I've decided that I need to get a sign to carry around, a tattoo for my forehead, business cards to hand out, and a shirt to wear that warns others,
CAUTION: DOES NOT PLAY WELL WITH OTHERS!!
Seriously.
Okay, I admit, I've always been a bit of a loner. I've enjoyed my own company more than others over the years. That's not to say I don't like anybody else or ever enjoy being around others, it's just a statement that I do better on my own than when surrounded by others, especially in a work situation or a "teamwork" scenario.
You would think by now, as long as some people have known me, that they would know this, understand this, and give me a wide berth as much as possible.
I'd love to be more specific on just what it is I'm referring to, but since I'm not s'posed to blog about that 8-hour period of my weekdays, I can't.
My life would be so much simpler, I think I'd be happier, and I know I'd have much less stress if left to my own devices, without interruptions or intrusions for the most senseless of things. Or at the very least, if others would just abide by my wishes and follow some simple rules I've laid out, in writing, posted all over the place. These "rules" aren't just because I'm anal about my stuff (okay, some are, but not all!), but many of these rules are for the benefit of everyone around me. To make things streamlined so that we can all operate more efficiently.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not being completely out of line and mean-spirited here. I don't mind an interruption or intrusion when it's for a valid, necessary reason. But when it's for the same pointless question over and over and over again, or when the other person has the answer to their problem already within their own personal space, but are simply too lazy to look for it because it's easier to bother me, well, then that I have a HUGE problem with.
But I've come to the conclusion that others purposely ignore my rules and do the exact opposite, just for the sake of their own amusement by seeing how long it will take me to blow a gasket.
Is my sanity, or lack there of, really that amusing to them?
You'd think that others around me would want to keep me happy and comply with my rules.
A happy Pitawoman is a calm, productive, efficient, even pleasant person to be around. Because when things are done as they should be, my 8 hours will run more smoothly, I'll be a happier person, which in turn should make others happier that I'm not slamming things around, snapping at them, or putting them on edge. Wouldn't you think we'd all be happier?????
I know, I'm living in a fantasy world to think others would like to see me happy.
I guess I should heed my own words and realize that I have issues and I should learn to deal with them.
But dag nab it, I can dream can't I?????
Okay, it's recess time so I'm going to go play with the other children now, and then have some milk and cookies before taking a nap.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Fabulous weekend!
After picking the husband's car up from the repair shop Friday evening ($850 **gulp**) we drove home and ate must-go's. With it's two new tires, new muffler and tail-pipe, it hums along almost like a new car. Granted, it was sickening to have to pay that amount, but looking on the bright side, it's still cheaper than a new car. Yes, his vehicle's paint job looks like crap and the stuffing is falling out of the driver's seat, but as I pointed out to him, "it's paid for, it still runs pretty well considering it's age, and it gets better mileage than a lot of newer model SUV's in it's size-class. A lot of people would be jealous!" I intend to hold onto his car for as long as possible!
I had every intention of taking my car over Saturday morning to get the oil changed, but as it turned out, my children decided to allow me to sleep in. Believe me, you have no idea what a rare treat that was. I didn't wake up 'til 9:30. By the time I finally did get up and get my act in gear, it was too late to have my car worked on, as I had a 12 o'clock lunch date with some girls I'd graduated high school with.
The four of us sat and talked, laughed, reminisced and passed the time. None of us could believe it when one of us finally looked at her watch and it was 3:40. We moved our conversation to the parking lot for another 20 minutes and finally parted ways at 4pm. We don't get together often, but always have a good time catching up when we do. I came to the realization that I must've lived my life hidden in a corner somewhere. I didn't go to parties or dances (other than prom), went to a few ballgames, but not all. Other than band for 3 years, I didn't participate in after-school activities, so I guess it only stood to reason I'd have been out of the loop on the gossip-mill of fact and fiction that went on in our little town. As story after story was being told, I was constantly going "where was I when this happened??". Either I lead a very sheltered life, or else early Alzheimer's is setting in on me and I've forgotten much of my teen years.
A nasty storm blew threw town that night, lots of thunder and lightening, high winds and a driving rain. Sunday morning dawned very cold. Okay, the thermometer read 40-ish, but with the wind chill, it around 30. Brrr!! I wore shorts to the farm a couple of weeks ago and now I'm back in long-underwear and coveralls. Enough of this crazy weather!!!
The two Chincoteague ponies had returned a few days ago from "obedience school". I say obedience, but honestly, I'm not too sure they learned any manners. They were saddle-broke while away for the past month, and they did learn some verbal commands on certain gaits. Because the new grass that's growing outside is so lush, they are both stall-bound for a while so they don't flounder. So to help burn off their excess energy, they were allowed to run free for a few minutes in the indoor arena. Then I was allowed to exercise each on a lunge-line. I'm still a novice at this, and it's a lot of mental work for me to remember to keep my hands down and closer to my body, and to keep my body positioned just right. I have a tendency to get ahead of the ponies and in effect lead them or cause them to turn in towards me. I am a work in progress, as are they.
My husband's favorite basketball team (and our hometown team) UofL cards got spanked yesterday as they played in the men's NCAA elite-8 game. While I suppose it would've been nice for the hometown to win the championship, I'm honestly kind of glad it's over, now perhaps it won't be the constant topic of conversation everywhere I go and perhaps now my husband will return to his normal self.
I had every intention of taking my car over Saturday morning to get the oil changed, but as it turned out, my children decided to allow me to sleep in. Believe me, you have no idea what a rare treat that was. I didn't wake up 'til 9:30. By the time I finally did get up and get my act in gear, it was too late to have my car worked on, as I had a 12 o'clock lunch date with some girls I'd graduated high school with.
The four of us sat and talked, laughed, reminisced and passed the time. None of us could believe it when one of us finally looked at her watch and it was 3:40. We moved our conversation to the parking lot for another 20 minutes and finally parted ways at 4pm. We don't get together often, but always have a good time catching up when we do. I came to the realization that I must've lived my life hidden in a corner somewhere. I didn't go to parties or dances (other than prom), went to a few ballgames, but not all. Other than band for 3 years, I didn't participate in after-school activities, so I guess it only stood to reason I'd have been out of the loop on the gossip-mill of fact and fiction that went on in our little town. As story after story was being told, I was constantly going "where was I when this happened??". Either I lead a very sheltered life, or else early Alzheimer's is setting in on me and I've forgotten much of my teen years.
A nasty storm blew threw town that night, lots of thunder and lightening, high winds and a driving rain. Sunday morning dawned very cold. Okay, the thermometer read 40-ish, but with the wind chill, it around 30. Brrr!! I wore shorts to the farm a couple of weeks ago and now I'm back in long-underwear and coveralls. Enough of this crazy weather!!!
The two Chincoteague ponies had returned a few days ago from "obedience school". I say obedience, but honestly, I'm not too sure they learned any manners. They were saddle-broke while away for the past month, and they did learn some verbal commands on certain gaits. Because the new grass that's growing outside is so lush, they are both stall-bound for a while so they don't flounder. So to help burn off their excess energy, they were allowed to run free for a few minutes in the indoor arena. Then I was allowed to exercise each on a lunge-line. I'm still a novice at this, and it's a lot of mental work for me to remember to keep my hands down and closer to my body, and to keep my body positioned just right. I have a tendency to get ahead of the ponies and in effect lead them or cause them to turn in towards me. I am a work in progress, as are they.
My husband's favorite basketball team (and our hometown team) UofL cards got spanked yesterday as they played in the men's NCAA elite-8 game. While I suppose it would've been nice for the hometown to win the championship, I'm honestly kind of glad it's over, now perhaps it won't be the constant topic of conversation everywhere I go and perhaps now my husband will return to his normal self.
Friday, March 27, 2009
About last night...
Wanna know how my day went yesterday? If you don't, then go ahead and skip this blog right now. Otherwise, read on...
Things are once again slow at work, so with little to do, I read some and I think may have even dozed at one point. Thankfully, the boss let me go home a half hour early yesterday. Yea!, this game me a little extra time to cook some real dinner instead of just heating up left-overs.
The husband has been wanting me to cut his hair, so I had every intention of getting that done last night. He had worked a 14 hour day on Wednesday, and 1/2 expected to be off work yesterday in order to keep his hours down. So when he was told he needed to be there at 4am Thursday, we both figured he'd run a Sam's load (truck load of soda going to Sam's Club) or two and probably be off work by 10am-ish. Not so.
The husband has been wanting me to cut his hair, so I had every intention of getting that done last night. He had worked a 14 hour day on Wednesday, and 1/2 expected to be off work yesterday in order to keep his hours down. So when he was told he needed to be there at 4am Thursday, we both figured he'd run a Sam's load (truck load of soda going to Sam's Club) or two and probably be off work by 10am-ish. Not so.
He did run his route, then was sent back out on a smaller truck that requires a lot more manual labor that is very physically demanding. They did send him a helper, a guy that had just started and he was to help train. After finishing his route, they then sent John to help another driver that was running in the west-end of our county (not the best or safest of neighborhoods), and was alone. So he went and he helped until he'd run out of hours. It was another 14-hour day. He called me around 7pm to inform me he was on his way home. Needless to say, I'd gotten tired of waiting and had already eaten dinner. His was now cold.
When he finally arrived home sometime after 7:30, I went to the front door to greet him and was somewhat surprised to see his car parked on the street instead of in the driveway. I looked at him and shrugged my question "why is it there?"
His reply, "because he needed to change a tire".
I walked out to look at his car and saw that the passenger side rear tire was not just low on air, it was completely flat.
About a 1/2 mile from the house it had started making that thump-thump-thump sound that a flat tire makes.
He got the jack and lug-wrench out of the car but then was met with yet another problem. The rear hatch on his car has been acting up off and on for the past year or so. It's gotten a bit temperamental about opening. You can hear the lock engage/dis-engage when you push the button, but when you pull the handle, the door remains shut. With his car, you have to be able to get into the rear of it in order to turn a bolt that lowers the spare tire located underneath the car. Complicated, I know.
I called AAA and explained the problem. They sent a guy in a pick-up truck which would've been fine for jump-starting our vehicle had the battery died, or I suppose he could've changed the tire for us had we been able to get to the spare tire, but considering our situation, he was of no use to us, so he called a tow-truck for us. It was now after 8:30, dark out, and John was extremely tired. I told him to go put on warmer clothes and to call his dad to see if we could borrow his car since he doesn't drive anymore. His dad said "ok", but of course we had to drive to J-town to get it. However, we had to wait on the tow-truck first. We sat on the front porch waiting on the tow, and just after 9pm I saw a flat-bad hauler go hauling-ass past our neighborhood entrance. One of two things is going on: either somebody in a nearby neighborhood also was needing assistance and that wasn't our driver I'd just seen, or else (and this is what I was guessing had happened) he was simply driving too fast down the road to pay attention to where he needed to go and he blew right past us. Several minutes passed and he finally approached our house coming from the other direction. When I said something to him about passing us by the first time, he denied it. But after a little cajoling by me, he finally admitted it must've been him I'd seen after all. (Duh!, do ya think?!?!?!?)
The driver loaded up the car on his flat-bed and followed us to the repair shop we always use, located in St. Matthews, then dropped it on the lot. Then we headed to J-town to pick up his dad's car.
It was late when we finally arrived home and I was ever so thankful John didn't have another 2:30 wake-up call. While I hate it that he's had to work some really long hours this week, on the other hand we were glad to have the overtime for a change, as we were going to need it to help pay our taxes that are due in less than 3 weeks. Guess we know now where the o.t. will be going... to pay for some work on his car.
Fortunately, we've always purchased a road-hazard warranty whenever we've put new tires on our vehicles, and I can't begin to tell you how many times that warranty has come in handy and paid for itself time and time again. If they can repair the tire, that'll be fine. If not, and they have to replace it, then he's going to go on and purchase a second tire and keep the remaining good one as a spare, in the event they can't get his rear hatch opened and get the original spare out.
While again, it would've been nice had he worked today, especially since any hours he put in today would've been all overtime pay, I guess it's good that he ended up being off so he could tend to getting his car worked on. It needs an oil change and new muffler as well. Might as well get it all done at once and spend ALL that overtime pay. :(
TGIF everyone!!
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Rollin' rollin' rollin!
Wow, I just checked my St. Baldricks site to see if my own donation had ever hit the donation list. It hasn't (guess turning it in at the event is the slowest way to go), but I was pleasantly surprised at all the donations that have come in over the past few days.
I knew about one of them early on, and two of them I knew about after the event, but there are a couple of others that I had no idea were sponsoring me that have since rolled in.
Aside from my own that I'm still waiting to post, I know of one other that hasn't posted yet.
While my fund-raising efforts this year didn't come anywhere close to matching last years, I've been pleasantly surprised and very thankful for all that have donated. It certainly has surpassed what I was expecting, especially considering my lack of soliciting donors.
A big THANK YOU to everyone who donated!!
I knew about one of them early on, and two of them I knew about after the event, but there are a couple of others that I had no idea were sponsoring me that have since rolled in.
Aside from my own that I'm still waiting to post, I know of one other that hasn't posted yet.
While my fund-raising efforts this year didn't come anywhere close to matching last years, I've been pleasantly surprised and very thankful for all that have donated. It certainly has surpassed what I was expecting, especially considering my lack of soliciting donors.
A big THANK YOU to everyone who donated!!
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Gardening Tips
The following tips came from a magazine article I saved a few months ago. I've not tried any of these yet, so I'm not making any claims that they actually work. Although, I intend to give a few of them a try this summer!
BEETS:
Before planting seeds, spread them on waxed paper and roll them with a rolling pin. This crushes the outside husk, helping the seeds germinate sooner.
SWEET CORN:
When corn starts to silk, put a drop of mineral oil right in the center of the silk. This will keep worms out of the corn.
CABBAGE:
You can easily get 5 or 6 heads from a single plant. Just cut off the first head when mature. Be sure to leave lower leaves attached to the roots. Within a few weeks, you'll notice multiple heads have started to form.
TOMATOES:
Don't like waiting? For earlier fruit on your 'mater plants, check regularly for little shoots (also called "suckers") that appear between the stem and leaf axle. Remove the suckers by pinching between the finger and thumb when they're about 3/4" long. Also, pinch off the top of the plant at the end of summer so that it will ripen fruit instead of growing taller.
WATERING TIPS:
To help save water and avoid fungi that can develop from overhead watering, sink cans with holes punched in the bottom on two sides of the plant. Then fill the cans with water. This way, the moisture goes directly to the roots.
BEETS:
Before planting seeds, spread them on waxed paper and roll them with a rolling pin. This crushes the outside husk, helping the seeds germinate sooner.
SWEET CORN:
When corn starts to silk, put a drop of mineral oil right in the center of the silk. This will keep worms out of the corn.
CABBAGE:
You can easily get 5 or 6 heads from a single plant. Just cut off the first head when mature. Be sure to leave lower leaves attached to the roots. Within a few weeks, you'll notice multiple heads have started to form.
TOMATOES:
Don't like waiting? For earlier fruit on your 'mater plants, check regularly for little shoots (also called "suckers") that appear between the stem and leaf axle. Remove the suckers by pinching between the finger and thumb when they're about 3/4" long. Also, pinch off the top of the plant at the end of summer so that it will ripen fruit instead of growing taller.
WATERING TIPS:
To help save water and avoid fungi that can develop from overhead watering, sink cans with holes punched in the bottom on two sides of the plant. Then fill the cans with water. This way, the moisture goes directly to the roots.
Dancing...
