurate answers. Finally the operator assured her that EMS was on the way. She thanked him, but just stood there without hanging up the phone, staring blankly at the wall. She wasn't sure how long she had stood there when the sound of approaching sirens finally shook her from her daze.
She went to hold the door open for them and led them to Ralph's body. He still lay in the floor, exactly as she'd found him. She kept hoping it was all a bad dream or at the very least, a bad joke, and that he'd be fine. But no such luck.
Katie stood back and watched the EMT's work on Ralph, and she saw the grim look on their faces as they looked at each other and one gave a slight shake of his head, indicating they were too late. The EMT took out his portable radio and called the dispatcher to report what they had found and asked that the deputy coroner also be sent to the scene.
Walking on weak knees, Katie went to sit down in the lounge. On the way, she passed the door she'd heard open/close earlier, and suddenly remembered that somebody must've come in. She looked around but could find nobody. Had somebody perhaps been exiting the building? Who was it? Where had they been while everything was going on? Or had she only imagined hearing the door?
Oh good grief! What about the funeral that was supposed to take place in a few hours? People were going to start showing up soon, and it wouldn't be to pay their respects to Ralph lying face down on the chapel floor. Katie's stomach started to churn. What to do? Time to pass the buck! She called Ralph's boss. Let him deal with the situation and figure out what to do.
Once the emergency operator answered, it was all Katie could do to tell him what the emergency was or to even think straight and give accurate answers. Finally the operator assured her that EMS was on the way. She thanked him, but just stood there without hanging up the phone, staring blankly at the wall. She wasn't sure how long she had stood there when the sound of approaching sirens finally shook her from her daze.
She went to hold the door open for them and led them to Ralph's body. He still lay in the floor, exactly as she'd found him. She kept hoping it was all a bad dream or at the very least, a bad joke, and that he'd be fine. But no such luck.
Katie stood back and watched the EMT's work on Ralph, and she saw the grim look on their faces as they looked at each other and one gave a slight shake of his head, indicating they were too late. The EMT took out his portable radio and called the dispatcher to report what they had found and asked that the deputy coroner also be sent to the scene.
Walking on weak knees, Katie went to sit down in the lounge. On the way, she passed the door she'd heard open/close earlier, and suddenly remembered that somebody must've come in. She looked around but could find nobody. Had somebody perhaps been exiting the building? Who was it? Where had they been while everything was going on? Or had she only imagined hearing the door?
Oh good grief! What about the funeral that was supposed to take place in a few hours? People were going to start showing up soon, and it wouldn't be to pay their respects to Ralph lying face down on the chapel floor. Katie's stomach started to churn. What to do? Time to pass the buck! She called Ralph's boss. Let him deal with the situation and figure out what to do.
54 days and counting...
At last, the date for the big event has been set.
Monday, March 17th.
St. Baldricks here I come!!
If anyone is interested in sponsoring me for the big event, please click on the following link:
http://stbaldricks.org/participants/shavee_info.html?ParticipantKey=200823521
That will take you to my St. Baldricks site. From there you just click on the blue tab marked "Download a Donation Form", print it off, fill it out and send it in with your contribution.
If you'd like more information on the organization as a whole, click on this link: http://www.stbaldricks.org/#
This is my first year participating in this event, I'm nervous, yet very excited too...
The photo I've downloaded to that site isn't the greatest of me, but it will have to do 'til I can get a better one taken. My hair is longer now, and hopefully, with the weight I've lost since that was taken, my face isn't quite so, um, how should I say this?... full.
Thanks for your support! I love you all!!
Monday, March 17th.
St. Baldricks here I come!!
If anyone is interested in sponsoring me for the big event, please click on the following link:
http://stbaldricks.org/participants/shavee_info.html?ParticipantKey=200823521
That will take you to my St. Baldricks site. From there you just click on the blue tab marked "Download a Donation Form", print it off, fill it out and send it in with your contribution.
If you'd like more information on the organization as a whole, click on this link: http://www.stbaldricks.org/#
This is my first year participating in this event, I'm nervous, yet very excited too...
The photo I've downloaded to that site isn't the greatest of me, but it will have to do 'til I can get a better one taken. My hair is longer now, and hopefully, with the weight I've lost since that was taken, my face isn't quite so, um, how should I say this?... full.
Thanks for your support! I love you all!!
This & that
A multitude of thoughts & ideas have been running through my head this morning.
While getting ready for work this morning, fluffing up the ol' hair, I looked at the calender and realized that I've less than two months left 'til the big day. I wonder how much of an adjustment it will be for me not having any hair? How long will it take to grow back out? When it grows back, will it be the brown color I've grown up with? Or will it be gray? Or a smattering of both colors mixed together? Honestly, I wish it would just go ahead and turn completely gray and get it over with. I really should hit the stores and start buying some hats to wear. I hate hat-hair, so I never wear a hat unless it's just brutally cold out & I'm out working/playing in the cold or else unless it's to throw on a ballcap to hide my bed-head-hair, so I really should take advantage of wearing them while I won't have any hair to muss up. I think I'd like to do a video-diary of my last 24 hours with hair. Perhaps if I could enlist my friend "Millie" to help me... hint, hint
We've been very busy here at work this week. Two funerals today, one graveside about a 100 miles away, the other at the catholic church, so I basically have the funeral home to myself today. Aside from having to cover the phones and occasionally run downstairs when the door buzzes, I'm enjoying the solitude, peace and quiet. I had to work three hours over last night. A long story, I won't go into ALL the details, but suffice it to say that I was 5 1/2 hours late arriving to the office yesterday as I was wasting my time sitting at one of our other funeral homes when I could've been here working instead of letting the work pile up on my work in my absence. grrrr!
Hopefully after tomorrows funeral, we'll go into one of our lulls and nobody else will die for at least a week. I hope this because the boss has promised me that come Tuesday, we're going to move me, my desk, computer & equipment into the other (much larger) office. I've only been begging him to make this move for most of the five years I've been here. My pleas have finally been heard. Also, I get to wear my jeans and sneakers to work that day, YIPPEE!!!!
