Dad goes to the farmer’s market every Saturday morning. He always asks if there’s anything I don’t want him to bring home. Usually I forbid him to bring home greens unless he plans to cook them, which we all know will never happen.
I love to eat greens, but I’m not big on cooking them. They’re a lot of work. You have to wash them good and pick through them to get rid of all the tough stalks. You start off with what looks like enough to feed the entire neighborhood and wind up with barely enough for 2 people. They stink up the house while they’re cooking. Plus, I’m not good at seasoning them.
Last night I was feeling generous, and since the weather forecast was for a high of around 80, I figured I could open the windows, so I told him he could get some greens if he wanted. “I thought you didn’t like greens.” “I don’t like to cook them. I do like to eat them.”
He came back with a plastic bag stuffed full of greens. In the meantime, I ran into John when Dillon and I set out on our morning walk. He pointed out a big patch of turnip greens that he’d planted and encouraged me to get all I wanted. I told Dad as I was washing the turnip greens that he’d bought, that next week he could just go out back and pick some. “I never was a big fan of turnip salad,” was his reply.
I stopped picking greens and looked at him. “Then why did you buy this big bag full of turnip greens?” “Well, you said you wanted some salad.” “I beg your pardon, what I said was ‘you can buy some greens if you want to.’ I was trying to be nice. I didn’t mean for you to buy a big bag full of something you don’t like.” “Well you can throw it out if you want to.”
The turnip salad is on the stove cooking. I even bought a Junior Johnson Country Ham Hock to season it with. Hopefully it will be good because the house smells even with the windows open. I guess it’s good that it's cooking down to nothing. That way he won’t have much to eat, since he doesn’t really like it. It just goes to prove my philosophy that it doesn’t pay to be nice because it usually comes back to bite you in the ass.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
If at first you don't succeed
After a couple of great meals, lunch on Thursday was a disaster. I tend to put off going to the grocery store until we’re out of practically everything. I also rarely plan meals in advance anymore. I get up in the morning and try to figure out what we have on hand that I can turn into lunch. There are a few go to in case of emergency supplies always on hand, like canned corn beef and diced potatoes for making corned beef hash, and tomato soup to go with grilled cheese sandwiches.
Thursday I had a slice of ham, some apples, and sweet potatoes to work with. I went on-line and searched for recipes using those 3 ingredients. I found one that sounded good. You brown the ham slice on both sides, quarter the apples, and combine in a casserole dish with ¼-inch slices of sweet potato. Top with 2 tablespoons of brown sugar, pour ¾ cup of hot water over the whole thing and bake at 350 for an hour. Sounded good and easy, so that’s what I made.
Thursday is my Reading Buddy day. I have to be at school at 1:15. I was a little late starting lunch preparations, but it should have been ready at 12:20. I opened the oven door and thought the sweet potatoes still looked a bit pale. Sure enough, when I poked them with a fork, they were still pretty hard. I searched around and found a few slices that were softer than the others were. Since I didn’t have time to wait, we were going to have to go with that. I had made a pan of cornbread and a broccoli salad, which Dad really likes, so I figured we wouldn’t starve.
Dad doesn’t particularly like regular ham anyway, I had been counting on the apples and sweet potatoes to balance that out, so I knew he was going to be less than thrilled. I forgot to mention that I didn’t have cooking apples, so I substituted Gala and they’d pretty much disintegrated. Talk about Murphy’s Law. I slammed the casserole dish down on the table and announced that this particular recipe hadn’t worked out but it was all there was. If he wanted something else, he was welcome to make himself a sandwich or go find a pack of Nabs. He didn’t say a word, just put a pretty big slice of ham on his plate and 2 slices of sweet potato. I guess there are no lengths to which he will not go to avoid having to prepare his own food.
I hate wasting food, and the sweet potatoes just needed more time in the oven, so I put the rest of the sweet potatoes back in the oven and baked them for another 40 minutes, then turned the oven off and let them sit until I got back from school. By then, they were nice and soft. I served them again last night with pork chops. Dad took a tiny spoonful. Then he ate a bite. “The sweet potatoes are good,” he said in surprise. “They just needed more cooking. They weren’t done yesterday,” I informed him. He went back for seconds. If at first you don’t succeed…..
Thursday I had a slice of ham, some apples, and sweet potatoes to work with. I went on-line and searched for recipes using those 3 ingredients. I found one that sounded good. You brown the ham slice on both sides, quarter the apples, and combine in a casserole dish with ¼-inch slices of sweet potato. Top with 2 tablespoons of brown sugar, pour ¾ cup of hot water over the whole thing and bake at 350 for an hour. Sounded good and easy, so that’s what I made.