I admit, I've become addicted to Dancing With the Stars. I got hooked, long about week 3 of last season, all because of Cloris Leachman. I had intended to tune in just that one time, to see how well the 80-something year old was fairing, and instead found myself wrapped up in cheering on Warren Sapp & Lance Bass (finished 2nd & 3rd).
Now this season, I find myself cheering on Melissa, Shawn & Gilles(sp?), and the underdog Ty Murray. Steve-O makes me shiver with revulsion, and it dumbfounds me that Apple co-founder Stever whatever-his-last-name-is is still in the running. The man is awful!
A couple of the women have nauseated me with their display of hairy armpits. Not a forest, but still, enough stubble to cast a serious shadow. Not sexy ladies, not sexy at all. Blech!!
As I obviously missed the first several seasons, I truly have no idea who all has competed, other than a small handfull whose names keep popping up on GMK & GMA in the mornings.
So what I'd like to do is compile a list of stars I'd like to see compete in the next couple of seasons (I hope none of them have already competed in the past and I missed it!).
On the mens side:
John Travolta (actor)... yeah, he danced in a couple of movies many decades ago, but could he still compete today???
Howie Long (NFL player and sports commentator)
Lou Ferrigno (body builder, actor)
Kevin James (actor)
Jamie Foxx (actor)
Morgan Freeman (actor)
John Grisham (author)
Chris Noth (actor)
Yanni (composer)
Greg Luganis (olympic diver)
Jessie "the Body" Ventura (pro-wrestler turned politician)
On the womens side:
Beverly Johnson (super model)
Enya (singer/song-writer)
Mary T. Maegher(sp?) (Olympic swimmer)
Ashley Judd (actress)
Chelsey Clinton or Barbara or Jenna Bush (former 1st daughters)
Julia Louise-Dreyfuss (actress)
Bette Midler (singer/actress)
Oprah Winfrey (little bit of everything)
Mia Hamm (soccer player)
Jackie Collins (writer)
Okay, so who would you like to see compete???
Now this season, I find myself cheering on Melissa, Shawn & Gilles(sp?), and the underdog Ty Murray. Steve-O makes me shiver with revulsion, and it dumbfounds me that Apple co-founder Stever whatever-his-last-name-is is still in the running. The man is awful!
A couple of the women have nauseated me with their display of hairy armpits. Not a forest, but still, enough stubble to cast a serious shadow. Not sexy ladies, not sexy at all. Blech!!
As I obviously missed the first several seasons, I truly have no idea who all has competed, other than a small handfull whose names keep popping up on GMK & GMA in the mornings.
So what I'd like to do is compile a list of stars I'd like to see compete in the next couple of seasons (I hope none of them have already competed in the past and I missed it!).
On the mens side:
John Travolta (actor)... yeah, he danced in a couple of movies many decades ago, but could he still compete today???
Howie Long (NFL player and sports commentator)
Lou Ferrigno (body builder, actor)
Kevin James (actor)
Jamie Foxx (actor)
Morgan Freeman (actor)
John Grisham (author)
Chris Noth (actor)
Yanni (composer)
Greg Luganis (olympic diver)
Jessie "the Body" Ventura (pro-wrestler turned politician)
On the womens side:
Beverly Johnson (super model)
Enya (singer/song-writer)
Mary T. Maegher(sp?) (Olympic swimmer)
Ashley Judd (actress)
Chelsey Clinton or Barbara or Jenna Bush (former 1st daughters)
Julia Louise-Dreyfuss (actress)
Bette Midler (singer/actress)
Oprah Winfrey (little bit of everything)
Mia Hamm (soccer player)
Jackie Collins (writer)
Okay, so who would you like to see compete???
Stamp of approval... NOT!
I saw in the news where the cost of a 1st class postage stamp is going up in the next 6 weeks, from .42cents to .44cents. Good grief! Where does it end?
No wonder so many people are turning to paying their bills on-line. Who can afford not to?
I had scaled our xmas card mailing list back some this past year, but I can definitely see me scaling it back even more in the future, if not doing away with it entirely.
I realize the postal service has to make money some how, but .44cents just seems too outrageous to me.
I also heard talk in the news of late that the postal service was contemplating eliminating mail delivery one day a week. Hello!!!, I suggested that very same thing several years ago. Eliminate Wednesdays, that seems to be the day we get the majority of the junk mail and very little important stuff.
Here's a thought too, stop giving special rates to these companies that do bulk mailings. For the most part, they're getting cheaper postage just to flood the system with junk mail that most of us toss directly into the trash without ever looking at. If anything, try making them pay a higher rate of postage.
So it seems the postal service is taking, taking, taking from John & Jane Q. Citizen... when are they going to start giving back? I mean honestly, I'd really like to know when they will deliver all that lost mail they've got stacked up out there somewhere! Better yet, when will they come up with a system to stop losing it in the first place?????
No wonder so many people are turning to paying their bills on-line. Who can afford not to?
I had scaled our xmas card mailing list back some this past year, but I can definitely see me scaling it back even more in the future, if not doing away with it entirely.
I realize the postal service has to make money some how, but .44cents just seems too outrageous to me.
I also heard talk in the news of late that the postal service was contemplating eliminating mail delivery one day a week. Hello!!!, I suggested that very same thing several years ago. Eliminate Wednesdays, that seems to be the day we get the majority of the junk mail and very little important stuff.
Here's a thought too, stop giving special rates to these companies that do bulk mailings. For the most part, they're getting cheaper postage just to flood the system with junk mail that most of us toss directly into the trash without ever looking at. If anything, try making them pay a higher rate of postage.
So it seems the postal service is taking, taking, taking from John & Jane Q. Citizen... when are they going to start giving back? I mean honestly, I'd really like to know when they will deliver all that lost mail they've got stacked up out there somewhere! Better yet, when will they come up with a system to stop losing it in the first place?????
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Nostalgic moment for the week - other pets
Last week I devoted my nostalgic moment to the dogs I've had over the years. I'd like to spend this post mentioning the other pets I've had in my lifetime.
Elmo the kitten. I got him when I was about 8 or 9, but he ran away right after.
Another kitten not too long after him, but again, he ran off as well. I don't even remember that kitty's name.
I gave up on cats for the longest time. Not until 1990 when John and I brought home BJ. I've blogged about BJ in the past, he was the blotched-tabby we rescued from my uncle B's farm. He lived to be 17 before we had him put down.
Pudgey, another blotched tabby came next. She followed us home in 1992. We'd been on vacation in Missouri, and she was a stray that was hanging around outside the condo we were staying in. One night she ran in when we opened the door, and she's been with us ever since.
Billbo & Frodo (fans of The Hobbit should recognize these names). When John & I were living at his dad's house, the mice, shrews, chipmunks and whatnot started to over-run the place after his 2 barncats died from feline leukemia the winter of '93. While we didn't get Billbo & Frodo from the Animal Care Society (because they won't adopt pets out that aren't going to be house-pets and that don't have a fenced in yard), the ACS did put us in contact with a man that had the two 1/2-grown kittens he was trying to find a home for. Billbo & Frodo were also born in 1992, probably just a couple of months after Pudgey. They have(had) gray/black stripes with a white undercarriage and face. Each had half of a mustache, Frodo's on his left lip, Billbo on his right. And each had a white patch on their back, near the neck. They looked so very identical, I was the only one that could ever tell them apart. I had to look at either their mustache or that white patch, as Billbo's white hairs were longer than all the surrounding fur. Also, his eyes had a different slant than his brothers. I could never really put my finger on it, but Billbo was just prettier than Frodo. Sadly, Billbo disappeared one day, several months after we'd gotten them, never to be seen again. Frodo also pulled a disappearing act, but he resurfaced early one morning at the back door, beaten up and dragging his right hind leg, but none the worse for wear. The vet operated on him and made him good as new. After we moved from my f-i-l's house, Frodo came with us and became an indoor cat. I've always insisted he was just overly friendly where our dogs were concerned, or (and this is more like it) he just didn't have enough sense to be afraid of them, as he was always the one that followed our dogs around and rubbed up against them. Frodo and Pudge are our only two remaining cats, and honestly, it's my intent that they will be the last cats I ever have (unless we ever get that country home and barn I dream of one day having).
One Easter, I don't rightly remember how old I was, maybe 12-ish, my mother gave my sister and I a duckling for a pet. She named him Heathcliff. We didn't know diddly-squat about raising a duck, and needless to say, he didn't live very long. Less than 2 weeks I think.
Another Easter, I was probably 10 or 11, we were given a pair of golden hamster. If memory serves, I think we named them Pixie & Dixie. We kept them in one of those plastic, habitrail cages. Like the duck we knew nothing about caring for rodents. They did however live quite a while, but we had no idea that they would gnaw on everything. It didn't take them long to gnaw their way to freedom and it became what seemed a nightly event for them to escape and wake up the household with their little pitter-patter feet as they ran across the vinyl floor in the kitchen and found an opening to get inside the walls and run around. I don't remember how long we had them, but when they finally passed, we got another pair that were dark gray. I wasn't as fond of this pair, they weren't as friendly and the novelty had worn off. They didn't live very long and I think we were all almost relieved to put the hamster raising days behind us.
After John & I got married, we got a guinea pig we named Mean Gene Okerland (get the feeling we were wrestling fans back then??). Mean Gene wasn't all that crazy about being handled and always tried to bite, thus interest was lost in him, and after his death, we got out of the guinea pig business.
I've had countless fish over the years. The only kind I've ever seemed to have much success in raising though are the Beta's. One I had for about 3 years. Most of them have sported the name "JoJo".
Sea-monkeys were attempted a time or two, but let's be honest, has anybody ever been able to keep these things alive for more than a week or two?
I had a turtle that I caught at Community Park Lake. I caught him when I was 18, and still had him when John & I married. He eventually died a couple of years later.
And of course, let's not forget my most recent wild-animal-turned-pet venture: the frogs.
I still have my Spring Peeper, Shemp. While he's been the most vocal of all my frogs, he's just not as fun to watch as when I had Larry, Moe & Curly. Maybe it's because Shemp doesn't have any froggy friends to interact with... I miss my little stooges. I'm hoping to gather some more tadpoles this summer and try my luck again. Honestly, I was doing very will with the 3 stooges until that little incident that resulted in their escape. I know now to be more diligent in keeping my frogs habitat securely covered.
I've cared for various baby-bunnies we've found in the backyard after John's run over their nest with the mower, and the ones that survived, I turned them loose when they were big enough to fend for themselves.
I think that pretty well covers my pet-parenting over the years.
Elmo the kitten. I got him when I was about 8 or 9, but he ran away right after.
Another kitten not too long after him, but again, he ran off as well. I don't even remember that kitty's name.
I gave up on cats for the longest time. Not until 1990 when John and I brought home BJ. I've blogged about BJ in the past, he was the blotched-tabby we rescued from my uncle B's farm. He lived to be 17 before we had him put down.
Pudgey, another blotched tabby came next. She followed us home in 1992. We'd been on vacation in Missouri, and she was a stray that was hanging around outside the condo we were staying in. One night she ran in when we opened the door, and she's been with us ever since.
Billbo & Frodo (fans of The Hobbit should recognize these names). When John & I were living at his dad's house, the mice, shrews, chipmunks and whatnot started to over-run the place after his 2 barncats died from feline leukemia the winter of '93. While we didn't get Billbo & Frodo from the Animal Care Society (because they won't adopt pets out that aren't going to be house-pets and that don't have a fenced in yard), the ACS did put us in contact with a man that had the two 1/2-grown kittens he was trying to find a home for. Billbo & Frodo were also born in 1992, probably just a couple of months after Pudgey. They have(had) gray/black stripes with a white undercarriage and face. Each had half of a mustache, Frodo's on his left lip, Billbo on his right. And each had a white patch on their back, near the neck. They looked so very identical, I was the only one that could ever tell them apart. I had to look at either their mustache or that white patch, as Billbo's white hairs were longer than all the surrounding fur. Also, his eyes had a different slant than his brothers. I could never really put my finger on it, but Billbo was just prettier than Frodo. Sadly, Billbo disappeared one day, several months after we'd gotten them, never to be seen again. Frodo also pulled a disappearing act, but he resurfaced early one morning at the back door, beaten up and dragging his right hind leg, but none the worse for wear. The vet operated on him and made him good as new. After we moved from my f-i-l's house, Frodo came with us and became an indoor cat. I've always insisted he was just overly friendly where our dogs were concerned, or (and this is more like it) he just didn't have enough sense to be afraid of them, as he was always the one that followed our dogs around and rubbed up against them. Frodo and Pudge are our only two remaining cats, and honestly, it's my intent that they will be the last cats I ever have (unless we ever get that country home and barn I dream of one day having).
One Easter, I don't rightly remember how old I was, maybe 12-ish, my mother gave my sister and I a duckling for a pet. She named him Heathcliff. We didn't know diddly-squat about raising a duck, and needless to say, he didn't live very long. Less than 2 weeks I think.
Another Easter, I was probably 10 or 11, we were given a pair of golden hamster. If memory serves, I think we named them Pixie & Dixie. We kept them in one of those plastic, habitrail cages. Like the duck we knew nothing about caring for rodents. They did however live quite a while, but we had no idea that they would gnaw on everything. It didn't take them long to gnaw their way to freedom and it became what seemed a nightly event for them to escape and wake up the household with their little pitter-patter feet as they ran across the vinyl floor in the kitchen and found an opening to get inside the walls and run around. I don't remember how long we had them, but when they finally passed, we got another pair that were dark gray. I wasn't as fond of this pair, they weren't as friendly and the novelty had worn off. They didn't live very long and I think we were all almost relieved to put the hamster raising days behind us.
After John & I got married, we got a guinea pig we named Mean Gene Okerland (get the feeling we were wrestling fans back then??). Mean Gene wasn't all that crazy about being handled and always tried to bite, thus interest was lost in him, and after his death, we got out of the guinea pig business.
I've had countless fish over the years. The only kind I've ever seemed to have much success in raising though are the Beta's. One I had for about 3 years. Most of them have sported the name "JoJo".
Sea-monkeys were attempted a time or two, but let's be honest, has anybody ever been able to keep these things alive for more than a week or two?
I had a turtle that I caught at Community Park Lake. I caught him when I was 18, and still had him when John & I married. He eventually died a couple of years later.
And of course, let's not forget my most recent wild-animal-turned-pet venture: the frogs.
I still have my Spring Peeper, Shemp. While he's been the most vocal of all my frogs, he's just not as fun to watch as when I had Larry, Moe & Curly. Maybe it's because Shemp doesn't have any froggy friends to interact with... I miss my little stooges. I'm hoping to gather some more tadpoles this summer and try my luck again. Honestly, I was doing very will with the 3 stooges until that little incident that resulted in their escape. I know now to be more diligent in keeping my frogs habitat securely covered.
I've cared for various baby-bunnies we've found in the backyard after John's run over their nest with the mower, and the ones that survived, I turned them loose when they were big enough to fend for themselves.
I think that pretty well covers my pet-parenting over the years.
Inquiring minds want to know...
**Why do some dogs insist upon eating either their own or other dogs feces? I've asked the vets, and even they don't have a definite answer or solution for stopping the gross habit.
**Some countries/states/towns manage to get by just fine every spring/fall without setting their clocks forward/back in observance of Daylight Saving Time, so why can't the rest of us? It would save so much confusion! I mean, honestly, is it really saving any of us time? No, we still have the same amount of things to get done, whether the sun is shining or not. I say, let's all observe Standard Time and leave it at that.