Time-Life. I don't ever read the magazine, but I do love their infomercials on the amazing music collections they have. I've purchased several CDs from them in the past that I've listened to so much I'm surprised I haven't worn them out. So needless to say I was very excited when I got a box in yesterdays mail that contained my latest purchase. Thus far I've not been disappointed. Yes, I do love my Time-Life music.
A wink. Such a small gesture, yet it can mean so many different things. It can signal to someone that they are teasing them. It can be a "pick-up" gesture or a way of flirting between strangers. It can mean a simple "hello" when two people see each other and maybe a verbal hello isn't appropriate. Or it can just be a way of saying "I love you" between two people without saying a word.
While getting ready for work this morning, fluffing up the ol' hair, I looked at the calender and realized that I've less than two months left 'til the big day. I wonder how much of an adjustment it will be for me not having any hair? How long will it take to grow back out? When it grows back, will it be the brown color I've grown up with? Or will it be gray? Or a smattering of both colors mixed together? Honestly, I wish it would just go ahead and turn completely gray and get it over with. I really should hit the stores and start buying some hats to wear. I hate hat-hair, so I never wear a hat unless it's just brutally cold out & I'm out working/playing in the cold or else unless it's to throw on a ballcap to hide my bed-head-hair, so I really should take advantage of wearing them while I won't have any hair to muss up. I think I'd like to do a video-diary of my last 24 hours with hair. Perhaps if I could enlist my friend "Millie" to help me... hint, hint
We've been very busy here at work this week. Two funerals today, one graveside about a 100 miles away, the other at the catholic church, so I basically have the funeral home to myself today. Aside from having to cover the phones and occasionally run downstairs when the door buzzes, I'm enjoying the solitude, peace and quiet. I had to work three hours over last night. A long story, I won't go into ALL the details, but suffice it to say that I was 5 1/2 hours late arriving to the office yesterday as I was wasting my time sitting at one of our other funeral homes when I could've been here working instead of letting the work pile up on my work in my absence. grrrr!
Hopefully after tomorrows funeral, we'll go into one of our lulls and nobody else will die for at least a week. I hope this because the boss has promised me that come Tuesday, we're going to move me, my desk, computer & equipment into the other (much larger) office. I've only been begging him to make this move for most of the five years I've been here. My pleas have finally been heard. Also, I get to wear my jeans and sneakers to work that day, YIPPEE!!!!
Time-Life. I don't ever read the magazine, but I do love their infomercials on the amazing music collections they have. I've purchased several CDs from them in the past that I've listened to so much I'm surprised I haven't worn them out. So needless to say I was very excited when I got a box in yesterdays mail that contained my latest purchase. Thus far I've not been disappointed. Yes, I do love my Time-Life music.
A wink. Such a small gesture, yet it can mean so many different things. It can signal to someone that they are teasing them. It can be a "pick-up" gesture or a way of flirting between strangers. It can mean a simple "hello" when two people see each other and maybe a verbal hello isn't appropriate. Or it can just be a way of saying "I love you" between two people without saying a word.
Monday, January 21, 2008
World traveler
While at the Luci Ctr. on Saturday, I found out that the farm's director, "P", was leaving this week for a 4-week trip to New Zealand. I'm envious!
She's going alone, meeting up with 14 other people for the adventure of a lifetime. Backpacking, sea-kyaking (sp?), I think she mentioned mountain climbing too.
After our chores were done and "C" & I were headed home, we were talking about P's trip and how we both would love to travel to Australia/New Zealand some day. This of course brought about a discussion of places we had visited in our lifetimes and where we still wanted to visit before we die. C had been to Hawaii, twice I think, Spain, and a couple of other destinations in Europe.
It's no secret that my retirment dream (still a long ways off) is to sell the house, buy an RV and see the entire USA... Hawaii of course will have to be reached by boat or by plane. I've been to Vancouver, BC, and would some day like to go back for a real vacation, as that trip was business.
I'd also like to add Germany (for heritage reasons), Italy (for the food and scenery), and Costa Rica (for the scenery).
Maybe someday I'll reach some, if not all of my destinations... maybe if I start playing the lottery.
In the meantime, I'll keep emailing and blogging with others from abroad, and I can have a virtual vacation through the lives they lead.
She's going alone, meeting up with 14 other people for the adventure of a lifetime. Backpacking, sea-kyaking (sp?), I think she mentioned mountain climbing too.
After our chores were done and "C" & I were headed home, we were talking about P's trip and how we both would love to travel to Australia/New Zealand some day. This of course brought about a discussion of places we had visited in our lifetimes and where we still wanted to visit before we die. C had been to Hawaii, twice I think, Spain, and a couple of other destinations in Europe.
It's no secret that my retirment dream (still a long ways off) is to sell the house, buy an RV and see the entire USA... Hawaii of course will have to be reached by boat or by plane. I've been to Vancouver, BC, and would some day like to go back for a real vacation, as that trip was business.
I'd also like to add Germany (for heritage reasons), Italy (for the food and scenery), and Costa Rica (for the scenery).
Maybe someday I'll reach some, if not all of my destinations... maybe if I start playing the lottery.
In the meantime, I'll keep emailing and blogging with others from abroad, and I can have a virtual vacation through the lives they lead.
Zack
Friday evening, the husband & I went out to dinner. I'd missed an incoming call on my cell phone while at physical therapy, but was waiting 'til after dinner to return the call. I didn't get that chance as the caller called again while we were at dinner. It was Zack's parents. Remember Zack the Great Dane? My newest "step-child"?
His owners were finally coming to the realization that they were too old and feeble to be taking care of a dog like that. The man literally offered Zack to me as soon as we got our "hellos" out of the way. I was stunned. It broke my heart, because I'd love nothing more than to make Zack a member of our family. I fell in love with him the first time I laid eyes upon him when he was just a few days old, and he is one of the sweetest danes I've ever encountered in my life. But thankfully, common sense won out over my heartstrings and I had to decline his offer. I already have three danes, and simply do NOT have room for another.