Thursday is my Reading Buddy day. I have to be at school at 1:15. I was a little late starting lunch preparations, but it should have been ready at 12:20. I opened the oven door and thought the sweet potatoes still looked a bit pale. Sure enough, when I poked them with a fork, they were still pretty hard. I searched around and found a few slices that were softer than the others were. Since I didn’t have time to wait, we were going to have to go with that. I had made a pan of cornbread and a broccoli salad, which Dad really likes, so I figured we wouldn’t starve.
Dad doesn’t particularly like regular ham anyway, I had been counting on the apples and sweet potatoes to balance that out, so I knew he was going to be less than thrilled. I forgot to mention that I didn’t have cooking apples, so I substituted Gala and they’d pretty much disintegrated. Talk about Murphy’s Law. I slammed the casserole dish down on the table and announced that this particular recipe hadn’t worked out but it was all there was. If he wanted something else, he was welcome to make himself a sandwich or go find a pack of Nabs. He didn’t say a word, just put a pretty big slice of ham on his plate and 2 slices of sweet potato. I guess there are no lengths to which he will not go to avoid having to prepare his own food.
I hate wasting food, and the sweet potatoes just needed more time in the oven, so I put the rest of the sweet potatoes back in the oven and baked them for another 40 minutes, then turned the oven off and let them sit until I got back from school. By then, they were nice and soft. I served them again last night with pork chops. Dad took a tiny spoonful. Then he ate a bite. “The sweet potatoes are good,” he said in surprise. “They just needed more cooking. They weren’t done yesterday,” I informed him. He went back for seconds. If at first you don’t succeed…..
Friday, October 30, 2009
It never hurts to say something nice
You may have seen the commercials and ads for the Perfect Pushup. A former Navy SEAL, Alden Mills, developed it. Before he found success with the Perfect Pushup, he invented something called the BodyRev.
It’s a rotating weight system that combines aerobics and strength training. It was not an immediate success. In fact, he almost went bankrupt trying to convince the world that he’d built a better mousetrap.
I’ve been using the BodyRev for about 4 years now, since I got turned on to it through an author’s message board. Alden used to visit the board to check on our progress and offer encouragement. So when he posted the story on his blog a couple of weeks ago, I commented.
Alden,
Just wanted to let you know that while the world may not have caught on to the brilliance of the BodyRev, I’m still using it and loving it. Sorry it wasn’t a commercial success for you, but it’s definitely been a personal success for me.
It’s been a few years now, but I’m still revving for an hour 2 or 3 times a week. It’s the only exercise program I’ve ever stuck with and the results have been terrific. So thanks for a great product.
I’ve got the Perfect Pushup too, and I use them when I do BodyRev Bootcamp, but I prefer the overall BodyRev workouts to doing a series of pushups.
51 and still revving!
Alden posted back that they hadn’t given up on the BodyRev. Today, I got an e-mail from their marketing department. They’re relaunching the BodyRev under the name Perfect Cardio. They were “thrilled” with my comments and they’re sending me samples of their new Perfect Cardio programming.
Who knew at my age I’d be giving testimonials for fitness equipment. Just goes to show that with the right motivation, you can move mountains. Or lose pounds and build muscle. I just hope Alden’s still leading the workouts. I can’t muster a lot of enthusiasm for following a woman in a leotard, but give me a Navy SEAL to lead the way and you’ve got my attention.
It’s a rotating weight system that combines aerobics and strength training. It was not an immediate success. In fact, he almost went bankrupt trying to convince the world that he’d built a better mousetrap.
I’ve been using the BodyRev for about 4 years now, since I got turned on to it through an author’s message board. Alden used to visit the board to check on our progress and offer encouragement. So when he posted the story on his blog a couple of weeks ago, I commented.
Alden,
Just wanted to let you know that while the world may not have caught on to the brilliance of the BodyRev, I’m still using it and loving it. Sorry it wasn’t a commercial success for you, but it’s definitely been a personal success for me.
It’s been a few years now, but I’m still revving for an hour 2 or 3 times a week. It’s the only exercise program I’ve ever stuck with and the results have been terrific. So thanks for a great product.
I’ve got the Perfect Pushup too, and I use them when I do BodyRev Bootcamp, but I prefer the overall BodyRev workouts to doing a series of pushups.
51 and still revving!
Alden posted back that they hadn’t given up on the BodyRev. Today, I got an e-mail from their marketing department. They’re relaunching the BodyRev under the name Perfect Cardio. They were “thrilled” with my comments and they’re sending me samples of their new Perfect Cardio programming.