**Why does it seem that in a so-called "paperless office", we seem to be using three times more paper than before, because of all the back-up or hard-copies we have to keep in the files, just in case the computers fail? (I'm really rolling my eyes at the paperless office concept)
**Why, when you drink grape juice, does it make your poo turn green?
**Why do so many menfolk spit after every few sentences they speak? Okay, I can understand if a bug has flown into your mouth, but I know this isn't typically the case. If they're creating that much spittle when they talk, can't they just swallow it? And if they're creating something else, shouldn't they see a doctor about the problem? Honestly, the constant spitting is a majorly gross thing to see, hear, and step in. Blech!! I'm ever so thankful that my husband doesn't have that habit!
**How does my Eliott instinctively know when I'm taking a load of dog laundry out of the clothes dryer? Honestly, virtually every single time (and I do dog laundry at random times, it's not like I do it on Sundays when I do our laundry, and it's not like he stands there and watches me put it in the washer to know it will next go to the dryer) he'll be standing there waiting to "help" me fold the dog laundry. I'm not complaining, Eliott is a very good laundry helper, it just simply amazes me that he knows when I need his help.
**Some countries/states/towns manage to get by just fine every spring/fall without setting their clocks forward/back in observance of Daylight Saving Time, so why can't the rest of us? It would save so much confusion! I mean, honestly, is it really saving any of us time? No, we still have the same amount of things to get done, whether the sun is shining or not. I say, let's all observe Standard Time and leave it at that.
**Why does it seem that in a so-called "paperless office", we seem to be using three times more paper than before, because of all the back-up or hard-copies we have to keep in the files, just in case the computers fail? (I'm really rolling my eyes at the paperless office concept)
**Why, when you drink grape juice, does it make your poo turn green?
**Why do so many menfolk spit after every few sentences they speak? Okay, I can understand if a bug has flown into your mouth, but I know this isn't typically the case. If they're creating that much spittle when they talk, can't they just swallow it? And if they're creating something else, shouldn't they see a doctor about the problem? Honestly, the constant spitting is a majorly gross thing to see, hear, and step in. Blech!! I'm ever so thankful that my husband doesn't have that habit!
**How does my Eliott instinctively know when I'm taking a load of dog laundry out of the clothes dryer? Honestly, virtually every single time (and I do dog laundry at random times, it's not like I do it on Sundays when I do our laundry, and it's not like he stands there and watches me put it in the washer to know it will next go to the dryer) he'll be standing there waiting to "help" me fold the dog laundry. I'm not complaining, Eliott is a very good laundry helper, it just simply amazes me that he knows when I need his help.
Happy Birthday Olivia!!
My sweet, white angel turns 4 years old today!
I can hardly believe that much time has passed, especially when I look at her and to me, she still appears puppy-ish, not quite as angular as an adult dane normally looks.
The 2 photos above and below were taken 5/7/05, she was 6 weeks old. That's the day she had her hearing/vision tested, and the day we found out she would become ours.
Taken 6/26/05, age 3 months. Already, she was making it known she preferred laying in a recliner.
"The Graduate" 07/28/05, age 4 months. Posing with her diploma from Puppy-Beginner- Obedience School.
09/10/05, age 5 1/2 mos. Her first (and last) swim lesson.
She seemed to be having a good time, but we had no idea back
then how the bright sun affected her vision. That discovery eventually
lead to our first attempt to protect her eyes...
... Doggles. She hates them, she refuses to leave them on,
they are useless. This lead to me getting creative and coming
up with...
... The Sun Screen. It works well and she doesn't
seem to mind wearing it.
July '08, age 3 yrs/4 mos.
Livvie and I discovered our togetherness-hobby, walking in 5k (or shorter) marathons. Her most recent, the Icicle Melt (02/07/08) was our third. We're looking forward to two more in April.
So here we are, 3 years and 9 months after that first
recliner-shot was taken, and you can see she still
prefers lying in the recliner. If we happen to be sitting
there also, all the better as far as she's concerned.
Who says Great Danes don't make good lap-dogs??
Happy Birthday my little White Thunder!!!
Monday, March 23, 2009
Bizzy!
April is going to be a whopping busy month for me(us). Every single weekend is literally booked up. Someone in our neighborhood approached me last night about helping to organize a neighborhood picnic and he wanted to do it in April. I said, "Not if you want my help! Shoot for May."
I've got the Goose Creek 5k the first weekend, the MS walk and our first Bats baseball game of the season the next weekend.
The weekend of the 18th-20th, I'll be attending a clicker-training class which is geared towards training horses, but I'm actually hoping I can use it for my dogs (or any future dogs training) as well. I'm looking forward to it!
Our vacation starts the following weekend, and the very first day, John's having a cyst (or what we hope is only a cyst) removed from his back. Considering the size of it and the number of stitches is will take to close the incision, he'll have to take it easy for a few days following.
John has a Sparky-detail thrown in to the mix as well.
I know Easter falls in there somewhere, but I don't think we'll be observing it this year, simply not enough time in the days.
No rest for the weary!
I've got the Goose Creek 5k the first weekend, the MS walk and our first Bats baseball game of the season the next weekend.
The weekend of the 18th-20th, I'll be attending a clicker-training class which is geared towards training horses, but I'm actually hoping I can use it for my dogs (or any future dogs training) as well. I'm looking forward to it!
Our vacation starts the following weekend, and the very first day, John's having a cyst (or what we hope is only a cyst) removed from his back. Considering the size of it and the number of stitches is will take to close the incision, he'll have to take it easy for a few days following.
John has a Sparky-detail thrown in to the mix as well.
I know Easter falls in there somewhere, but I don't think we'll be observing it this year, simply not enough time in the days.
No rest for the weary!
What do you see?
I went down to Nolin Lake Saturday afternoon. I found this stack of wood sitting by one of the cabins and this piece propped up there. I couldn't help but wonder if it was stacked this way by chance, or it the person who placed it there saw the same thing I did.
What do you see???
Just down the road, I saw a tree that was still standing that could've been the "brother" to this tree, but didn't take the picture.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Tone deaf
One of the traits of a really good writer is to be able to express the emotion they are feeling when they write.
Obviously, with the exception of anger, I fail miserably in this area.
Readers of my blog, or the comments I leave on on other blogs, or even in some of the emails I send seem to continually misinterpret what I'm saying, as they aren't reading the mood or the tone I'd like to capture. Instead, they take everything at face value, often missing the sarcasm, irony, or the laughter I hear in my head when I'm composing my thoughts.
Short of putting a disclaimer in parentheses at the beginning AND end of everything I write letting people know what tone I'm going for, I don't know how to rectify the problem.
Too often, I seem to make people mad, offend them or hurt their feelings without ever meaning to. And then when they jump down my throat or "call me out" for my tone, I very often can't figure out what they are talking about and then I get defensive and often end up apologizing for things I don't feel I should have to, just to keep the peace. Not to mention the massive amounts of tears that flow on my part for others not understanding, and in effect, being "tone deaf" to my writings.
I often try to tell myself the other person is just having a bad day and needs somebody to take out their frustrations on, and thus I end up being the whipping-post for others because of some innocent (or so I feel) comment I've made.
It happened again today, and while we've both apologized to one another, it still hasn't totally erased the hurt I'm feeling.
Part of me wants to toss my keyboard out the window and never blog, comment, or email anyone ever again. To go run and hide in a corner somewhere and shut out all contact with others. Life would certainly be less complicated that way. But I know that's not going to happen, I need my keyboard to do my job.
Obviously, with the exception of anger, I fail miserably in this area.
Readers of my blog, or the comments I leave on on other blogs, or even in some of the emails I send seem to continually misinterpret what I'm saying, as they aren't reading the mood or the tone I'd like to capture. Instead, they take everything at face value, often missing the sarcasm, irony, or the laughter I hear in my head when I'm composing my thoughts.
Short of putting a disclaimer in parentheses at the beginning AND end of everything I write letting people know what tone I'm going for, I don't know how to rectify the problem.
Too often, I seem to make people mad, offend them or hurt their feelings without ever meaning to. And then when they jump down my throat or "call me out" for my tone, I very often can't figure out what they are talking about and then I get defensive and often end up apologizing for things I don't feel I should have to, just to keep the peace. Not to mention the massive amounts of tears that flow on my part for others not understanding, and in effect, being "tone deaf" to my writings.
I often try to tell myself the other person is just having a bad day and needs somebody to take out their frustrations on, and thus I end up being the whipping-post for others because of some innocent (or so I feel) comment I've made.
It happened again today, and while we've both apologized to one another, it still hasn't totally erased the hurt I'm feeling.
Part of me wants to toss my keyboard out the window and never blog, comment, or email anyone ever again. To go run and hide in a corner somewhere and shut out all contact with others. Life would certainly be less complicated that way. But I know that's not going to happen, I need my keyboard to do my job.
Who's the vain one?
I saw the news clip yesterday where Miss Virginia was being interviewed for her fund-raising efforts for St. Baldricks, a charity near and dear to my heart, so I listened with great interest.
Miss Virginia is attempting to raise 1/2 a million dollars by April 11th for St. Baldricks. If she can reach her goal, she's going to shave her head.
While watching the news clip, I was cheering her on, thinking "you GO girl!!".
She was talking about how it was "just hair" and it will grow back, and it's about the charity, not vanity. The whole time I'm nodding in agreement.
Then she said something that rather made me rather sad and my shoulders slumped a bit.
She said "imagine when I walk into that child's room and take off my wig..."
Wig? WHY would she wear a wig? Now who's being vain???
It seems to me that wearing a wig just totally defeats the purpose of shaving your head.
I mean, I can understand wearing a hat or scarf if you're going to be out in the sun to avoid burning your scalp, or out in the cold air to avoid getting a chill, but for Pete's sake woman, the rest of the time you need to display your shaved dome proudly! Don't cover it up with a wig.
Needless to say I lost a shred of respect for her at that point. I still support what she's doing, I just wish she'd go at it whole-heartedly.
If you want to watch the interview, copy/paste the link below.
http://abcnews.go.com/video/playerIndex?id=7110113
Miss Virginia is attempting to raise 1/2 a million dollars by April 11th for St. Baldricks. If she can reach her goal, she's going to shave her head.
While watching the news clip, I was cheering her on, thinking "you GO girl!!".
She was talking about how it was "just hair" and it will grow back, and it's about the charity, not vanity. The whole time I'm nodding in agreement.
Then she said something that rather made me rather sad and my shoulders slumped a bit.
She said "imagine when I walk into that child's room and take off my wig..."
Wig? WHY would she wear a wig? Now who's being vain???
It seems to me that wearing a wig just totally defeats the purpose of shaving your head.
I mean, I can understand wearing a hat or scarf if you're going to be out in the sun to avoid burning your scalp, or out in the cold air to avoid getting a chill, but for Pete's sake woman, the rest of the time you need to display your shaved dome proudly! Don't cover it up with a wig.
Needless to say I lost a shred of respect for her at that point. I still support what she's doing, I just wish she'd go at it whole-heartedly.
If you want to watch the interview, copy/paste the link below.
http://abcnews.go.com/video/playerIndex?id=7110113
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Tax cheaters
For the past several weeks, maybe even months now, I've been seeing a commercial on tv that absolutely irks me. And the more I see it, the madder I get.
I've no doubt that the "clients" are actually actors, but it's the gist of the whole concept that angers me.
I don't remember the exact name of the company that's doing the advertising, but their service is this: if you owe back taxes, they can help you negotiate a lower amount to pay.
Many of the "clients" claim that they owed the IRS $5,000,000.00 but they actually only paid $2million. Puh-leeze!!
First of all, it pisses me off that people don't pay their taxes in the first place.
Second of all, it makes me even madder when it's the rich doing it because they somehow feel that taxes are beneath them. So for them to owe millions of dollars and then to whine about it when they get caught and then end up paying a fraction of what they owe... honestly, it just infuriates me.
But it makes me even madder that there is a company out there helping people avoid paying their taxes. WTF?????
I'd be curious to know what their fees are, and how much this couple paid the company that owed the $5mil. So out of the $3mil they didn't pay the IRS, how much did they pay this company??
I've no doubt that the "clients" are actually actors, but it's the gist of the whole concept that angers me.
I don't remember the exact name of the company that's doing the advertising, but their service is this: if you owe back taxes, they can help you negotiate a lower amount to pay.
Many of the "clients" claim that they owed the IRS $5,000,000.00 but they actually only paid $2million. Puh-leeze!!
First of all, it pisses me off that people don't pay their taxes in the first place.
Second of all, it makes me even madder when it's the rich doing it because they somehow feel that taxes are beneath them. So for them to owe millions of dollars and then to whine about it when they get caught and then end up paying a fraction of what they owe... honestly, it just infuriates me.
But it makes me even madder that there is a company out there helping people avoid paying their taxes. WTF?????
I'd be curious to know what their fees are, and how much this couple paid the company that owed the $5mil. So out of the $3mil they didn't pay the IRS, how much did they pay this company??
Saying goodbye
The husband and I made the trek last night up to Scottsburg to pay our respects and say our farewells to a long-time co-worker/friend of ours. Everything was being held at the church instead of the funeral home, with good reason... capacity.
The funeral home was small, and wasn't equipped to handle the crowd that showed up at the church. When we arrived, there was already a line forming, out the door and into the parking lot. We stood in the line for 45 minutes before reaching the casket. When we left, the line was just as long. I couldn't even hazard a guess as to how many people came to pay their respects.
He lived in a small, rural community. One of those places where practically everybody knows everybody else or at the very least, they know one of your family members.
Our friend was from a large family of eight children, so with lots of siblings, nieces and nephews, and having worked for such a large company, it only stood to reason that his passing touched a lot of lives.
My heart aches for his 3 sons he left behind, especially for the youngest as he's the one who found his father. I felt a twinge of guilt standing in the line last night, waiting to offer our condolences, as his wife and sons were standing next to the casket, shaking hands or hugging and greeting each person that passed by. Knowing that they had to stand there for several hours seemed cruel, and I felt bad as we were just two more people they were forced to wait upon.
My husband was amazed that they had an open casket, but I assured him that (good)morticians were like magicians and they could fix some things so you'd never know anything had happened.
And even though our friend looked "normal" (as normal as one can looking lying in a casket), it just hardened my resolve even more to opt for cremation. I know I wouldn't want people gawking at me or my husband in death, and I know I sure as hell wouldn't want to stand there for hours and be polite as people filed by in such a manner for my husband, and I honestly believe my husband will have a big crowd at his funeral, whenever that may be.
I realize there's a bit of irony there. I'm willing to go and be a gawker, but I don't want to be the one being gawked at.
The funeral home was small, and wasn't equipped to handle the crowd that showed up at the church. When we arrived, there was already a line forming, out the door and into the parking lot. We stood in the line for 45 minutes before reaching the casket. When we left, the line was just as long. I couldn't even hazard a guess as to how many people came to pay their respects.
He lived in a small, rural community. One of those places where practically everybody knows everybody else or at the very least, they know one of your family members.
Our friend was from a large family of eight children, so with lots of siblings, nieces and nephews, and having worked for such a large company, it only stood to reason that his passing touched a lot of lives.
My heart aches for his 3 sons he left behind, especially for the youngest as he's the one who found his father. I felt a twinge of guilt standing in the line last night, waiting to offer our condolences, as his wife and sons were standing next to the casket, shaking hands or hugging and greeting each person that passed by. Knowing that they had to stand there for several hours seemed cruel, and I felt bad as we were just two more people they were forced to wait upon.
My husband was amazed that they had an open casket, but I assured him that (good)morticians were like magicians and they could fix some things so you'd never know anything had happened.