But the old man was at his wits end. Zack was acting up again, refusing to come into the house. He'd already spent several hours outside, and it was going to get much colder that night. I told him we'd come over after we'd finished with dinner and either help get him into the house, or else we'd load Zack into our car and make the long drive out to the breeders to return the dog to her. I knew she didn't have room for Zack either, as she has a full kennel right now, but as he was originally one of her pups, he was her responsibility, not mine.
Fortunately, after 1/2 hour of nonsense, we were able to corral Zack back into the house. There is something in their house, more specifically the mudroom that he enters/exits through, that this is terrified of. I don't know what it is, and even asked if the house was haunted. It's a very old log cabin that's been added on to, so anything is possible. The old lady seemed rather stunned that I wasn't taking Zack with us when we left, but I told her I couldn't. But gave them firm instructions to keep him inside the rest of the night and not let him out 'til Saturday morning. If at that time he refused to come in, then he could stay outside 'til evening came when I could come back for him.
It took me 'til 10pm to finally get a hold of the breeder and apprise her of the situation. I could feel the weight of the world crashing in on her and she finally told me everything that was going on in her world. One of her young bitches, Sadie (who is a litter-sister to Zack) was recently diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Totally unheard of in danes, much less one so young. She told me how the dog is totally emaciated right now. They are trying some meds right now to see if that helps the situation, but if not, then she's talking of putting Sadie down, not wanting her to suffer. I agree, and it breaks my heart, not only for Sadie, but for my friend as well.
For now, Zack is behaving and still with his family, but we're desperately trying to find Zack a new home with a younger family that has the energy to take care of a 14 month old dane.
The old man has already asked me to come back and work with Zack on obedience, which, assuming he still has the dog when the weather gets nicer, I will do, but I have to fight an overwhelming urge to hit him over the head (the old man, not the dog) for not letting me take the dog to obedience school when I wanted to.
His owners were finally coming to the realization that they were too old and feeble to be taking care of a dog like that. The man literally offered Zack to me as soon as we got our "hellos" out of the way. I was stunned. It broke my heart, because I'd love nothing more than to make Zack a member of our family. I fell in love with him the first time I laid eyes upon him when he was just a few days old, and he is one of the sweetest danes I've ever encountered in my life. But thankfully, common sense won out over my heartstrings and I had to decline his offer. I already have three danes, and simply do NOT have room for another.
But the old man was at his wits end. Zack was acting up again, refusing to come into the house. He'd already spent several hours outside, and it was going to get much colder that night. I told him we'd come over after we'd finished with dinner and either help get him into the house, or else we'd load Zack into our car and make the long drive out to the breeders to return the dog to her. I knew she didn't have room for Zack either, as she has a full kennel right now, but as he was originally one of her pups, he was her responsibility, not mine.
Fortunately, after 1/2 hour of nonsense, we were able to corral Zack back into the house. There is something in their house, more specifically the mudroom that he enters/exits through, that this is terrified of. I don't know what it is, and even asked if the house was haunted. It's a very old log cabin that's been added on to, so anything is possible. The old lady seemed rather stunned that I wasn't taking Zack with us when we left, but I told her I couldn't. But gave them firm instructions to keep him inside the rest of the night and not let him out 'til Saturday morning. If at that time he refused to come in, then he could stay outside 'til evening came when I could come back for him.
It took me 'til 10pm to finally get a hold of the breeder and apprise her of the situation. I could feel the weight of the world crashing in on her and she finally told me everything that was going on in her world. One of her young bitches, Sadie (who is a litter-sister to Zack) was recently diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Totally unheard of in danes, much less one so young. She told me how the dog is totally emaciated right now. They are trying some meds right now to see if that helps the situation, but if not, then she's talking of putting Sadie down, not wanting her to suffer. I agree, and it breaks my heart, not only for Sadie, but for my friend as well.
For now, Zack is behaving and still with his family, but we're desperately trying to find Zack a new home with a younger family that has the energy to take care of a 14 month old dane.
The old man has already asked me to come back and work with Zack on obedience, which, assuming he still has the dog when the weather gets nicer, I will do, but I have to fight an overwhelming urge to hit him over the head (the old man, not the dog) for not letting me take the dog to obedience school when I wanted to.
Life's a bowl of cherries
Life is like a bowl of cherry, and sometimes you get the pits.
This is Pete thy Clydesdale. Such a big baby!!
And by now you should all know this handsome fella... This is Sampson "the wonder horse!" He's such a sweetheart, and quite a ham too. I can always get him to tilt his head as if to say "please" as he tries to coax a treat from me.
Saturday started off so good. Cherry you might say. I met my friend Donna at 9am to give blood. Alas, I didn't give because I found out as I was walking into the door of the Red Cross that my father's surgery has been delayed, so I'll hold off 'til a date has been firmly set. However, Donna came through like a trooper. We drove to a new cafe that had recently opened up in a nearby shopping center, and had a most scrumptious brunch. I can't wait to go back there. Bountiful Bread is the name of the place, and I think it would be hard to be disappointed. It was nice to visit with her, and the time flew by 'til it was time to go.
I'd been having a craving for spaghetti all week, even started to prepare one evening, only to discover I had no sauce in the cabinet. I knew Kroger was having a sale on Ragu, 10 jars for $10. I'm not a Ragu fan, preferring Prego, but for that price, I'd get it. I do love the Ragu cheese sauce, and 7 of my 10 jars were that. I went through the self-scan, my grocery bill came up to $10 even, which I paid. As I was leaving the store, I found a $10 bill.
Hmmm, there hadn't been anyone standing around or just having walked through that area that I saw. I suppose I could turn it into the customer service counter, but I somehow doubted someone would go there looking to see if it had been turned in. I weighed my choices and decided finders-keepers. So basically my groceries ended up being free. SWEET!