Who knew at my age I’d be giving testimonials for fitness equipment. Just goes to show that with the right motivation, you can move mountains. Or lose pounds and build muscle. I just hope Alden’s still leading the workouts. I can’t muster a lot of enthusiasm for following a woman in a leotard, but give me a Navy SEAL to lead the way and you’ve got my attention.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Oh, no you won't
Dad greeted me this morning with words sure to strike fear in my heart, “You need to call the plumber.” My first thought was the sewer line was stopped up. Then I realized that I’d just flushed the toilet and everything had been fine. “The cold water handle on my faucet doesn’t work.” “It doesn’t work at all?” “Nope, I guess it wore out. The handle won’t turn and I can’t get any cold water.” “Okay, I’ll call, but I can’t promise they’ll get here today.” “It’s not an emergency. I can use your bathroom until it gets fixed.” “That sounds like an emergency to me.”
I’ve seen his bathroom. I don’t want him in mine. First though I detoured into his bathroom to make sure the handle really didn’t work. Who knows, he could have been trying to turn it the wrong way. You have to think about that kind of thing when you’re dealing with seniors. A while back, I kept hearing water running from his bathroom after he’d gone off down the hall. When I went to check, I found the handle turned on full. Apparently, he’d turned it the wrong way and must have had something else on his mind so he didn’t notice. This time though he was right, the handle wouldn’t turn. I hurried to the phone prepared to beg.
Dad already had a faucet set he’d bought years ago. My mouth dropped open when I saw it. It looks like it belongs in a discount store bathroom. It’s ugly. Which is not typical of my father because usually he has really good taste in fixtures. “It won’t bother you. It’s going to be in my bathroom.” “The first thing I’m going to do when your bathroom becomes my bathroom is call the plumber to change the faucet.” He just laughed.
The plumber arrived shortly after lunch. Dad now has a tacky new faucet. Maybe I should reconsider my opinion, if it keeps him out of my bathroom it’s a thing of beauty.
I’ve seen his bathroom. I don’t want him in mine. First though I detoured into his bathroom to make sure the handle really didn’t work. Who knows, he could have been trying to turn it the wrong way. You have to think about that kind of thing when you’re dealing with seniors. A while back, I kept hearing water running from his bathroom after he’d gone off down the hall. When I went to check, I found the handle turned on full. Apparently, he’d turned it the wrong way and must have had something else on his mind so he didn’t notice. This time though he was right, the handle wouldn’t turn. I hurried to the phone prepared to beg.
Dad already had a faucet set he’d bought years ago. My mouth dropped open when I saw it. It looks like it belongs in a discount store bathroom. It’s ugly. Which is not typical of my father because usually he has really good taste in fixtures. “It won’t bother you. It’s going to be in my bathroom.” “The first thing I’m going to do when your bathroom becomes my bathroom is call the plumber to change the faucet.” He just laughed.
The plumber arrived shortly after lunch. Dad now has a tacky new faucet. Maybe I should reconsider my opinion, if it keeps him out of my bathroom it’s a thing of beauty.
Good food
Dad actually complimented my meals for the past 2 days. This is a rare occurrence, so I thought I'd share the recipes.
I love country style steak, but since I don't make gravy it wasn't on the menu until I found this recipe.
Season cube steaks with salt and pepper and dredge in flour. Brown both sides in a little bit of oil. Place in a baking pan and cover with 1 can cream of mushroom soup and 1 package brown gravy mix. I add some sliced onion as well. Bake at 350 for about 45 minutes.
There are tons of recipes out there for different versions of hot chicken salad. I just tried this one and it's really good.
Oven Chicken Salad
Makes 6 servings Prep 15 minutes
Bake at 400 degrees for 20 minutes
2 cups cooked chicken, cut into ½-inch cubes
2 cups celery, thinly sliced
2 cups ½-inch bread cubes, toasted
1 cup light mayonnaise
1 cup shredded cheddar cheese
½ cup sliced almonds, toasted
2 tablespoons lemon juice
2 teaspoons dry minced onions
½-teaspoon salt
1. Heat oven to 400 degrees. Spray a 2 to 2-1/2-quart oval baking dish with nonstick cooking spray.
2. In a large bowl, combine the chicken, celery, 1 cup of the bread cubes, the mayonnaise, ½ cup of the cheese, the almonds, lemon juice, minced onion and salt. Spoon mixture into prepared baking dish. Top with remaining bread cubes and cheese.