And even though our friend looked "normal" (as normal as one can looking lying in a casket), it just hardened my resolve even more to opt for cremation. I know I wouldn't want people gawking at me or my husband in death, and I know I sure as hell wouldn't want to stand there for hours and be polite as people filed by in such a manner for my husband, and I honestly believe my husband will have a big crowd at his funeral, whenever that may be.
I realize there's a bit of irony there. I'm willing to go and be a gawker, but I don't want to be the one being gawked at.
This could only happen to me
After hearing the sad news of actress Natasha Richardson's death and all the talk in the media about different types of head injuries/trauma, it almost makes one feel as if they should wear a helmet 24/7. After all, one never knows when they'll hit their head on something.
Having said that, I have to say what I'm about to tell you is probably one of those things that could only happen to me.
I've decided to invest in a helmet to wear whenever I visit my friend Leslie's house, because literally every time I've gone there and needed to use the restroom, if I've used the 1st floor facilities, then I walk out of there with a banged up head.
I know what you're all wondering, "since when did relieving one's self become a contact sport?, and how is Pitawoman injuring herself just by using the facilities?"
Please, allow me to explain...
While I'm not a giant by any means, I am tall for a woman, approximately 5' 11 1/2"... on a good day without wearing heels. However, all of my close friends are considerably shorter than I, so they don't run into the same problems that I do. Apparently, the contractor that designed/built my friend's restroom was lacking in height also and was unaware of the dangers that were created in such a design.
Leslie's restroom is small, I'd estimate it to be maybe 4' wide by 6 or 7' long. When you walk through the door, the sink is to your right, the toilet to your left. The ceiling is of normal height as is the doorframe, so at least I'm not hitting my head on either of those. The problem is, the toilet sits so close to the sink, every time I go to sit my arse onto the toilet, I hit the front/top of my head on the edge of the sink. It's a wonder I've not given myself a concussion, especially on the occasions it's happened twice in a single visit. I mean seriously, I've smacked it hard, and it HURT!!
I am getting better though. When I think about it and can remember, I try to make an effort to trek to the basement and use that restroom, as it's safer for me, no helmet required.
Yep, think I'm going to purchase a helmet and keep it at Leslie's house, ask her to hang it on a hook by the bathroom to remind me to relieve myself at my own risk.
Having said that, I have to say what I'm about to tell you is probably one of those things that could only happen to me.
I've decided to invest in a helmet to wear whenever I visit my friend Leslie's house, because literally every time I've gone there and needed to use the restroom, if I've used the 1st floor facilities, then I walk out of there with a banged up head.
I know what you're all wondering, "since when did relieving one's self become a contact sport?, and how is Pitawoman injuring herself just by using the facilities?"
Please, allow me to explain...
While I'm not a giant by any means, I am tall for a woman, approximately 5' 11 1/2"... on a good day without wearing heels. However, all of my close friends are considerably shorter than I, so they don't run into the same problems that I do. Apparently, the contractor that designed/built my friend's restroom was lacking in height also and was unaware of the dangers that were created in such a design.
Leslie's restroom is small, I'd estimate it to be maybe 4' wide by 6 or 7' long. When you walk through the door, the sink is to your right, the toilet to your left. The ceiling is of normal height as is the doorframe, so at least I'm not hitting my head on either of those. The problem is, the toilet sits so close to the sink, every time I go to sit my arse onto the toilet, I hit the front/top of my head on the edge of the sink. It's a wonder I've not given myself a concussion, especially on the occasions it's happened twice in a single visit. I mean seriously, I've smacked it hard, and it HURT!!
I am getting better though. When I think about it and can remember, I try to make an effort to trek to the basement and use that restroom, as it's safer for me, no helmet required.
Yep, think I'm going to purchase a helmet and keep it at Leslie's house, ask her to hang it on a hook by the bathroom to remind me to relieve myself at my own risk.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Nostalgic moment for the week - dogs
Dog, man's (or woman's) best friend. Ahh, but what child out there hasn't had a dog as a best friend while growing up, not necessarily their own dog, but a dog somewhere in the neighborhood they loved?
I'm going back to my early years and working my way to present time, as I remember many of the canines I've loved and/or our family has had.
My earliest memory of having an attachment to a dog was for "Duke", a basset hound (mix?) if memory serves me correctly. He wasn't our dog, but belonged to the landlord of the trailer park we lived in. Duke would show up at our backdoor, where we'd feed him bologna or a hotdog and then send him waddling home on his short stumpy legs.
Our family's first dog, that I can remember, was when I was about 4 years old. My first 4-legged companion was a black mutt (at least, I don't remember him being a specific breed) named "Terry". I know, an odd name for a dog, but that's another story in and of itself, for another time. We didn't have Terry very long, maybe a few months, when suddenly my parents up and got rid of him. I never understood why, the best I could figure was because my mother wanted a toy poodle and we just couldn't have 2 pets, so Terry had to go.
Terry's replacement was a black toy poodle named "Hercules", or Herky for short. We had him for a couple of years I guess. We moved from the trailer park and into the house my great-grandfather had owned 'til he passed away. About a year later, it was discovered my mother was having a baby, and again, because we couldn't have 2 pets, the dog had to go. Oops, sorry, wrong story line.
What I meant to say was, for whatever reason, they didn't want to have the dog AND a newborn baby in the house, so they decided to send him to the dog-pound. The pound was s'posed to come and pick Herky up, but I guess never showed up, as we still had him for quite a while. Then one horrid Sunday afternoon, Herky ran out onto the road and got hit by a car. End of story.
When I was about 8, my parents finally gave in to my constant begging and agreed to get another dog. They had the yard of our new house fenced in and as it turned out, some friends of my grandparents had a litter of puppies they were giving away. A mother poodle + a father beagle = a poogle, thus my puppy's name "Poogle". When Poogle came to us, she had curly black and brown hair and looked not unlike a Yorkie. She grew to the size of a large beagle and her hair turned a silvery gray.
I know I wasn't the best doggy-momma in the world, but hey!, I was 8 years old. Back then, dogs were fed any and all table scraps, the cheapest dogfood available, never got vaccinations, spaying/neutering was unheard of, and heaven forbid if it was suggested they sleep in the house.
Honestly, it's a wonder she lived as long as she did. The only time she even came close to being a "house dog" was the winter of '78 when we had a horrible blizzard, and she'd just had her first (first of many) litter of pups... then she was allowed to stay in the garage for a few days so she and the pups wouldn't freeze.
Poogle was a sweet dog, very patient and forgiving. I remember once while giving her a haircut I accidentally cut about 1/4" off the tip of her ear and she didn't even yelp. As mentioned, she had several litters of puppies, the second litter followed the first by 5 months. Those we couldn't give away were sent to the pound. Looking back now, I cringe at how we treated our dogs.
Poogle lived to be 8 years old. I found her on Christmas morning 1983, frozen stiff in her doghouse. Christmas sucked that year. Hmm, maybe that's why I'm not a particularly big fan of that holiday even to this day.
The summer of 1981, one of our neighbors came knocking on our door holding a tiny little ball of yellow fuzz. It was a puppy she'd found in her yard and thought perhaps it was one of ours. It wasn't, but we took it off her hands. This little mutt looked like a Tibetan Spaniel. We took him in and named him "Buddy". Buddy and Poogle hit it off and were fun to watch playing together. When Poogle died that Christmas, Buddy was suddenly allowed to come into the house for a few days.
Since Buddy wasn't really my dog, I missed having a dog to call my own, so after about 3 months had passed, I was allowed to adopt a puppy from a vet's office. My aunt Carol drove me to a clinic where I picked out a little black pup, a springer spaniel/black lab mix. I named him "Bobby". Again, another story for another time. I got Bobby in March of 1982 and had him 'til March of 1995.
Bobby saw me through my teen years and dating, getting married and moving out on my own. He loved to go for a ride in my pick-up truck and a lot of times I'd take him out to the reservoir and let him run loose on the beach and play in the water. Bobby loved to stand and look in our dining room window as we ate dinner and belch at us. Crude behavior, but always the gentleman, he would always sit and offer up his paw to shake hands as his way of saying "thanks" whenever I fed him. It was this behavior that became the bench march that all my future dogs had to learn. Every single dog we've gotten since Bobby has had to learn to sit before being fed their dinner.
As Bobby had started off as an outdoors dog, he remained one when I moved out.
After John & I married, we thought Bobby needed a playmate so we got "Wilbur", a chow/German shepherd mix. Wilbur was cute to look at, but that's where it ended. He was a mean dog, very aggressive, even though he was only a puppy. He simply refused to stay inside our back yard and was constantly escaping and going after children and other dogs, not to mention trying to attack poor Bobby. We were afraid Wilbur would really hurt someone someday, and even though he was only a few months old, we had to get rid of him. We tried finding him a new home, but didn't have any takers, so we ended up taking him to the pound. I cringe every time I think about that, but we didn't know what else to do! So Bobby remained our only k-9 child 'til his dying day.
I grieved hard when we put him down, and I thought it would be a long while before I was ready for another dog in my life. But it didn't take long before I started to miss having a dog in my life and so within 6 weeks of Bobby's passing we got our first Great Dane, "Smokey".
Smokey, the one that started it all. Smokey, the first of our 5 Great Danes (thus far). Smokey, the best (male) dog I've ever had in my life. Smokey, the one that stirred a passion in us for this giant breed. Smokey, the dog that loved everybody and was in turn loved by everybody.
I absolutely refused to make him an outside dog, thus began the destruction of our home, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Smokey, the first dog I've ever properly taken care of and took a proper responsibility for by making sure he always had his vaccinations, had him neutered, took him to obedience school, and socialized him constantly by taking him everywhere we went. No cheap dogfood was ever fed to him. Only the best! My sweet, beautiful merle lived to be 8 and a half before we had to put him down. If I thought I'd grieved hard when Bobby passed... Smokey's passing nearly KILLED me.
"Kelsey", our mantled-merle we got in 2002. We knew Smokey was starting to get up there in years and as danes don't have a very long life span, we weren't sure how much time we'd have left with him, so we got her to help ease our transition should anything happen to him, and too, because of his fabulous personality, we hoped it would rub off onto her. Little did we know when we got her that she was destined to live a very short life and we had to put her down just a few months after him, due to her Wobblers Syndrome crippling her. She was just under 2 and a half years old.
"Eliott" was born about 6 weeks after Smokey died, and not wanting Kelsey to be alone, we brought the little fawn boy home. Eliott is quite the goofy boy. I've always thought the boy was a few eggs short of a dozen, but he's very sweet where John & I are concerned, and loves his k-9 sisters. Even though he's 5 and a half now, he still runs around the back yard like a young pup, growling and having a good time.
"Bootsy" came to us two and a half months after Kelsey's passing. We weren't looking to get a second dog at that time, as we were content with the 8 month old Eliott being the center of our universe. But when she was offered to us we said, "why not?" and took the nearly full grown black girl in. It was the first time I'd ever gotten a dog that wasn't a young pup. While we love Bootsy very much and she seems to simply adore us in return, I can definitely see where a lot of bad behaviors and habits that were formed in her early months of life have stuck with her and we've never been able to correct some of her habits. She's a very strong-willed dog, very dominant, and while she loves Eliott dearly, she only tolerates her sister.
Which brings me to "Olivia" or "Livvie", our bundle of energy we refer to as "the white thunder". We most certainly were NOT looking to add a third dane to our family, but when I heard she was going to be put down as a 6 week old puppy, simply because she was deaf and partially blind, I simply couldn't bear the thought of that, so we squeezed her into our lives. Needless to say, for those of you that know me well or have followed this blog for any time at all, she rules our world and is the light of my life. She's the bomb! I can't imagine life without her, and don't even want to think about that day ever coming. Smokey may have been our greatest male dog, but Olivia is without a doubt our greatest girl dog, and it's a toss-up between the two of them for the overall top spot.
So there you have it, my personal history with dogs.
Mayhaps next week I'll tell you about all the other pets in my life.
I'm going back to my early years and working my way to present time, as I remember many of the canines I've loved and/or our family has had.
My earliest memory of having an attachment to a dog was for "Duke", a basset hound (mix?) if memory serves me correctly. He wasn't our dog, but belonged to the landlord of the trailer park we lived in. Duke would show up at our backdoor, where we'd feed him bologna or a hotdog and then send him waddling home on his short stumpy legs.
Our family's first dog, that I can remember, was when I was about 4 years old. My first 4-legged companion was a black mutt (at least, I don't remember him being a specific breed) named "Terry". I know, an odd name for a dog, but that's another story in and of itself, for another time. We didn't have Terry very long, maybe a few months, when suddenly my parents up and got rid of him. I never understood why, the best I could figure was because my mother wanted a toy poodle and we just couldn't have 2 pets, so Terry had to go.
Terry's replacement was a black toy poodle named "Hercules", or Herky for short. We had him for a couple of years I guess. We moved from the trailer park and into the house my great-grandfather had owned 'til he passed away. About a year later, it was discovered my mother was having a baby, and again, because we couldn't have 2 pets, the dog had to go. Oops, sorry, wrong story line.
What I meant to say was, for whatever reason, they didn't want to have the dog AND a newborn baby in the house, so they decided to send him to the dog-pound. The pound was s'posed to come and pick Herky up, but I guess never showed up, as we still had him for quite a while. Then one horrid Sunday afternoon, Herky ran out onto the road and got hit by a car. End of story.
When I was about 8, my parents finally gave in to my constant begging and agreed to get another dog. They had the yard of our new house fenced in and as it turned out, some friends of my grandparents had a litter of puppies they were giving away. A mother poodle + a father beagle = a poogle, thus my puppy's name "Poogle". When Poogle came to us, she had curly black and brown hair and looked not unlike a Yorkie. She grew to the size of a large beagle and her hair turned a silvery gray.
I know I wasn't the best doggy-momma in the world, but hey!, I was 8 years old. Back then, dogs were fed any and all table scraps, the cheapest dogfood available, never got vaccinations, spaying/neutering was unheard of, and heaven forbid if it was suggested they sleep in the house.
Honestly, it's a wonder she lived as long as she did. The only time she even came close to being a "house dog" was the winter of '78 when we had a horrible blizzard, and she'd just had her first (first of many) litter of pups... then she was allowed to stay in the garage for a few days so she and the pups wouldn't freeze.
Poogle was a sweet dog, very patient and forgiving. I remember once while giving her a haircut I accidentally cut about 1/4" off the tip of her ear and she didn't even yelp. As mentioned, she had several litters of puppies, the second litter followed the first by 5 months. Those we couldn't give away were sent to the pound. Looking back now, I cringe at how we treated our dogs.
Poogle lived to be 8 years old. I found her on Christmas morning 1983, frozen stiff in her doghouse. Christmas sucked that year. Hmm, maybe that's why I'm not a particularly big fan of that holiday even to this day.
The summer of 1981, one of our neighbors came knocking on our door holding a tiny little ball of yellow fuzz. It was a puppy she'd found in her yard and thought perhaps it was one of ours. It wasn't, but we took it off her hands. This little mutt looked like a Tibetan Spaniel. We took him in and named him "Buddy". Buddy and Poogle hit it off and were fun to watch playing together. When Poogle died that Christmas, Buddy was suddenly allowed to come into the house for a few days.
Since Buddy wasn't really my dog, I missed having a dog to call my own, so after about 3 months had passed, I was allowed to adopt a puppy from a vet's office. My aunt Carol drove me to a clinic where I picked out a little black pup, a springer spaniel/black lab mix. I named him "Bobby". Again, another story for another time. I got Bobby in March of 1982 and had him 'til March of 1995.