Before you start chastising me, I did have some guilt over my find. But seriously, if you had lost the money, would you have asked customer service if anyone had turned it in? For that amount, I doubt it. Now honestly, if it had been say, $50 or more, I'd have turned it in without another thought, & had I been the one to lose that amount, I'd have gone inquiring. But I think anything under $50 is fair game in such circumstances. And my guilt has since subsided. By the way, the free spaghetti sauce we had for dinner Saturday night was delicious!!
Life continued to be cherry.
The high temperature of about 28 degrees had long since come and gone, and even the though the sun was shining brightly, the temperature was dropping. I feared we'd freeze our buns off at the farm. As I headed home to bundle up, I came across this sight...
Pigeons, normally sitting side-by-side on the power-lines, were huddled together on the side of the overpass. There looked to be hundreds of them, and the overpass seemed to have a life of it's own as they moved and jockeyed for position to stay warm. It always amazes me that birds don't freeze to death in this weather. At the very least, it would seem that their feet or beaks would succumb to the frigid temperatures.
We made it to the farm and bundled up. Even though it was now down in the teens, the sun continued to shine and with the absence of wind, it was actually very tolerable outside, as long as your skin wasn't exposed. Take the gloves off and it didn't take long for the hands to get cold.
I was able to get a few photos of my equestrian "step-children".
This is 
Johnny, a.k.a. Pinky. You can't tell it from the photo, but he's an Appaloosa. His rump spots are few. He's been sent away to school several times, but nobody seems to be having much luck in his training, for the centers purposes. He now belongs to one of the volunteers and is being re-trained, using the clicker-method
.
Johnny, a.k.a. Pinky. You can't tell it from the photo, but he's an Appaloosa. His rump spots are few. He's been sent away to school several times, but nobody seems to be having much luck in his training, for the centers purposes. He now belongs to one of the volunteers and is being re-trained, using the clicker-method
. This muddy boy is Cappy. A retired thoroughbred. He was being a bit camera-shy and only wanting to show me his backside.
This is Pete thy Clydesdale. Such a big baby!!
And by now you should all know this handsome fella... This is Sampson "the wonder horse!" He's such a sweetheart, and quite a ham too. I can always get him to tilt his head as if to say "please" as he tries to coax a treat from me.
Yep, Saturday was totally cherry.
Then came Sunday, and it was the pits. The temperatures had dipped down to 6 degrees overnight, and the plumbing to our shower froze, as it seems to do at least once every winter. Grrr! I settled for washing my hair in the sink to rid myself of bedhead, then set about doing laundry and running the vac. In between loads of wash, I managed to get in three bouts of aerobics. Ugh, as sweaty as I was by the end of the day, I was in desperate need of a shower. I informed the husband we were going to have to go to the firehouse after dinner so that we could bathe. Grumble, grumble. We were letting dinner settle before heading to the firehouse, when all of a sudden, I thought I heard a noise. I hit the tv's mute button and cocked my head, trying to pick the noise out over the running clothes washer/dryer. Ah, could it be? I thought I heard running water. I nearly skipped to the bathroom. Yes Virginia there is a Santa Claus! The water was flowing freely from the faucet now. **a sigh of relief** I wasted no time getting into the shower. I prefer my showers in the morning... some people need coffee to wake them up, I need a good hot shower... but I didn't want to chance it freezing up again overnight.
So the weekend turned out to be more cherry than pits after all!
2nd hand smoker
I grew up being a 2nd-hand smoker. Not by choice, but because my parents, both of my grandfathers, all three of my mother's sisters, and virtually everyone else around me it seemed, smoked. I had no choice.
I was reading a blog written by my friend's father, where he described his 45 year addiction to the horrible things. He's now been 12 years without one, but I dare say, his desire is probably still there, and just like an alcoholic, he has to take it one day at a time to avoid falling back into his old habits. I wish him (and everyone else who has kicked the habit) much continued success.
When I was young, both of my parents smoked. Salems, as I recall. As far back as I can remember, I hated the clouds of menthol-tainted smoke I was forced to inhale. It made it difficult to breath and irritated my eyes something fierce.
Eventually, my mother did quit, as I recall it was sometime after my sister was born. My father continued to puff away. After a few more years, he announced to us that he had quit smoking too. But we soon discovered otherwise. My father had become a "closet" smoker, only smoking when he was alone in his car, perhaps at work, and when he came home at lunch (we were all at school or at work), he would sneak a cigarette. How did we discover his nasty habit? He wasn't very good at covering his butt(s). I found an ashtray full of butts hidden under his favorite chair one day and called him on it. I think he tried denying it, but we all knew better. Some time later I found an ashtray full of butts hidden on the top shelf of a supply closet out in the utility room. Again, he tried to deny it, but again, we knew better.
I think he did eventually give them up. At least, I haven't seen him smoke a cigarette, or found any evidence of him sneaking one in probably 25 years.
As for my own smoking habits, well, there was a brief time when I was 17 that I took up the habit, despite the fact that the smoke bothered me. The guy I was dating smoked, so I suppose I felt if I couldn't beat him, I'd join him. The relationship didn't last long, although I continued to smoke for a few more weeks. I finally decided I was being insane and dropped the habit.
On a couple of rare occasions since then, I've smoked, such as when we're on a camping trip. I was already sitting around a campfire, surrounded by smoke, so figured, what the heck? But it's been many, many, many years since I've done that.
I'm still surrounded by smokers, at my job. Blessedly, the day I was hired, my boss banned them in the work-place, only allowing them in the garage (of course, he can still go in his apartment and light up). It's been an on-going debate around here. I still complain that I can smell his smoke coming from the apartment. He thinks I'm making it up, but I'm not. Not to mention the stale cigarette smell that lingers in their clothes. I hate it when they stand next to me at my desk. I have to fight the urge to visibly shudder and gag. They don't notice the odor because they are used to it. But to a non-smoker such as myself, it's very offensive.
I cheered when restaurants and many other businesses went smoke-free. Yes, people have a right to smoke, but by that same token, I (and other non-smokers) have a right to breath clean air.