Bobby saw me through my teen years and dating, getting married and moving out on my own. He loved to go for a ride in my pick-up truck and a lot of times I'd take him out to the reservoir and let him run loose on the beach and play in the water. Bobby loved to stand and look in our dining room window as we ate dinner and belch at us. Crude behavior, but always the gentleman, he would always sit and offer up his paw to shake hands as his way of saying "thanks" whenever I fed him. It was this behavior that became the bench march that all my future dogs had to learn. Every single dog we've gotten since Bobby has had to learn to sit before being fed their dinner.
As Bobby had started off as an outdoors dog, he remained one when I moved out.
After John & I married, we thought Bobby needed a playmate so we got "Wilbur", a chow/German shepherd mix. Wilbur was cute to look at, but that's where it ended. He was a mean dog, very aggressive, even though he was only a puppy. He simply refused to stay inside our back yard and was constantly escaping and going after children and other dogs, not to mention trying to attack poor Bobby. We were afraid Wilbur would really hurt someone someday, and even though he was only a few months old, we had to get rid of him. We tried finding him a new home, but didn't have any takers, so we ended up taking him to the pound. I cringe every time I think about that, but we didn't know what else to do! So Bobby remained our only k-9 child 'til his dying day.
I grieved hard when we put him down, and I thought it would be a long while before I was ready for another dog in my life. But it didn't take long before I started to miss having a dog in my life and so within 6 weeks of Bobby's passing we got our first Great Dane, "Smokey".
Smokey, the one that started it all. Smokey, the first of our 5 Great Danes (thus far). Smokey, the best (male) dog I've ever had in my life. Smokey, the one that stirred a passion in us for this giant breed. Smokey, the dog that loved everybody and was in turn loved by everybody.
I absolutely refused to make him an outside dog, thus began the destruction of our home, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Smokey, the first dog I've ever properly taken care of and took a proper responsibility for by making sure he always had his vaccinations, had him neutered, took him to obedience school, and socialized him constantly by taking him everywhere we went. No cheap dogfood was ever fed to him. Only the best! My sweet, beautiful merle lived to be 8 and a half before we had to put him down. If I thought I'd grieved hard when Bobby passed... Smokey's passing nearly KILLED me.
"Kelsey", our mantled-merle we got in 2002. We knew Smokey was starting to get up there in years and as danes don't have a very long life span, we weren't sure how much time we'd have left with him, so we got her to help ease our transition should anything happen to him, and too, because of his fabulous personality, we hoped it would rub off onto her. Little did we know when we got her that she was destined to live a very short life and we had to put her down just a few months after him, due to her Wobblers Syndrome crippling her. She was just under 2 and a half years old.
"Eliott" was born about 6 weeks after Smokey died, and not wanting Kelsey to be alone, we brought the little fawn boy home. Eliott is quite the goofy boy. I've always thought the boy was a few eggs short of a dozen, but he's very sweet where John & I are concerned, and loves his k-9 sisters. Even though he's 5 and a half now, he still runs around the back yard like a young pup, growling and having a good time.
"Bootsy" came to us two and a half months after Kelsey's passing. We weren't looking to get a second dog at that time, as we were content with the 8 month old Eliott being the center of our universe. But when she was offered to us we said, "why not?" and took the nearly full grown black girl in. It was the first time I'd ever gotten a dog that wasn't a young pup. While we love Bootsy very much and she seems to simply adore us in return, I can definitely see where a lot of bad behaviors and habits that were formed in her early months of life have stuck with her and we've never been able to correct some of her habits. She's a very strong-willed dog, very dominant, and while she loves Eliott dearly, she only tolerates her sister.
Which brings me to "Olivia" or "Livvie", our bundle of energy we refer to as "the white thunder". We most certainly were NOT looking to add a third dane to our family, but when I heard she was going to be put down as a 6 week old puppy, simply because she was deaf and partially blind, I simply couldn't bear the thought of that, so we squeezed her into our lives. Needless to say, for those of you that know me well or have followed this blog for any time at all, she rules our world and is the light of my life. She's the bomb! I can't imagine life without her, and don't even want to think about that day ever coming. Smokey may have been our greatest male dog, but Olivia is without a doubt our greatest girl dog, and it's a toss-up between the two of them for the overall top spot.
So there you have it, my personal history with dogs.
Mayhaps next week I'll tell you about all the other pets in my life.
Seek, and ye shall find
I mentioned in yesterdays blog my husbands inability to find a pocket calender that was lying right out in the open, in plain sight, in his car.
Well, I guess today I can 'fess up to being almost as guilty... I say, almost.
I have been searching high and low, at home, at work, and even at others homes, looking for my copy of the dvd "Runaway Jury". I've literally been looking for this for at least 5 months. I'd finally come to the conclusion that I must've taken it on vacation with us to the condo, and accidentally left it there. But considering the destruction that Olivia caused, I never had the nerve to call the place and ask if it had been turned in. I just sucked it up as being forever lost. :(
This morning, I was digging through a seldom used drawer of my work-desk, looking for a receipt from a donation I'd made last year (yes, I'm still working on those taxes!), and while digging through a bunch of papers, darned if I didn't find that long lost video.
Makes me wonder what else I'll find if I continue to dig through that drawer...
Well, I guess today I can 'fess up to being almost as guilty... I say, almost.
I have been searching high and low, at home, at work, and even at others homes, looking for my copy of the dvd "Runaway Jury". I've literally been looking for this for at least 5 months. I'd finally come to the conclusion that I must've taken it on vacation with us to the condo, and accidentally left it there. But considering the destruction that Olivia caused, I never had the nerve to call the place and ask if it had been turned in. I just sucked it up as being forever lost. :(
This morning, I was digging through a seldom used drawer of my work-desk, looking for a receipt from a donation I'd made last year (yes, I'm still working on those taxes!), and while digging through a bunch of papers, darned if I didn't find that long lost video.
Makes me wonder what else I'll find if I continue to dig through that drawer...
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
An organized man he's not
I'm ever so thankful that I tossed a pot roast into the crockpot last night, and that it was done cooking when I got up this morning. I think if I had to go home this evening and cook, I'd just cry. It's such a beautiful day out and I'd like to get out this evening and enjoy it. Too, it's been another loooong day at work and I'm so not wanting to stand in front of the stove.
Okay, so last night after getting home the husband asked if I was going to the grocery. Pretty much we only needed his lunch meat and maybe another loaf of bread to get us through the week. But I said, "no, you can eat p.b. & j. tomorrow, we ARE going to work on the taxes this evening" (yes, it's two weeks later and we still haven't touched them). He said, "fine" and promptly sat down in the recliner and fell asleep while I tossed a pizza in the oven and then started gathering up the w-2's, receipts, interest statements, etc. After I'd eaten my portion of the pizza, he woke up just in time to finish the rest of it. I asked him where his pocket calender was that he tracked his fire dept. mileage in.
John went out to his car to fetch it, but came back a few minutes later empty-handed and promptly started tearing apart the house looking for it, all the while muttering under his breath that he was sure he'd already given it to me and I must've misplaced it.
He was rooting through the piles of stuff on the kitchen table, causing small avalanches to spill onto the floor. I grrrr'd and told him just to leave it all alone, I'D look for it (how much help did I really think he was going to be on the whole tax issue anyway???). John was getting mad at the stuff I was throwing away that he considered treasures, such as the freebie 3-D glasses that were given away back before SuperBowl, the calenders that were out-dated, and other useless crap.
He continued to look despite my pleas to leave it all alone. I grabbed his car keys despite his grumbles that I not go rooting through his car. "Why? Afraid I'll find something I shouldn't?"
I went anyway, and was back in the house in less than 30 seconds, calender in hand. Obviously he didn't look very hard for it, as I found it lying right next to the console, along with the 2007 and 2009 calenders.
Geesh!
So as I started to pepper his with questions about his notations in the calender, he got a phone call from the fire house... apparently he was late for an appointment he'd made to go help somebody do something. Rather convenient time, eh? Needless to say, he was NO help to me last night. :(
Okay, so last night after getting home the husband asked if I was going to the grocery. Pretty much we only needed his lunch meat and maybe another loaf of bread to get us through the week. But I said, "no, you can eat p.b. & j. tomorrow, we ARE going to work on the taxes this evening" (yes, it's two weeks later and we still haven't touched them). He said, "fine" and promptly sat down in the recliner and fell asleep while I tossed a pizza in the oven and then started gathering up the w-2's, receipts, interest statements, etc. After I'd eaten my portion of the pizza, he woke up just in time to finish the rest of it. I asked him where his pocket calender was that he tracked his fire dept. mileage in.
John went out to his car to fetch it, but came back a few minutes later empty-handed and promptly started tearing apart the house looking for it, all the while muttering under his breath that he was sure he'd already given it to me and I must've misplaced it.
He was rooting through the piles of stuff on the kitchen table, causing small avalanches to spill onto the floor. I grrrr'd and told him just to leave it all alone, I'D look for it (how much help did I really think he was going to be on the whole tax issue anyway???). John was getting mad at the stuff I was throwing away that he considered treasures, such as the freebie 3-D glasses that were given away back before SuperBowl, the calenders that were out-dated, and other useless crap.
He continued to look despite my pleas to leave it all alone. I grabbed his car keys despite his grumbles that I not go rooting through his car. "Why? Afraid I'll find something I shouldn't?"
I went anyway, and was back in the house in less than 30 seconds, calender in hand. Obviously he didn't look very hard for it, as I found it lying right next to the console, along with the 2007 and 2009 calenders.
Geesh!
So as I started to pepper his with questions about his notations in the calender, he got a phone call from the fire house... apparently he was late for an appointment he'd made to go help somebody do something. Rather convenient time, eh? Needless to say, he was NO help to me last night. :(
Take my breath away
I got a phone call from my husband a few minutes ago, he'd just found out at work this morning that one of his co-workers (one of my former co-workers) committed suicide this morning.
I was sooo flabbergasted, I don't think I could've inhaled any deeper had I purposely tried, yet as deeply as I'd inhaled, I felt for a moment as if my breath had been taken away.
While none of us have all the details yet, the rumor-mill is that it was because his wife had left him.
Sometime over the weekend he took his own life with his gun and his youngest son found him.
Just horrible!!!
This man was in his late 40's, maybe early 50's.
He was one of the "Indiana country bunch", which was a group of drivers that lived in Indiana and while they drove into Louisville everyday to pick up their loads, they'd drive right back up to the small towns they lived in to make their deliveries. I remember them all fondly as they were always a nice bunch of guys, fun to b.s. with, and they were always super-nice to me when I worked there.
My earliest memory of this particular driver was when the employees were taking up a collection for him as he'd been stabbed in a bar-fight and hospitalized, that happened 20-some years ago. Not long after recovering, he married and had his first son.
My heart breaks for his sons.
I guess I know what John & I will be doing later this week...
I was sooo flabbergasted, I don't think I could've inhaled any deeper had I purposely tried, yet as deeply as I'd inhaled, I felt for a moment as if my breath had been taken away.
While none of us have all the details yet, the rumor-mill is that it was because his wife had left him.
Sometime over the weekend he took his own life with his gun and his youngest son found him.
Just horrible!!!
This man was in his late 40's, maybe early 50's.
He was one of the "Indiana country bunch", which was a group of drivers that lived in Indiana and while they drove into Louisville everyday to pick up their loads, they'd drive right back up to the small towns they lived in to make their deliveries. I remember them all fondly as they were always a nice bunch of guys, fun to b.s. with, and they were always super-nice to me when I worked there.
My earliest memory of this particular driver was when the employees were taking up a collection for him as he'd been stabbed in a bar-fight and hospitalized, that happened 20-some years ago. Not long after recovering, he married and had his first son.
My heart breaks for his sons.
I guess I know what John & I will be doing later this week...
Monday, March 16, 2009
A 5 minute quickie
Ooh, I've got about 5 minutes to spare before I have to jump back into the pile of work I'm faced with. We're super busy. After about 3 months of very little activity around this place, we seem to be making up for all that time by getting slammed all at once.
So much to do, so little time to do it.
Without intending to, I fell asleep in the recliner Friday night, and a couple of times during the night I woke up but just couldn't force myself to get up and go to bed, so that's where I slept. I was sleeping so soundly too, the only thing that finally convinced me to get up and face the day was a phone call from my husband telling me that Meijers had Dt. Big Red 6pks on sale again, buy 2 get 3 free. Perfect timing as I was down to my last 6pk from their last sale.
I drove to the dox office, got my allergy shot (a week late), then headed to Meijer. Did most of the grocery shopping for the week, got back home and plopped down in the chair, only intending to sit for a moment, but my darling Olivia crawled onto my lap and laid her head on my shoulder. How could I possibly disturb her beauty sleep by getting up?? So there I sat, cuddling with my giant baby for a couple of hours.
Time well spent? Well, certainly there were a lot of other things I could've, should've been doing... cleaning, doing laundry, exercising, paying bills, helping at the farm as I knew they were short-handed... but I chose to cuddle and rock with my bundle of white thunder in my arms. Time well spent? Indeed!!
I ran into an old acquaintance while at Meijer, the chaplain from the fire dept. I hadn't seen him in over a year so we stopped and talked for a moment. Obviously I don't spend ANY time at the fire house anymore, certainly nothing like I used to a few years ago. We talked about the changes, how it doesn't "feel" the same, the brotherhood isn't there anymore. Thus the difference between when it was a volunteer dept. and everyone was there because they loved what they were doing, vs. a paid dept. where everyone is there because it's their job.
Ah well, no sense dwelling on what used to be... I've moved on to other things, and I'm happier doing what I do now.
My parting words to him: you just have to find what you're passionate about and then put your heart into it.
So much to do, so little time to do it.
Without intending to, I fell asleep in the recliner Friday night, and a couple of times during the night I woke up but just couldn't force myself to get up and go to bed, so that's where I slept. I was sleeping so soundly too, the only thing that finally convinced me to get up and face the day was a phone call from my husband telling me that Meijers had Dt. Big Red 6pks on sale again, buy 2 get 3 free. Perfect timing as I was down to my last 6pk from their last sale.
I drove to the dox office, got my allergy shot (a week late), then headed to Meijer. Did most of the grocery shopping for the week, got back home and plopped down in the chair, only intending to sit for a moment, but my darling Olivia crawled onto my lap and laid her head on my shoulder. How could I possibly disturb her beauty sleep by getting up?? So there I sat, cuddling with my giant baby for a couple of hours.
Time well spent? Well, certainly there were a lot of other things I could've, should've been doing... cleaning, doing laundry, exercising, paying bills, helping at the farm as I knew they were short-handed... but I chose to cuddle and rock with my bundle of white thunder in my arms. Time well spent? Indeed!!
I ran into an old acquaintance while at Meijer, the chaplain from the fire dept. I hadn't seen him in over a year so we stopped and talked for a moment. Obviously I don't spend ANY time at the fire house anymore, certainly nothing like I used to a few years ago. We talked about the changes, how it doesn't "feel" the same, the brotherhood isn't there anymore. Thus the difference between when it was a volunteer dept. and everyone was there because they loved what they were doing, vs. a paid dept. where everyone is there because it's their job.
Ah well, no sense dwelling on what used to be... I've moved on to other things, and I'm happier doing what I do now.
My parting words to him: you just have to find what you're passionate about and then put your heart into it.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Beware Friday the 13th! bwahahaha
If all you boys and girls out there don't behave, this is what can happen to you...
... little leprechans come in the middle of the night and steal all your hair!!
EEK!!!
I got up earlier than usual this morning and made the trek down to St. Albert the Great school/church. I was their first "customer" of the day, so I didn't have to endure the scorching hot trimmers that burned me last year.
When I got done, a local radio station that was broadcasting live at the event interviewed me with their little video camera. They said they were going to post it on their website. It wasn't there when I checked earlier, so if/when they do post it, I'll put a link up.
... little leprechans come in the middle of the night and steal all your hair!!
EEK!!!
I got up earlier than usual this morning and made the trek down to St. Albert the Great school/church. I was their first "customer" of the day, so I didn't have to endure the scorching hot trimmers that burned me last year.
When I got done, a local radio station that was broadcasting live at the event interviewed me with their little video camera. They said they were going to post it on their website. It wasn't there when I checked earlier, so if/when they do post it, I'll put a link up.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Nostalgic moment for the week - Boys
I'd like to venture back to the early 1980's for my nostalgic moment of the week. Back to my jr. high days and the discovery of those things all parents dread...
the opposite sex! **gasp**
I don't know why it was, but it seemed as if the very moment I entered 7th grade, boys became quite interesting. It seemed like 3 out of every 4 boys held some sort of fascination for me, but none quite so much as THE boy that so many of us seemed to ogle, Andy F. **swoon**
Andy was a year ahead of me, and had attended a different elementary school, that's why I'd never known him before that time. He wasn't the classically "cute boy", but yet there was something simply dreamy about him. He wasn't tall, or even athletic in the sense that he was "built". I can remember my best friend and I practically foaming at the mouth at the mere mention of his name. We'd strain for a glimpse of him upon arriving at school, every time we changed classes we'd look for him in the halls, and at lunch time. I at least was fortunate to have band class with him, so I could surreptitiously sit and ogle him as he sat just just a few feet away. **swoon**
It didn't take us long to learn his class schedule and we'd stalk him through the hallways when our own class schedule allowed. If there was an opportunity to pass him going in the opposite direction and "accidentally" brush up against him, the opportunity was taken!!
As I mentioned, Andy wasn't classically good looking. He had dark brown, curly hair, had a dark complexion, brown eyes, had metal braces and wore glasses. He was a brain, and very musically gifted... not exactly the kind of guy young girls dream about, eh?
It didn't take me long to look up his address and figure out where he lived. I started riding my bike past his house every chance I could, sometimes up to 10 times a day on the weekends and holidays. I quickly discovered that the back of his house faced the interstate, and when I finally figured out that I could actually see his house from my own front porch (on the other side of the interstate), I was elated. We didn't own any binoculars, but I discovered if you turned a camera around and looked through the opposite side of the view finder, it would enlarge the view, so I could frequently be found standing on our porch, looking through the camera backwards, straining to catch a glimpse of him in his backyard, even though his house was at least a quarter of a mile away.
My friend and I would spend hours talking on the phone, discussing "him" and any other guys we thought were worth talking about. She also had a crush on Andy's best friend, Tim P.
Tim was another brain w/glasses, also in band with me. He was VERY tall, with orangish-red hair and freckles, and he played a lot of sports. I did find out a couple of years ago that he went on to become a doctor.
But back to Andy...
Once Andy had moved on to high school, we still dreamed about him, but without having him nearby to make google-eyes at, he fell from the top of my "McDreamy" list. After we also got into high school, my friend got involved with the drama department which Andy was also a member of, and very often the lead actor in whichever production they were putting on. I still had band with him, but I'd lost interest.
Another friend of mine that I was on the color-guard with had started dating Andy, and I do believed they eventually married. I never saw him again after he graduated, but from what I hear, he lost most of his hair prematurely. When I look back now at the boy that was my first love (if only in my mind), I can't help but think how goofy he actually looked. It must've been the brains and talent I was attracted to.
the opposite sex! **gasp**
I don't know why it was, but it seemed as if the very moment I entered 7th grade, boys became quite interesting. It seemed like 3 out of every 4 boys held some sort of fascination for me, but none quite so much as THE boy that so many of us seemed to ogle, Andy F. **swoon**
Andy was a year ahead of me, and had attended a different elementary school, that's why I'd never known him before that time. He wasn't the classically "cute boy", but yet there was something simply dreamy about him. He wasn't tall, or even athletic in the sense that he was "built". I can remember my best friend and I practically foaming at the mouth at the mere mention of his name. We'd strain for a glimpse of him upon arriving at school, every time we changed classes we'd look for him in the halls, and at lunch time. I at least was fortunate to have band class with him, so I could surreptitiously sit and ogle him as he sat just just a few feet away. **swoon**
It didn't take us long to learn his class schedule and we'd stalk him through the hallways when our own class schedule allowed. If there was an opportunity to pass him going in the opposite direction and "accidentally" brush up against him, the opportunity was taken!!
As I mentioned, Andy wasn't classically good looking. He had dark brown, curly hair, had a dark complexion, brown eyes, had metal braces and wore glasses. He was a brain, and very musically gifted... not exactly the kind of guy young girls dream about, eh?
It didn't take me long to look up his address and figure out where he lived. I started riding my bike past his house every chance I could, sometimes up to 10 times a day on the weekends and holidays. I quickly discovered that the back of his house faced the interstate, and when I finally figured out that I could actually see his house from my own front porch (on the other side of the interstate), I was elated. We didn't own any binoculars, but I discovered if you turned a camera around and looked through the opposite side of the view finder, it would enlarge the view, so I could frequently be found standing on our porch, looking through the camera backwards, straining to catch a glimpse of him in his backyard, even though his house was at least a quarter of a mile away.
My friend and I would spend hours talking on the phone, discussing "him" and any other guys we thought were worth talking about. She also had a crush on Andy's best friend, Tim P.
Tim was another brain w/glasses, also in band with me. He was VERY tall, with orangish-red hair and freckles, and he played a lot of sports. I did find out a couple of years ago that he went on to become a doctor.
But back to Andy...
Once Andy had moved on to high school, we still dreamed about him, but without having him nearby to make google-eyes at, he fell from the top of my "McDreamy" list. After we also got into high school, my friend got involved with the drama department which Andy was also a member of, and very often the lead actor in whichever production they were putting on. I still had band with him, but I'd lost interest.
Another friend of mine that I was on the color-guard with had started dating Andy, and I do believed they eventually married. I never saw him again after he graduated, but from what I hear, he lost most of his hair prematurely. When I look back now at the boy that was my first love (if only in my mind), I can't help but think how goofy he actually looked. It must've been the brains and talent I was attracted to.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Random stuff
I heard on the morning news as they we're closing out their newscast, that a long-time reporter for their station had passed away unexpectedly early this morning. Chuck Olmstead has been one of the few constants that has remained at WHAS11 through the years, during a time of what seemed to be a high turn-over rate. It brought tears to my eyes when I heard the news, I've been watching him reporting since I was a little girl and am going to miss his familiar face and signature hats.
It's the slow season at my husband's place of work. O.T. is practically non-existent, and it's not uncommon to work fewer than 40 hours a week. Still, we're thankful that he at least has employment. For the past few weeks, he's had both Sundays and Mondays off from work. While it's a nice change of pace for him, he's able to take his dad to church on Sundays and spend time with him, it would be nice if his two consecutive days off were the same as mine... maybe then we could actually spend some time together and make plans to do something once in a while.
John had been promising to help a friend of mine clean her goat-barn one of these days when he was off, but either the weather has been too cold, too rainy, or she was out of town. Mother Nature finally cooperated yesterday, so he went out to her place and put in a days work (she paid him of course). When he got home last night, he could hardly move as he wasn't used to that kind of physical labor. "Welcome to my world," I said, as that's how I feel after I've put a few hours at the farm.
I just finished reading a book the other day, titled "Walking Ollie" by Stephen Foster.
At times it was a little hard to follow as it seemed to get drawn out, but then the dog would do something or the writer would make an observation that would have you smiling in a knowing way that only fellow dog owners can smile, especially if you've ever had a troublesome pet in your life. This (true)story chronicles the couples quest for the perfect dog, only to end up with a neurotic rescue hound that spends the first two years running away from from his new master. It's a sweet tale with a happy ending.
It's the slow season at my husband's place of work. O.T. is practically non-existent, and it's not uncommon to work fewer than 40 hours a week. Still, we're thankful that he at least has employment. For the past few weeks, he's had both Sundays and Mondays off from work. While it's a nice change of pace for him, he's able to take his dad to church on Sundays and spend time with him, it would be nice if his two consecutive days off were the same as mine... maybe then we could actually spend some time together and make plans to do something once in a while.
John had been promising to help a friend of mine clean her goat-barn one of these days when he was off, but either the weather has been too cold, too rainy, or she was out of town. Mother Nature finally cooperated yesterday, so he went out to her place and put in a days work (she paid him of course). When he got home last night, he could hardly move as he wasn't used to that kind of physical labor. "Welcome to my world," I said, as that's how I feel after I've put a few hours at the farm.
I just finished reading a book the other day, titled "Walking Ollie" by Stephen Foster.
At times it was a little hard to follow as it seemed to get drawn out, but then the dog would do something or the writer would make an observation that would have you smiling in a knowing way that only fellow dog owners can smile, especially if you've ever had a troublesome pet in your life. This (true)story chronicles the couples quest for the perfect dog, only to end up with a neurotic rescue hound that spends the first two years running away from from his new master. It's a sweet tale with a happy ending.
"If" meme
1)If you could trade places with anyone in the world, living or dead, for 24 hours, who would you trade with?
My dogter Olivia. I would give anything to know how well she can actually see, how things appear to her, and how she interprets her world around her, AND, to know if she has even one percent of her hearing... sometimes I wonder.
2)If you were handed a million dollars, tax free, to do with as you please, what would you do with it?
First of all, pay all my bills and buy my husband a new vehicle. Then I'd get the house fixed up, make all those repairs we've been putting off. Next I'd set aside perhaps a 100grand for savings and a rainy day. Then I'd donate a 100grand to each these charities: The Luci Ctr., St. Baldricks, Crusade for Children, Home of the Innocence, Seeing-Eye/Therapy Dogs for the Disabled, St. Judes Childrens Hospital . I'd like to purchase a piece of property in the country somewhere, to someday build my dream home on. Any money that's left over, I'd establish some scholarships.
3)If you found out you had exactly 1 year left to live, what would you do with your remaining time?
Guess I'd take that 100grand from that rainy day savings and travel the world.
4)If you could call a "do over" for any moments or events in your life, which one(s) (up to 5 do overs) would you do over?
Assuming I'd have known then what I know now...
Do-over #1) go to my sister's high school graduation. That's probably my biggest regret, having missed it.
Do-over #2) not quit my job at Coke as hastely as I did.
Do-over #3) I think we'd have stayed in our first house longer instead of being duped into selling it and moving in with my f-i-l.
Do-over #4) I'd have spent more time and saved more money by staying home and cooking our meals instead of dining out so often. I shudder when I think of the money we've spent dining out, especially the first half of our marriage.
5)If you could have your dream job/career (assuming you don't already have it) what would it be?
I'm not really sure exactly would it be, but it would involve working with animals.
6)If you had to chose between saving the life of your spouse or the life of a small child you don't even know, which would you chose?
That's a tough one. If you're married to your soulmate, how could you let them die? On the other hand, how could you look into the eyes of an innocent child and ignore their cry for help?
I just don't know... I guess I'd have to wait 'til the situation arose and see what happens. :(
7)If you were told that there could be world peace forever and ever, and that all violence, war and hate crimes could be ended, poverty and disease would become non-existent, but that the only way to end these things was for everyone to give up their religion and their belief in a higher power, would you be willing to do this?
Absolutely
8)(This is going to sound a little like "Back to the Future") If you had the chance to experience time-travel and it was a one-time only opportunity, would you want to go back in history, or forward into the future? And why?
Back in time. I think I'd like the chance to live in a simpler time, before computers and automobiles, before suburbs and big cities and I'd like the opportunity to meet my relatives when they first came to this country.
Considering where our planet is headed, I think the future is going to be very sad.
9)If you had to give up one of your senses, smell, taste, touch, hearing, or seeing, which one would it be?
Oh gosh, tough one. I think it would have to be smell.
I love food too much to give up taste.
I love music too much to give up hearing.
I love the feel of my dogs fur when I pet them, and too, I think it would be difficult, if not impossible to hold onto a leash if I had no sense of touch.
I could always learn braille, so I could continue to read.
If I didn't have the sense of smell, maybe I wouldn't be so quick to gag at certain odors.
10) If you could have a professional come in and be at your disposal for one whole week to instruct you, which kind of professional/what area of your life would you want help with?
Hmm, maybe Bob Villa? I'd like to learn how to make those home repairs myself.
My dogter Olivia. I would give anything to know how well she can actually see, how things appear to her, and how she interprets her world around her, AND, to know if she has even one percent of her hearing... sometimes I wonder.
2)If you were handed a million dollars, tax free, to do with as you please, what would you do with it?
First of all, pay all my bills and buy my husband a new vehicle. Then I'd get the house fixed up, make all those repairs we've been putting off. Next I'd set aside perhaps a 100grand for savings and a rainy day. Then I'd donate a 100grand to each these charities: The Luci Ctr., St. Baldricks, Crusade for Children, Home of the Innocence, Seeing-Eye/Therapy Dogs for the Disabled, St. Judes Childrens Hospital . I'd like to purchase a piece of property in the country somewhere, to someday build my dream home on. Any money that's left over, I'd establish some scholarships.
3)If you found out you had exactly 1 year left to live, what would you do with your remaining time?
Guess I'd take that 100grand from that rainy day savings and travel the world.
4)If you could call a "do over" for any moments or events in your life, which one(s) (up to 5 do overs) would you do over?
Assuming I'd have known then what I know now...
Do-over #1) go to my sister's high school graduation. That's probably my biggest regret, having missed it.
Do-over #2) not quit my job at Coke as hastely as I did.
Do-over #3) I think we'd have stayed in our first house longer instead of being duped into selling it and moving in with my f-i-l.
Do-over #4) I'd have spent more time and saved more money by staying home and cooking our meals instead of dining out so often. I shudder when I think of the money we've spent dining out, especially the first half of our marriage.
5)If you could have your dream job/career (assuming you don't already have it) what would it be?
I'm not really sure exactly would it be, but it would involve working with animals.
6)If you had to chose between saving the life of your spouse or the life of a small child you don't even know, which would you chose?
That's a tough one. If you're married to your soulmate, how could you let them die? On the other hand, how could you look into the eyes of an innocent child and ignore their cry for help?
I just don't know... I guess I'd have to wait 'til the situation arose and see what happens. :(
7)If you were told that there could be world peace forever and ever, and that all violence, war and hate crimes could be ended, poverty and disease would become non-existent, but that the only way to end these things was for everyone to give up their religion and their belief in a higher power, would you be willing to do this?
Absolutely
8)(This is going to sound a little like "Back to the Future") If you had the chance to experience time-travel and it was a one-time only opportunity, would you want to go back in history, or forward into the future? And why?
Back in time. I think I'd like the chance to live in a simpler time, before computers and automobiles, before suburbs and big cities and I'd like the opportunity to meet my relatives when they first came to this country.
Considering where our planet is headed, I think the future is going to be very sad.
9)If you had to give up one of your senses, smell, taste, touch, hearing, or seeing, which one would it be?
Oh gosh, tough one. I think it would have to be smell.
I love food too much to give up taste.
I love music too much to give up hearing.
I love the feel of my dogs fur when I pet them, and too, I think it would be difficult, if not impossible to hold onto a leash if I had no sense of touch.
I could always learn braille, so I could continue to read.
If I didn't have the sense of smell, maybe I wouldn't be so quick to gag at certain odors.
10) If you could have a professional come in and be at your disposal for one whole week to instruct you, which kind of professional/what area of your life would you want help with?