I was reading a blog written by my friend's father, where he described his 45 year addiction to the horrible things. He's now been 12 years without one, but I dare say, his desire is probably still there, and just like an alcoholic, he has to take it one day at a time to avoid falling back into his old habits. I wish him (and everyone else who has kicked the habit) much continued success.
When I was young, both of my parents smoked. Salems, as I recall. As far back as I can remember, I hated the clouds of menthol-tainted smoke I was forced to inhale. It made it difficult to breath and irritated my eyes something fierce.
Eventually, my mother did quit, as I recall it was sometime after my sister was born. My father continued to puff away. After a few more years, he announced to us that he had quit smoking too. But we soon discovered otherwise. My father had become a "closet" smoker, only smoking when he was alone in his car, perhaps at work, and when he came home at lunch (we were all at school or at work), he would sneak a cigarette. How did we discover his nasty habit? He wasn't very good at covering his butt(s). I found an ashtray full of butts hidden under his favorite chair one day and called him on it. I think he tried denying it, but we all knew better. Some time later I found an ashtray full of butts hidden on the top shelf of a supply closet out in the utility room. Again, he tried to deny it, but again, we knew better.
I think he did eventually give them up. At least, I haven't seen him smoke a cigarette, or found any evidence of him sneaking one in probably 25 years.
As for my own smoking habits, well, there was a brief time when I was 17 that I took up the habit, despite the fact that the smoke bothered me. The guy I was dating smoked, so I suppose I felt if I couldn't beat him, I'd join him. The relationship didn't last long, although I continued to smoke for a few more weeks. I finally decided I was being insane and dropped the habit.
On a couple of rare occasions since then, I've smoked, such as when we're on a camping trip. I was already sitting around a campfire, surrounded by smoke, so figured, what the heck? But it's been many, many, many years since I've done that.
I'm still surrounded by smokers, at my job. Blessedly, the day I was hired, my boss banned them in the work-place, only allowing them in the garage (of course, he can still go in his apartment and light up). It's been an on-going debate around here. I still complain that I can smell his smoke coming from the apartment. He thinks I'm making it up, but I'm not. Not to mention the stale cigarette smell that lingers in their clothes. I hate it when they stand next to me at my desk. I have to fight the urge to visibly shudder and gag. They don't notice the odor because they are used to it. But to a non-smoker such as myself, it's very offensive.
I cheered when restaurants and many other businesses went smoke-free. Yes, people have a right to smoke, but by that same token, I (and other non-smokers) have a right to breath clean air.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Life & Death
I've been in this business for over 15 years now, and it still continues to amaze me ('though I know not why) the way deaths tend to happen in clusters. Seriously.
We can go along for 10 days or even several weeks without a single funeral call, then WHAM!, we suddenly get slammed. Such is the case now. We've had no new calls for well over a week, then darned if we weren't hit with three of them in one afternoon yesterday. What gives? All three people died from different causes, at three separate hospitals, so it's not like we could blame it on a single hospital having a poor quality of staff yesterday.
Ask anybody in this business and they'll tell you what I say is true.
Even when I worked at the cemetery, things truly did seem to happen in three's, and they continue to be that way. Totally wierd!!!
We can go along for 10 days or even several weeks without a single funeral call, then WHAM!, we suddenly get slammed. Such is the case now. We've had no new calls for well over a week, then darned if we weren't hit with three of them in one afternoon yesterday. What gives? All three people died from different causes, at three separate hospitals, so it's not like we could blame it on a single hospital having a poor quality of staff yesterday.
Ask anybody in this business and they'll tell you what I say is true.
Even when I worked at the cemetery, things truly did seem to happen in three's, and they continue to be that way. Totally wierd!!!
Weekend preview
Brrrr!!!
Need I say more?
The weatherman is predicting a frigidly cold weekend. High temps of about 25 degrees, low of about 6. My teeth are chattering at the prospects of it.
I suppose if I were staying home, it wouldn't be a problem. Just dress warm and settle in with the 4-legged children. But alas, I do have plans.
I'm meeting an ol' school chum at 9am at the Red Cross. She's donating blood to help out my family, for my father's upcoming surgery, which has now finally been scheduled for the 29th of Jan. I had every intention of donating tomorrow morning too, but now my mother tells me to wait a few days because she's got to get some kind of paperwork from the doctor so I can be a direct-donor. So whether I can or can't donate, I'll still meet Donna, for moral support as she's never done this before. Then we're going to brunch afterwards.
Of course there is my usual Saturday afternoon plan to go to The Luci Center. That's what is really making me think BRRRRRRR!! I'm wondering how many layers of clothing I manage to get on underneath my coveralls, and still be able to zip them up, and still be able to movie without looking like a zombie and scaring the horses? Actually, if it's just cold and the wind doesn't blow or there's no precipitation, then I think I can deal with it. We're constantly moving, so that helps. Hopefully the ground will be frozen and not quite so sloppy for a change, and I can wear normal boots instead of those rubber ones that nearly get sucked off my foot every time I tread through the muck in the pasture.
I don't know whether or not I mentioned before or not, that we suspected one of the mares was expecting a foal. The vet checked her last week and she is NOT... she's just getting fat and carrying it low. Also, one of the other mares that had developed a bit of lameness a couple of weeks ago was also checked, and it turns out she has some kind of fracture in her leg. I hope it's nothing too serious and will heal nicely.
For now, Sunday is still open, aside from being laundry day. I really should get my act together and work on my scrapbook stuff. I haven't touched it in quite a while and it's sporting some dust. Must get motivated.
Need I say more?
The weatherman is predicting a frigidly cold weekend. High temps of about 25 degrees, low of about 6. My teeth are chattering at the prospects of it.
I suppose if I were staying home, it wouldn't be a problem. Just dress warm and settle in with the 4-legged children. But alas, I do have plans.