Hmm, maybe Bob Villa? I'd like to learn how to make those home repairs myself.
Monday, March 09, 2009
Tear jerker
I watched this 3 1/2 minute video a few minutes ago, and was totally reduced to tears. The little boy in the video is absolutely precious!! There is something about a small child in glasses that is just irresistibly cute. I mean, I hate that they have poor vision that early in life, but it just makes them all the more cuter. Grab a tissue, click on the link and then click "play" and watch it. If you don't at least get misty-eyed, then you must be dead inside.
http://www.stbaldricks.org/about_us/#
http://www.stbaldricks.org/about_us/#
The longest weekend ever
This weekend seemed to last for an eternity. I don't mean to sound like I'm complaining, but it just seemed like it went on and on and on. Perhaps it was because I was in so much pain (low back, sciatic, elbow) that I just wanted each day to end so I could start fresh the next day in hopes that it would be better.
Saturday I arrived at the farm before 7am. Paula had the pick-up truck loaded down so much, there was barely room for us in the cab. We arrived in Harrodsburg around 8:30 and began unloading. Our booth space wasn't nearly big enough for everything we had, and it spilled out into the aisle way. I told her it looked like our booth had thrown up. We just made the best of it and kept rearranging stuff, and as some items would sell out, we'd quickly unpack more things and fill in the empty spaces.
I'm not sure how many booths there were total, but I know several people kept coming back to ours to purchase more and more. One woman, after having visited each booth, came back to ours and declared ours "the best". Certainly not for it's eye-catching colors or razzle-dazzle, but for selection of practical items and value-price. We started closing up shop around 3pm or so, and had probably sold 75% of what we'd arrived with, and made almost $600 for our efforts.
It had been such a long day and my back was hurting so bad, by the time I got home after 6pm, I hurried to get 2 loads of laundry done and was in bed before 8pm. I was exhausted!
It was time to make the switch to day-light-saving-time, so that meant setting the clocks ahead 1 hour and losing an hour of sleep. Good thing I went to bed so early!
The weather was wonderfully warm this weekend, and I donned shorts for my attire to work at the farm Sunday morning. It started spitting rain just as I was getting ready to leave, and the overcast skies had me reconsidering which dog(s) I'd be bathing that afternoon. I didn't trust the darkening skies to not soak everything, so I opted to take Olivia for a ride out to the country to visit her "grandma". Getting a bath isn't high on Olivia's list of favorite things, and it took every ounce I had to hold on to her with one arm and bathe her with the other. I'm not sure who got wetter, her or me. My dingy white pooch is now fluffy, bright white and smells a whole lot better.
Again, my with my aching back, I went to bed early. I don't know what possessed Olivia to behave as she did, but I allowed her into the bedroom last night for a moment, and instead of running around trying to find the cats, she actually got onto the bed and laid down and there she stayed 'til almost 5 o'clock this morning. Needless to say, John slept on one of the recliners. It was the first time, outside of a camping trip, that one of my dogs have actually slept in bed with me, and I enjoyed the soft, fuzzy, sweet-smelling, warmth next to me. This kind of behavior is what I like. :)
Saturday I arrived at the farm before 7am. Paula had the pick-up truck loaded down so much, there was barely room for us in the cab. We arrived in Harrodsburg around 8:30 and began unloading. Our booth space wasn't nearly big enough for everything we had, and it spilled out into the aisle way. I told her it looked like our booth had thrown up. We just made the best of it and kept rearranging stuff, and as some items would sell out, we'd quickly unpack more things and fill in the empty spaces.
I'm not sure how many booths there were total, but I know several people kept coming back to ours to purchase more and more. One woman, after having visited each booth, came back to ours and declared ours "the best". Certainly not for it's eye-catching colors or razzle-dazzle, but for selection of practical items and value-price. We started closing up shop around 3pm or so, and had probably sold 75% of what we'd arrived with, and made almost $600 for our efforts.
It had been such a long day and my back was hurting so bad, by the time I got home after 6pm, I hurried to get 2 loads of laundry done and was in bed before 8pm. I was exhausted!
It was time to make the switch to day-light-saving-time, so that meant setting the clocks ahead 1 hour and losing an hour of sleep. Good thing I went to bed so early!
The weather was wonderfully warm this weekend, and I donned shorts for my attire to work at the farm Sunday morning. It started spitting rain just as I was getting ready to leave, and the overcast skies had me reconsidering which dog(s) I'd be bathing that afternoon. I didn't trust the darkening skies to not soak everything, so I opted to take Olivia for a ride out to the country to visit her "grandma". Getting a bath isn't high on Olivia's list of favorite things, and it took every ounce I had to hold on to her with one arm and bathe her with the other. I'm not sure who got wetter, her or me. My dingy white pooch is now fluffy, bright white and smells a whole lot better.
Again, my with my aching back, I went to bed early. I don't know what possessed Olivia to behave as she did, but I allowed her into the bedroom last night for a moment, and instead of running around trying to find the cats, she actually got onto the bed and laid down and there she stayed 'til almost 5 o'clock this morning. Needless to say, John slept on one of the recliners. It was the first time, outside of a camping trip, that one of my dogs have actually slept in bed with me, and I enjoyed the soft, fuzzy, sweet-smelling, warmth next to me. This kind of behavior is what I like. :)
His life savings
Something in a post "beingbeth" made last week got me to thinking about all the things my husband saves that have no purpose other than to clutter up our home. So I thought I'd share with you a few things we (mostly HE) have saved in our 21 years together, and I have no explanation for any of it except that perhaps he feels it's his way of "going green" by not filling up the land-fills with this junk, instead, preferring to fill up every nook and cranny in our home.
Twist-ties. Every time the man finishes off a loaf of bread, he tosses the twist-tie into a kitchen drawer. WHY? I ask. Because you never know when you might need one, he responds.
Me: I don't think a time will ever come when we need 4,952 twist-ties. Stop saving them!
I mean, I can possibly understand saving the ones that are still flat, in tact and attached to others that have come from some box of say trash bags or whatever, but honestly, every single one you've ever come across in your life? One day last week I was searching for something in that drawer and suddenly went ballistic because all the colorful twist-ties were getting in my way and holding things together I was trying to pull apart. Needless to say, I ended up throwing out several years worth of his life savings.
Cardboard. Boxes, packaging, dividers, whatever. Heavy corrugated cardboard, or thing flimsy stuff like what a 12-pk comes in. He seems to want to save it all. WHY? I ask. Because I can use it to help build fires when we use the firepit.
Me: Just throw the stuff away! I have no doubt we'll come across some other pieces of cardboard between now and whenever we use the firepit again.
Needless to say he doesn't throw it out, so once again, it falls to me to do so when he isn't looking, again throwing out several months worth of his life savings.
Used papertowels. If all he has used a papertowel for is to dry his hands on and it doesn't appear "dirty", then he has a rather annoying habit that he's developed over the past couple of years of draping the used towel over a couple of bottles or canisters or whatever is sitting on the counter, and letting it dry out so he can use it again at a later time. WHY? I ask. Because I use less papertowels this way.
Me: How about just using a hand towel to dry your hands on, and then hanging it back on the towel rack when done?
I don't give these towels a chance to accumulate. I toss them every time his back is turned.
Old socks and t-shirts. Honestly, I think if I hadn't laid down the law a couple of times in our marriage, then he'd still have in his possession that horrid light blue polo-shirt he frequently wore when we were dating. My husband has a hard time throwing away (or donating for that matter) old clothing items. Even if it's full of holes and stains, and the elastic is shot. He seems to form some kind of emotional attachment to all his clothing. When he asks me to purchase him some new socks or underwear, I refuse to do so until I see that some of them have found their way into a trash can and are headed to the land-fill.
Despite my efforts to thin out his wardrobe of t-shirts that no longer fit and socks with holes that won't stay up, there is still quite a lot of this held in reserve in our house. That's one area of his life savings I've not been able to put a big dent in.
Dog food bags. We buy our dog food in bulk and then empty it into storage bins. When the bag is emptied and the weight circles removed, most normal people would then throw the bag away. But not my husband. He flattens the bags, folds them, and neatly stacks them** in the garage to use at a later date, usually for when we're doing lawn work. Okay, on this one, I'll admit, they do come in handy and they don't get puncture holes like lawn bags do. So perhaps I can understand his need to save 35 lb. dog food bags. But honestly, the small 4-lb. cat food bags? Enough is enough! I had to throw away two of those last night when he wasn't looking.
** side note... if he can so neatly put away these dog food bags, why can't I get him to put fold and put away his clothes that neatly???
Milk jugs. Virtually every time he empties one, or if he sees that I've set one next to the garbage can to be taken out, he'll hold it up and ask, "do you want to keep this for anything?"
If I did, do you think I would've set it next to the trash can??
Me: No, throw it away.
Him: But what about...
Me cutting him off: No!, throw it away!!!
The large plastic jars that his animal crackers come in. Granted, a couple of these have come in handy, such as for putting charcoal briquettes in when camping, to keep them from getting damp. But honestly, we don't need to save each and every one we ever empty. Just the other day he asked if they needed an empty jar at the farm.
Me: Um, no.
Him: They don't need it to put stuff in?
Me: No. Throw it away.
Him: Well, I'm sure my brother could use it at his farm to put stuff in. I'm going to save it.
My husband is under the impression that empty containers to put stuff in are a rare commodity and that we have the market cornered on providing them. He doesn't seem to realize that other people have their own empty containers.
Now, in all fairness to my husband, I do "collect" some stuff as well. I tend to purchase books instead of going to the library, thus I collect books. I am interested in a lot of different crafts: scrapbooking, beading, cross-stitching, painting ceramics, just to name a few. So, I've got craft stuff all over the place. But as my attention is only held by one or two crafts at a time, the others will often sit for many months, untouched, waiting for me to take them up again, and in the meantime, they take up valuable space. But he knows better then to touch any of my life savings. ;)
Twist-ties. Every time the man finishes off a loaf of bread, he tosses the twist-tie into a kitchen drawer. WHY? I ask. Because you never know when you might need one, he responds.
Me: I don't think a time will ever come when we need 4,952 twist-ties. Stop saving them!
I mean, I can possibly understand saving the ones that are still flat, in tact and attached to others that have come from some box of say trash bags or whatever, but honestly, every single one you've ever come across in your life? One day last week I was searching for something in that drawer and suddenly went ballistic because all the colorful twist-ties were getting in my way and holding things together I was trying to pull apart. Needless to say, I ended up throwing out several years worth of his life savings.
Cardboard. Boxes, packaging, dividers, whatever. Heavy corrugated cardboard, or thing flimsy stuff like what a 12-pk comes in. He seems to want to save it all. WHY? I ask. Because I can use it to help build fires when we use the firepit.
Me: Just throw the stuff away! I have no doubt we'll come across some other pieces of cardboard between now and whenever we use the firepit again.
Needless to say he doesn't throw it out, so once again, it falls to me to do so when he isn't looking, again throwing out several months worth of his life savings.
Used papertowels. If all he has used a papertowel for is to dry his hands on and it doesn't appear "dirty", then he has a rather annoying habit that he's developed over the past couple of years of draping the used towel over a couple of bottles or canisters or whatever is sitting on the counter, and letting it dry out so he can use it again at a later time. WHY? I ask. Because I use less papertowels this way.
Me: How about just using a hand towel to dry your hands on, and then hanging it back on the towel rack when done?
I don't give these towels a chance to accumulate. I toss them every time his back is turned.
Old socks and t-shirts. Honestly, I think if I hadn't laid down the law a couple of times in our marriage, then he'd still have in his possession that horrid light blue polo-shirt he frequently wore when we were dating. My husband has a hard time throwing away (or donating for that matter) old clothing items. Even if it's full of holes and stains, and the elastic is shot. He seems to form some kind of emotional attachment to all his clothing. When he asks me to purchase him some new socks or underwear, I refuse to do so until I see that some of them have found their way into a trash can and are headed to the land-fill.
Despite my efforts to thin out his wardrobe of t-shirts that no longer fit and socks with holes that won't stay up, there is still quite a lot of this held in reserve in our house. That's one area of his life savings I've not been able to put a big dent in.
Dog food bags. We buy our dog food in bulk and then empty it into storage bins. When the bag is emptied and the weight circles removed, most normal people would then throw the bag away. But not my husband. He flattens the bags, folds them, and neatly stacks them** in the garage to use at a later date, usually for when we're doing lawn work. Okay, on this one, I'll admit, they do come in handy and they don't get puncture holes like lawn bags do. So perhaps I can understand his need to save 35 lb. dog food bags. But honestly, the small 4-lb. cat food bags? Enough is enough! I had to throw away two of those last night when he wasn't looking.
** side note... if he can so neatly put away these dog food bags, why can't I get him to put fold and put away his clothes that neatly???
Milk jugs. Virtually every time he empties one, or if he sees that I've set one next to the garbage can to be taken out, he'll hold it up and ask, "do you want to keep this for anything?"
If I did, do you think I would've set it next to the trash can??
Me: No, throw it away.
Him: But what about...
Me cutting him off: No!, throw it away!!!
The large plastic jars that his animal crackers come in. Granted, a couple of these have come in handy, such as for putting charcoal briquettes in when camping, to keep them from getting damp. But honestly, we don't need to save each and every one we ever empty. Just the other day he asked if they needed an empty jar at the farm.
Me: Um, no.
Him: They don't need it to put stuff in?
Me: No. Throw it away.
Him: Well, I'm sure my brother could use it at his farm to put stuff in. I'm going to save it.
My husband is under the impression that empty containers to put stuff in are a rare commodity and that we have the market cornered on providing them. He doesn't seem to realize that other people have their own empty containers.
Now, in all fairness to my husband, I do "collect" some stuff as well. I tend to purchase books instead of going to the library, thus I collect books. I am interested in a lot of different crafts: scrapbooking, beading, cross-stitching, painting ceramics, just to name a few. So, I've got craft stuff all over the place. But as my attention is only held by one or two crafts at a time, the others will often sit for many months, untouched, waiting for me to take them up again, and in the meantime, they take up valuable space. But he knows better then to touch any of my life savings. ;)
Friday, March 06, 2009
This & that
I have to admit, I've got a no-pooping-on-the-grass sign, but it's hanging in our house, not on the lawn. It was given to us as a joke by one of our neighbors because of an on-going battle with another neighbor. It's just common courtesy if your pet poops on somebody else's lawn, to pick up after your pet. There are even signs posted near both entrances to our neighborhood asking you to do so. We abide by this rule. We have a neighbor that does not. In fact, not only will they not pick up after their dog when she goes on others lawns, they won't even allow her to go on THEIR OWN lawn. Several times a day you see them dragging that poor hapless dog out the front door at a run to cross the street and get her away from their own manicured lawn, in order to protect it from any possible killing of the grass by urine or uneven green spots caused by the fecal matter. These people need to get a life!!
I commented to the husband last night that in the 21+ years I've known him, I've never seen him read a book. Newspapers, magazines, brochures, yes!, but never a book. "Why is that?" I asked. He shrugged and replied, "because it's boring. I'd rather watch a movie."
But what if the power goes out?
I'll take a nap.
You do that anyway while watching movies.
He had no valid argument.
This made me rather sad. I come from a family of readers and we get a lot of enjoyment from it. Even several members of his family read for enjoyment, so this really puzzles me. I'm wondering if it's just his inability to stay awake or if there's some other underlying issue I'm not aware of.