I'm meeting an ol' school chum at 9am at the Red Cross. She's donating blood to help out my family, for my father's upcoming surgery, which has now finally been scheduled for the 29th of Jan. I had every intention of donating tomorrow morning too, but now my mother tells me to wait a few days because she's got to get some kind of paperwork from the doctor so I can be a direct-donor. So whether I can or can't donate, I'll still meet Donna, for moral support as she's never done this before. Then we're going to brunch afterwards.
Of course there is my usual Saturday afternoon plan to go to The Luci Center. That's what is really making me think BRRRRRRR!! I'm wondering how many layers of clothing I manage to get on underneath my coveralls, and still be able to zip them up, and still be able to movie without looking like a zombie and scaring the horses? Actually, if it's just cold and the wind doesn't blow or there's no precipitation, then I think I can deal with it. We're constantly moving, so that helps. Hopefully the ground will be frozen and not quite so sloppy for a change, and I can wear normal boots instead of those rubber ones that nearly get sucked off my foot every time I tread through the muck in the pasture.
I don't know whether or not I mentioned before or not, that we suspected one of the mares was expecting a foal. The vet checked her last week and she is NOT... she's just getting fat and carrying it low. Also, one of the other mares that had developed a bit of lameness a couple of weeks ago was also checked, and it turns out she has some kind of fracture in her leg. I hope it's nothing too serious and will heal nicely.
For now, Sunday is still open, aside from being laundry day. I really should get my act together and work on my scrapbook stuff. I haven't touched it in quite a while and it's sporting some dust. Must get motivated.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Are your panties in a wad?
As I mentioned in a blog earlier this morning, the men in my life (namely: my husband and my boss) have been very cranky. My husband I attribute to having started a new diet Tuesday night and 24 hours into it, he's turned moody as all get-out. Can't wait to see what his temperament is when I get home this evening.
The boss, now that's a different story. I know I'm not supposed to blog about my co-workers, but basically the rule is: I can't blog bad things about them, or my low opinions of them (if I have one...). So what I'm about to blog isn't a bad opinion, just stating a fact, and then wondering how on earth this happens. That having been said...
The boss was incredibly cranky this morning. I don't take his crankiness personally, instead, just rolling my eyes with a "whatever!" and let it go, as I know he'll get over his issue eventually. And get over it he did. After an hour or so of grumbling and griping this morning, he went into his apartment then came back out a short while later, seeming almost jovial. I wondered if he'd found some happy-pills and taken some. But I continued to ignore him until he apologized for having been a grump and put the question to me:
boss: Do you know why I was so cranky?
me: Um, no.
boss: Do you promise not to laugh at me if I tell you?
me: Um, no, I can't make that promise.
I continued to stare at my computer screen while he hesitated for a moment then finally blurted out the reason.
boss: I had my underwear on backwards.
How do you respond to that? I didn't say anything, just bit my lip and kept staring at the computer.
boss: Aren't you going to laugh at me?
Me: No, it's not worth the effort.
Okay, seriously folks, how do you, scratch that, how do men put their underwear on backwards. Women I could see, their's are very similar front and back. But men? Theirs have the flap, or easy-access slot thingy. How do you accidentally put that in back? Seriously, with that extra layer of material back there, I would think their undies truly would be in a wad.
So this evening when I get home, if the husband is in another of his cranky moods, I'm going to ask him if his underwear are on backwards.
The boss, now that's a different story. I know I'm not supposed to blog about my co-workers, but basically the rule is: I can't blog bad things about them, or my low opinions of them (if I have one...). So what I'm about to blog isn't a bad opinion, just stating a fact, and then wondering how on earth this happens. That having been said...
The boss was incredibly cranky this morning. I don't take his crankiness personally, instead, just rolling my eyes with a "whatever!" and let it go, as I know he'll get over his issue eventually. And get over it he did. After an hour or so of grumbling and griping this morning, he went into his apartment then came back out a short while later, seeming almost jovial. I wondered if he'd found some happy-pills and taken some. But I continued to ignore him until he apologized for having been a grump and put the question to me:
boss: Do you know why I was so cranky?
me: Um, no.
boss: Do you promise not to laugh at me if I tell you?
me: Um, no, I can't make that promise.
I continued to stare at my computer screen while he hesitated for a moment then finally blurted out the reason.
boss: I had my underwear on backwards.
How do you respond to that? I didn't say anything, just bit my lip and kept staring at the computer.
boss: Aren't you going to laugh at me?
Me: No, it's not worth the effort.
Okay, seriously folks, how do you, scratch that, how do men put their underwear on backwards. Women I could see, their's are very similar front and back. But men? Theirs have the flap, or easy-access slot thingy. How do you accidentally put that in back? Seriously, with that extra layer of material back there, I would think their undies truly would be in a wad.
So this evening when I get home, if the husband is in another of his cranky moods, I'm going to ask him if his underwear are on backwards.
No Kidding!
Several years ago, I came across an article in the newspaper about a man that had started an organization called "No Kidding!". The article's content totally piqued my curiosity. I wrote to the groups founder asking for more information and to find out if there was a local chapter of No Kidding in my area.
Alas, I think the closest chapter was in Chicago. He sent me some start-up information for forming my own chapter. But back then I wasn't one to take much initiative, so I let my thoughts of joining No Kidding! die down and eventually forgot about it... for the most part. Every once in a great while, something would happen in my life that would again make me think back to that organization, but I never looked into it anymore. That is, until today.
No Kidding is still out there and going strong. Unfortunately, there are still no chapters in Kentucky or Indiana, with Chicago still being the closest. I keep wondering if it would be worth my while to try and start a chapter here locally.
Would it be a waste of my time? Are their others interested in this group too? Well, I know there are plenty of people out there that share the interest, it's just a matter of whether or not they'd be interested in joining the "club", so to speak.
I need to give this some more thought, and I guess talk-it-up among some of my fellow childless peers to get their input.
If anyone is interested, here's the organizations website: http://www.nokidding.net/
Alas, I think the closest chapter was in Chicago. He sent me some start-up information for forming my own chapter. But back then I wasn't one to take much initiative, so I let my thoughts of joining No Kidding! die down and eventually forgot about it... for the most part. Every once in a great while, something would happen in my life that would again make me think back to that organization, but I never looked into it anymore. That is, until today.
No Kidding is still out there and going strong. Unfortunately, there are still no chapters in Kentucky or Indiana, with Chicago still being the closest. I keep wondering if it would be worth my while to try and start a chapter here locally.
Would it be a waste of my time? Are their others interested in this group too? Well, I know there are plenty of people out there that share the interest, it's just a matter of whether or not they'd be interested in joining the "club", so to speak.
I need to give this some more thought, and I guess talk-it-up among some of my fellow childless peers to get their input.
If anyone is interested, here's the organizations website: http://www.nokidding.net/
Great Dane - Memory Lane
I was just reading Chelsea-the-dane's website, going back to it's inception and following along with her owner's quest. Much of it made me smile, either because I know only too well what she is/was going through, or because of all the things she has yet to experience as a first-time dane owner. I did some of the same research, although I give her credit for doing much more, in-depth research. While I did research the breed, I'm a bit ashamed perhaps that we didn't research breeders, instead purchasing from a backyard breeder that had run an ad in the local newspaper. Don't get me wrong, I've no regrets over our purchase. We loved (still do) Smokey very much, and I'm even getting teary-eyed as I type this because I miss him so, even though he's been gone for over 4 years. He wasn't a high-quality dane, physically that is, but I'd match his intelligence and gentleness to any dog out there. And as he was our only dog at the time, he was very socialized. He went EVERYWHERE with us. I can't say the same for the three we have now. When you have that many, it's just impossible.
This picture of Smokey was taken when he was 4. It was Christmas Eve 1999. Our friends were getting their son a golden retriever for Christmas and we puppy-sat 'til Christmas morning. Smokey was quite infatuated with the pup.
I believe fate stepped in by the time we were ready for our second dane. We'd been talking about maybe, perhaps getting another, but hadn't really decided for sure. Our next door neighbor rides the bus to work and had met a fellow rider. They struck up a conversation one day and she discovered that the lady bred and showed Great Danes. Our neighbor told me of this conversation so I had her get the woman's name and phone number. All I can say is, the rest is history!
It's been a little over 6 years since my first conversation with Genia
and in that time we've become fast friends. We've since become canine-parents to four of her Danes, and as many of you know, I've become her kennel-sitter when she's out of town at dogshows. I don't always agree with Genia's line of thought on vet-care, vaccinations and some rearing procedures, but to each their own. I still respect her opinion and look to her for guidance when needed. Also, if it weren't for her, I'd probably never have gotten involved with The Luci Center, and you know how passionate I am about that.
It's hard to believe that
Kesley, 7 mos. old in this picture, would've just turned 6 last month. I weep for her. I weep for her life being cut so short, for the torture she went through with her Wobblers Syndrome. I miss our intimate moments together. She was so passive. When the weather was nice, every Sunday morning I'd spread a blanket on the front lawn where we'd lie together and I'd give her a fresh coat of nail polish. She was the ultimate girly-girl dog.
While I wouldn't trade the 3 I have now for anything in the world, there are some advantages to only having 1 or 2 at a time.
Chelsea's mom, I wish you all the best in your new adventure as a dane-mom.
This picture of Smokey was taken when he was 4. It was Christmas Eve 1999. Our friends were getting their son a golden retriever for Christmas and we puppy-sat 'til Christmas morning. Smokey was quite infatuated with the pup.I believe fate stepped in by the time we were ready for our second dane. We'd been talking about maybe, perhaps getting another, but hadn't really decided for sure. Our next door neighbor rides the bus to work and had met a fellow rider. They struck up a conversation one day and she discovered that the lady bred and showed Great Danes. Our neighbor told me of this conversation so I had her get the woman's name and phone number. All I can say is, the rest is history!
It's been a little over 6 years since my first conversation with Genia
and in that time we've become fast friends. We've since become canine-parents to four of her Danes, and as many of you know, I've become her kennel-sitter when she's out of town at dogshows. I don't always agree with Genia's line of thought on vet-care, vaccinations and some rearing procedures, but to each their own. I still respect her opinion and look to her for guidance when needed. Also, if it weren't for her, I'd probably never have gotten involved with The Luci Center, and you know how passionate I am about that.
It's hard to believe that
Kesley, 7 mos. old in this picture, would've just turned 6 last month. I weep for her. I weep for her life being cut so short, for the torture she went through with her Wobblers Syndrome. I miss our intimate moments together. She was so passive. When the weather was nice, every Sunday morning I'd spread a blanket on the front lawn where we'd lie together and I'd give her a fresh coat of nail polish. She was the ultimate girly-girl dog.
While I wouldn't trade the 3 I have now for anything in the world, there are some advantages to only having 1 or 2 at a time.
Chelsea's mom, I wish you all the best in your new adventure as a dane-mom.
shopping LTD
I've been shopping from the LTD Commodities catalog for years. I curse the day I ever started!
Most of the time it's no hassle. Some of the time you can find some bargains, but then of course they can get you on the shipping charges. That's where a lot of the cost come in to play.
If you get an item and decide you don't want it for whatever reason, then returns are usually no problem, as long as you again don't mind paying through the nose for shipping costs. I accept this. It's the risk you take for order from a catalog or on-line.
Here's where I have a problem.
If they ship me an item that is defective, then don't you think they should be the ones paying the return shipping charges??? Why should I have to pay them, twice!?!?!?
I've emailed their customer service twice now, pleading my case. Of course they say allow up to 48 hours for a response, so I'm now going to have to wait at least 2 more days. This time I gave them an ultimatum... send me a pre-paid return label or else I keep the item and not pay for it. Their choice. They may cut-off my shopping privileges after this. But somehow I don't think that would be the worst thing in the world to have happen.
Most of the time it's no hassle. Some of the time you can find some bargains, but then of course they can get you on the shipping charges. That's where a lot of the cost come in to play.