It's been forever since we last went camping. About 2 1/2 years to be exact. This really makes me sad, to think of our camper sitting there going to waste when we've paid so much money into it. I'm not even sure my husband's vehicle is even capable of towing it anymore. I'd truly LOVE to go camping when we're on vacation next month, so I'm wondering if my back could handle a couple of nights in a tent. Sleeping on the ground I know would be a great big NO WAY!! Perhaps if I could find a comfortable chaise lounge... and too, I wonder how well Olivia could handle tent-camping. **sigh**, the "what if's"
I need to gather up the tax stuff and get it dropped off at the tax-service. We're trying a new company to get our taxes done this year, as we're so tired of paying the ridiculous fees that Jackson-Hewitt charges. I dread tax time as we always owe. It hardly seems fair, especially since we have extra money taken out of our paychecks just for the sake of not having to pay as much at tax time. For the life of me I'd like to know what other people are doing to get these big ol' refunds. In all honesty, I'm not even asking for a refund, I'd just like to break-even. Is that asking too much? Apparently so. :(
It's the weekend, YEA!!! Tomorrow I'll be in Harrodsburg, helping the Luci Ctr. with a used-tack sale to raise money for the farm. Sunday, I'm taking the dog(s) to G's to get bathed. If it's not raining, I'll take Bootsy & Eliott so they can get some romping time in before getting bathed. If it's raining, then I'll take Olivia. Guess I'd better get some of my laundry done tonight, as I'll be too busy this weekend to get it done. Work, work, work! No rest for the weary. But honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way. ;)
Hope everyone has a great weekend!
I commented to the husband last night that in the 21+ years I've known him, I've never seen him read a book. Newspapers, magazines, brochures, yes!, but never a book. "Why is that?" I asked. He shrugged and replied, "because it's boring. I'd rather watch a movie."
But what if the power goes out?
I'll take a nap.
You do that anyway while watching movies.
He had no valid argument.
This made me rather sad. I come from a family of readers and we get a lot of enjoyment from it. Even several members of his family read for enjoyment, so this really puzzles me. I'm wondering if it's just his inability to stay awake or if there's some other underlying issue I'm not aware of.
It's been forever since we last went camping. About 2 1/2 years to be exact. This really makes me sad, to think of our camper sitting there going to waste when we've paid so much money into it. I'm not even sure my husband's vehicle is even capable of towing it anymore. I'd truly LOVE to go camping when we're on vacation next month, so I'm wondering if my back could handle a couple of nights in a tent. Sleeping on the ground I know would be a great big NO WAY!! Perhaps if I could find a comfortable chaise lounge... and too, I wonder how well Olivia could handle tent-camping. **sigh**, the "what if's"
I need to gather up the tax stuff and get it dropped off at the tax-service. We're trying a new company to get our taxes done this year, as we're so tired of paying the ridiculous fees that Jackson-Hewitt charges. I dread tax time as we always owe. It hardly seems fair, especially since we have extra money taken out of our paychecks just for the sake of not having to pay as much at tax time. For the life of me I'd like to know what other people are doing to get these big ol' refunds. In all honesty, I'm not even asking for a refund, I'd just like to break-even. Is that asking too much? Apparently so. :(
It's the weekend, YEA!!! Tomorrow I'll be in Harrodsburg, helping the Luci Ctr. with a used-tack sale to raise money for the farm. Sunday, I'm taking the dog(s) to G's to get bathed. If it's not raining, I'll take Bootsy & Eliott so they can get some romping time in before getting bathed. If it's raining, then I'll take Olivia. Guess I'd better get some of my laundry done tonight, as I'll be too busy this weekend to get it done. Work, work, work! No rest for the weary. But honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way. ;)
Hope everyone has a great weekend!
Nostalgic moment for the week
In light of the recent loss in my husband's family, I thought I'd blog about Uncle Freddy & Aunt Jane and my memories of them.
This is a long blog, so consider yourself warned. And honestly, it's more for me, and helping to preserve my memories of them, than it is for any of you to read.
Jane and Fred are my husband's aunt and her husband
The first time I met Fred and Jane was the week after Thanksgiving, 1987. They lived in a cabin by Nolin Lake and kept an eye on the neighborhood they lived in. The developers that had created the homes in that area allowed them to live in the cabin in exchange for acting as the security guards, I guess you could say. They had access to the developers other lake-front, weekend-home, known as the Topsider. The owners rarely used the topsider, and this is where John & I would stay when we went to visit. That first trip to the lake became a tradition in the years to come. It was because of that time we spent with them that we started always planning one of our vacation weeks for that week after Thanksgiving, and always going down to visit them at that time (and other random times when we could get away).
Fred & Jane owned and operated Fred's Disposal Co., which was the trash pick-up service for their area. When not at work, Fred could always be found sitting in his chair in the corner of the living room, watching tv or reading the paper. We'd visit, watch movies, eat with them or go out to dinner, and just enjoyed our time with them. Then, in 1994 or 95, they were involved in a bad car wreck. While Jane pretty much walked away with some cuts and bruises, Fred spent quite a bit of time in the hospital recovering. He was never quite the same after that, needing much physical rehab, but never regaining the strength and stamina he needed to get around. They eventually sold their business and were officially retired.
Whenever we'd go down to visit them after that, it was a welcome sight to find Fred sitting in his favorite chair, but more often than not, he wouldn't even get out of bed while we were there. Or, only after much nagging and a monumental effort, he might get up and get cleaned up so we could all go out to dinner. Upon returning home, he might sit up with us and visit. From time to time we could convince him to get out of bed and come sit around the kitchen table with us and play cards, usually either Uno or Spiteful.
John and I would sit on one side of the table, Fred and Jane across from us, we always played the men against the women. Because Fred had trouble concentrating and keeping up with what was going on, Jane would often lean in to look at his cards and help him if he delayed too long in making a move. He'd get so aggravated with her, in his loud and rumbling voice he'd say, "Well God Damn Jane!" and then in the next breath he'd say in a much softer voice, "well which card do you think I should play next?" John and I have gotten many giggles out of this over the years as it would happen many times per game, and John does a very good impression of Freddy and loves to tell others of the fun we had with them.
Fred loved his meat rare. And when I say rare, I don't mean just very pink on the inside, I'm talking virtually raw. There were times we were almost certain there was a freshly slaughtered cow in the kitchen that had been placed directly onto his plate, as the blood that oozed from his steak or roast (or whatever) was revolting to look at as it pooled around the vegetables on the plate. I always had to look away in revulsion. I could never understand how people can eat their meat so under cooked like that, especially since I'm the kind that likes their steaks very well done. He had a bad problem with reflux, and part of me couldn't help but wonder if the raw meat didn't have something to do with that.
About 4 years ago while we were visiting them, Fred had to go to a sleep-clinic. We left the house early so that we could stop for dinner on the way. It was about an hour drive, probably more because we were taking the back roads to get there. I was driving their Lincoln Towncar, Fred was in the front seat next to me. We'd been driving for about 15 minutes when he suddenly announced he needed to use the restroom. Well, when you're out in the country, business with public restrooms are few and far between. I asked if I should stop along side the road so he could go behind a tree, he was getting upset and hollering about how badly he needed to go and the expletives were flying. Jane sat in the back fussing at him for not having gone before leaving the house and told me to keep driving. I was torn between listening to her and feeling bad for him and worrying that he'd wet his pants and that the pee would flood the front seat and run over on to me when we went around a curve. We finally came upon a convenience store and I pulled in where John assisted his uncle to the restroom. Back in the car, we resumed our drive and when we finally arrived in civilization, we stopped at an Outback restaurant for dinner. John pulled me aside, rolling his eyes and said his uncle had refused to wash his hands after using the restroom. I groaned inwardly, but took my queue. When we'd sat down to place our dinner orders, I pulled a bottle of hand sanitizer from my purse and offered it around the table. Actually, it's become standard practice for John & I to do this every time we go out to dine after handling the menus. So when I offered it to Fred, he refused. John tried to urge him gently to use it, still he refused. Then John reminded him he hadn't washed his hands when they'd stopped so he should probably use some, so in a voice loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear, Fred says, "So what, my peter ain't dirty!" Needless to say, John and I both wanted to crawl under the table and hide.
Yes, at times uncle Freddy could be rude and crude, but I guess that was just part of his charm.
He'd often catch your eye at some random moment, then give you a wink and a smile.
I've often said that Jane and Fred were John and I 40 years from now. Their children were all of the 4-legged variety, same as us, and there were always 4 or 5 mutts running around. I don't think they ever turned away a stray dog. They preferred living out in the country, away from the hustle and bustle of town, and I think most people know how much I would prefer living in that setting. They fuss and argue with each other, but it's all done in love, just as John and I do. She waited on him hand and foot, seeing to his every need.
Fred went into a nursing home a little over a year ago, and I never saw him again. I'm sorry to say, but I don't do nursing homes. I never even went to see my own grandparents when they were in a nursing home, I suppose it's a phobia of mine.
They called each other "pet", and Jane said her last words to him when she was leaving the nursing home that last night he spent on Earth were "Good night, I love you, Pet". One of the ribbons on his casket spray read: I love you Pet
I thought it was very touching.
After John and I went to bed that night, after returning home from Fred's visitation, we kissed good night then looked at each other and I said, "Good night, Pet", and he replied "Good night, Pet". So now their pet names for one another are starting to rub off on us.
I've always thought very highly of Jane and love her dearly. She's been a confidant over the years and despite the fact that I'm not much for talking on the phone, she and I have had some long phone conversations. She's turning 80 later this month, so I'm going to visit her and take her to lunch. I wish she would consider moving closer to the rest of the family now that Fred is gone, but I know she's a country gal and would never be as happy living in the suburbs with the rest of the family. Whenever I'm with her, I feel like I'm spending time with an older version of myself... maybe that's why she and I get along so fabulously. ;)
This is a long blog, so consider yourself warned. And honestly, it's more for me, and helping to preserve my memories of them, than it is for any of you to read.
Jane and Fred are my husband's aunt and her husband
The first time I met Fred and Jane was the week after Thanksgiving, 1987. They lived in a cabin by Nolin Lake and kept an eye on the neighborhood they lived in. The developers that had created the homes in that area allowed them to live in the cabin in exchange for acting as the security guards, I guess you could say. They had access to the developers other lake-front, weekend-home, known as the Topsider. The owners rarely used the topsider, and this is where John & I would stay when we went to visit. That first trip to the lake became a tradition in the years to come. It was because of that time we spent with them that we started always planning one of our vacation weeks for that week after Thanksgiving, and always going down to visit them at that time (and other random times when we could get away).
Fred & Jane owned and operated Fred's Disposal Co., which was the trash pick-up service for their area. When not at work, Fred could always be found sitting in his chair in the corner of the living room, watching tv or reading the paper. We'd visit, watch movies, eat with them or go out to dinner, and just enjoyed our time with them. Then, in 1994 or 95, they were involved in a bad car wreck. While Jane pretty much walked away with some cuts and bruises, Fred spent quite a bit of time in the hospital recovering. He was never quite the same after that, needing much physical rehab, but never regaining the strength and stamina he needed to get around. They eventually sold their business and were officially retired.
Whenever we'd go down to visit them after that, it was a welcome sight to find Fred sitting in his favorite chair, but more often than not, he wouldn't even get out of bed while we were there. Or, only after much nagging and a monumental effort, he might get up and get cleaned up so we could all go out to dinner. Upon returning home, he might sit up with us and visit. From time to time we could convince him to get out of bed and come sit around the kitchen table with us and play cards, usually either Uno or Spiteful.
John and I would sit on one side of the table, Fred and Jane across from us, we always played the men against the women. Because Fred had trouble concentrating and keeping up with what was going on, Jane would often lean in to look at his cards and help him if he delayed too long in making a move. He'd get so aggravated with her, in his loud and rumbling voice he'd say, "Well God Damn Jane!" and then in the next breath he'd say in a much softer voice, "well which card do you think I should play next?" John and I have gotten many giggles out of this over the years as it would happen many times per game, and John does a very good impression of Freddy and loves to tell others of the fun we had with them.
Fred loved his meat rare. And when I say rare, I don't mean just very pink on the inside, I'm talking virtually raw. There were times we were almost certain there was a freshly slaughtered cow in the kitchen that had been placed directly onto his plate, as the blood that oozed from his steak or roast (or whatever) was revolting to look at as it pooled around the vegetables on the plate. I always had to look away in revulsion. I could never understand how people can eat their meat so under cooked like that, especially since I'm the kind that likes their steaks very well done. He had a bad problem with reflux, and part of me couldn't help but wonder if the raw meat didn't have something to do with that.
About 4 years ago while we were visiting them, Fred had to go to a sleep-clinic. We left the house early so that we could stop for dinner on the way. It was about an hour drive, probably more because we were taking the back roads to get there. I was driving their Lincoln Towncar, Fred was in the front seat next to me. We'd been driving for about 15 minutes when he suddenly announced he needed to use the restroom. Well, when you're out in the country, business with public restrooms are few and far between. I asked if I should stop along side the road so he could go behind a tree, he was getting upset and hollering about how badly he needed to go and the expletives were flying. Jane sat in the back fussing at him for not having gone before leaving the house and told me to keep driving. I was torn between listening to her and feeling bad for him and worrying that he'd wet his pants and that the pee would flood the front seat and run over on to me when we went around a curve. We finally came upon a convenience store and I pulled in where John assisted his uncle to the restroom. Back in the car, we resumed our drive and when we finally arrived in civilization, we stopped at an Outback restaurant for dinner. John pulled me aside, rolling his eyes and said his uncle had refused to wash his hands after using the restroom. I groaned inwardly, but took my queue. When we'd sat down to place our dinner orders, I pulled a bottle of hand sanitizer from my purse and offered it around the table. Actually, it's become standard practice for John & I to do this every time we go out to dine after handling the menus. So when I offered it to Fred, he refused. John tried to urge him gently to use it, still he refused. Then John reminded him he hadn't washed his hands when they'd stopped so he should probably use some, so in a voice loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear, Fred says, "So what, my peter ain't dirty!" Needless to say, John and I both wanted to crawl under the table and hide.
Yes, at times uncle Freddy could be rude and crude, but I guess that was just part of his charm.
He'd often catch your eye at some random moment, then give you a wink and a smile.
I've often said that Jane and Fred were John and I 40 years from now. Their children were all of the 4-legged variety, same as us, and there were always 4 or 5 mutts running around. I don't think they ever turned away a stray dog. They preferred living out in the country, away from the hustle and bustle of town, and I think most people know how much I would prefer living in that setting. They fuss and argue with each other, but it's all done in love, just as John and I do. She waited on him hand and foot, seeing to his every need.
Fred went into a nursing home a little over a year ago, and I never saw him again. I'm sorry to say, but I don't do nursing homes. I never even went to see my own grandparents when they were in a nursing home, I suppose it's a phobia of mine.
They called each other "pet", and Jane said her last words to him when she was leaving the nursing home that last night he spent on Earth were "Good night, I love you, Pet". One of the ribbons on his casket spray read: I love you Pet
I thought it was very touching.
After John and I went to bed that night, after returning home from Fred's visitation, we kissed good night then looked at each other and I said, "Good night, Pet", and he replied "Good night, Pet". So now their pet names for one another are starting to rub off on us.
I've always thought very highly of Jane and love her dearly. She's been a confidant over the years and despite the fact that I'm not much for talking on the phone, she and I have had some long phone conversations. She's turning 80 later this month, so I'm going to visit her and take her to lunch. I wish she would consider moving closer to the rest of the family now that Fred is gone, but I know she's a country gal and would never be as happy living in the suburbs with the rest of the family. Whenever I'm with her, I feel like I'm spending time with an older version of myself... maybe that's why she and I get along so fabulously. ;)
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