If you get an item and decide you don't want it for whatever reason, then returns are usually no problem, as long as you again don't mind paying through the nose for shipping costs. I accept this. It's the risk you take for order from a catalog or on-line.
Here's where I have a problem.
If they ship me an item that is defective, then don't you think they should be the ones paying the return shipping charges??? Why should I have to pay them, twice!?!?!?
I've emailed their customer service twice now, pleading my case. Of course they say allow up to 48 hours for a response, so I'm now going to have to wait at least 2 more days. This time I gave them an ultimatum... send me a pre-paid return label or else I keep the item and not pay for it. Their choice. They may cut-off my shopping privileges after this. But somehow I don't think that would be the worst thing in the world to have happen.
That time of the month??
Arghhh! Is it that time of the month for men? Good grief, every man I've crossed pathes with in the past 24 hours have just been cranky and moody as all get-out. What gives?
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
I'm beating a dead horse again
Like the old saying goes, "if you spare the rod, you spoil the child". I find this to be oh-so-true in too many cases.
When and why did spanking become such a crime? I'm not talking about beating a child black & blue, but certainly a good spanking can do a lot of good. I got them as a child, and I like to think that they did me some good.
Many parents these days refuse to spank, instead following the time-out rule. I don't have a problem with time-outs, except that the place most children are sent to serve out their punishment is full of luxuries and distractions, that it isn't much of a punishment.
And when did saying "no" to a child become a crime? There are more than a few children out there that need to hear it a little more often. I bring all this up (as I've done before & will probably do so again) because of one spoiled little chippy I encountered at physical therapy the other day.
This girl was approx. 14-15 yrs. old, pretty, with beautiful long dark hair, too die for skin tone and complexion. She obviously wanted for nothing, except maybe a trip behind the wood shed!! This girl gave spoiled a whole new meaning.
She wore a (private)school uniform, which reads: expensive tuition. Had perfectly French-manicured nails, which reads: is pampered. And had an i-phone.
The doctor had given her some instructions on some exercises he wanted her to do, and turned to tell the p.t. tech what he wanted her to do. While he had his back to her, she stood making faces and mimicking the doctor. I wanted to jump up out of my seat and slap the taste out of her mouth. She less than half-assedly did the exercises, nearly falling onto me once during her boar-assing around. At one point she even smarted off to the p.t. tech. She spent a fraction of the time on them she was supposed to, then went and plopped her arse down in a chair. By the time I'd gone over and sat down near her, the doctor was sitting in a chair in between us, chastising her for not taking things seriously. Her mother stood there in front of her with a look that seemed to say: yes, yes, listen to the doctor, he's absolutely right!
The doctor had no sooner said his last word to the girl than she turned to look up at mommy-dearest and ask, "can we have Dominoes for dinner?" Obviously everything the doctor had said went in one ear and out the other. Again, I wanted to slap the taste out of her mouth.
Rude, disrespectful brat!! And of course mommy-dearest said, "yes, we can get Dominoes."
ARGHHH!! Damn it woman! Say NO to her once in a while. Here's a thought, tell her "I'm sorry, but we're going home and you are going to fix dinner for us."
The doctor actually turned to me and apologized that I'd had to sit and listen to all of that.
Honestly though, if some of these parents would set some limits and stop bowing to their child's every whim, maybe our society wouldn't be headed down the toilet as it seems to be.
Please, before all parents start sending me hate mail, I know that not all of you fit into this category. For those of you that are raising your children right (and I applaud you!), just take me with a grain of salt.
When and why did spanking become such a crime? I'm not talking about beating a child black & blue, but certainly a good spanking can do a lot of good. I got them as a child, and I like to think that they did me some good.
Many parents these days refuse to spank, instead following the time-out rule. I don't have a problem with time-outs, except that the place most children are sent to serve out their punishment is full of luxuries and distractions, that it isn't much of a punishment.
And when did saying "no" to a child become a crime? There are more than a few children out there that need to hear it a little more often. I bring all this up (as I've done before & will probably do so again) because of one spoiled little chippy I encountered at physical therapy the other day.
This girl was approx. 14-15 yrs. old, pretty, with beautiful long dark hair, too die for skin tone and complexion. She obviously wanted for nothing, except maybe a trip behind the wood shed!! This girl gave spoiled a whole new meaning.
She wore a (private)school uniform, which reads: expensive tuition. Had perfectly French-manicured nails, which reads: is pampered. And had an i-phone.
The doctor had given her some instructions on some exercises he wanted her to do, and turned to tell the p.t. tech what he wanted her to do. While he had his back to her, she stood making faces and mimicking the doctor. I wanted to jump up out of my seat and slap the taste out of her mouth. She less than half-assedly did the exercises, nearly falling onto me once during her boar-assing around. At one point she even smarted off to the p.t. tech. She spent a fraction of the time on them she was supposed to, then went and plopped her arse down in a chair. By the time I'd gone over and sat down near her, the doctor was sitting in a chair in between us, chastising her for not taking things seriously. Her mother stood there in front of her with a look that seemed to say: yes, yes, listen to the doctor, he's absolutely right!
The doctor had no sooner said his last word to the girl than she turned to look up at mommy-dearest and ask, "can we have Dominoes for dinner?" Obviously everything the doctor had said went in one ear and out the other. Again, I wanted to slap the taste out of her mouth.
Rude, disrespectful brat!! And of course mommy-dearest said, "yes, we can get Dominoes."
ARGHHH!! Damn it woman! Say NO to her once in a while. Here's a thought, tell her "I'm sorry, but we're going home and you are going to fix dinner for us."
The doctor actually turned to me and apologized that I'd had to sit and listen to all of that.
Honestly though, if some of these parents would set some limits and stop bowing to their child's every whim, maybe our society wouldn't be headed down the toilet as it seems to be.
Please, before all parents start sending me hate mail, I know that not all of you fit into this category. For those of you that are raising your children right (and I applaud you!), just take me with a grain of salt.
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