3. Bake at 400 degrees for 20 minutes until bubbly. Serve warm or at room temperature.
And if you're an asparagus lover, this is my favorite way to fix it. I usually only make half a recipe because asparagus comes in 1 lb bundles and that's plenty for us. I substitute a little bit of olive oil for the butter. I use kosher salt simply because I have it and this recipe is from a Southern Living meal entitled Flavors of Hanukkah. I've made it with and without the red bell pepper depending on if I have one on hand, and I usually cook it a bit longer than the recipe calls for because Dad isn't crazy about crisp vegetables.
Asparagus Sauté
Prep. 15 minutes
Cook: 5 minutes
2 pounds fresh asparagus
1/4 cup butter or margarine
1 large red bell pepper, diced
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
Snap off tough ends of asparagus.
Melt butter in a large skillet over medium heat.
Add asparagus and remaining ingredients; sauté 4 to 5 minutes or until crisp-tender. Serve immediately. Yield: 6 servings
I love country style steak, but since I don't make gravy it wasn't on the menu until I found this recipe.
Season cube steaks with salt and pepper and dredge in flour. Brown both sides in a little bit of oil. Place in a baking pan and cover with 1 can cream of mushroom soup and 1 package brown gravy mix. I add some sliced onion as well. Bake at 350 for about 45 minutes.
There are tons of recipes out there for different versions of hot chicken salad. I just tried this one and it's really good.
Oven Chicken Salad
Makes 6 servings Prep 15 minutes
Bake at 400 degrees for 20 minutes
2 cups cooked chicken, cut into ½-inch cubes
2 cups celery, thinly sliced
2 cups ½-inch bread cubes, toasted
1 cup light mayonnaise
1 cup shredded cheddar cheese
½ cup sliced almonds, toasted
2 tablespoons lemon juice
2 teaspoons dry minced onions
½-teaspoon salt
1. Heat oven to 400 degrees. Spray a 2 to 2-1/2-quart oval baking dish with nonstick cooking spray.
2. In a large bowl, combine the chicken, celery, 1 cup of the bread cubes, the mayonnaise, ½ cup of the cheese, the almonds, lemon juice, minced onion and salt. Spoon mixture into prepared baking dish. Top with remaining bread cubes and cheese.
3. Bake at 400 degrees for 20 minutes until bubbly. Serve warm or at room temperature.
And if you're an asparagus lover, this is my favorite way to fix it. I usually only make half a recipe because asparagus comes in 1 lb bundles and that's plenty for us. I substitute a little bit of olive oil for the butter. I use kosher salt simply because I have it and this recipe is from a Southern Living meal entitled Flavors of Hanukkah. I've made it with and without the red bell pepper depending on if I have one on hand, and I usually cook it a bit longer than the recipe calls for because Dad isn't crazy about crisp vegetables.
Asparagus Sauté
Prep. 15 minutes
Cook: 5 minutes
2 pounds fresh asparagus
1/4 cup butter or margarine
1 large red bell pepper, diced
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
Snap off tough ends of asparagus.
Melt butter in a large skillet over medium heat.
Add asparagus and remaining ingredients; sauté 4 to 5 minutes or until crisp-tender. Serve immediately. Yield: 6 servings
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Our afternoon walk
The leaves aren't at their peak yet, but the trees are beautiful. These photos don't do them justice. One of my fellow trail walkers, an older man who doesn't own a dog, told me Saturday that he felt sorry for anyone who was color blind.
Monday, October 26, 2009
A matter of inches
I saw the sunrise this morning. Well, I would have seen the sunrise if it weren’t for all the clouds. I had to be at Duke at 8:30 am for my annual mammogram and check-up. That meant getting up at 5:15 am. It’s very dark at 5:15 am. Dillon wasn’t quite sure why we were getting up that early, but he was game. Dad even put in an appearance. He was sitting in the den reading his newspaper when I came out of the bathroom. I wasn’t sure the paper would even be here that early. I left him and Dillon to fend for themselves. My doctor is always running way behind and Dad isn’t good at waiting.
Fortunately, I decided to wear a terracotta colored blouse because the lid didn’t fit well on my coffee and I managed to spill part of it down the front of my blouse. I aimed the vents at my torso, turned the heat up and the fan on high, opened the sunroof so I wouldn’t roast, and managed to dry my blouse before I arrived. You couldn’t even tell I’d spilled coffee on it. I tried to take that as a good omen.
Got my mammogram in record time by a nurse who wasn’t auditioning for Guantanamo and then headed back up to the doctor’s waiting room. I was hoping since I was there early in the day that he wouldn’t be as far behind as normal. I have waited as long as 4 hours for my turn. The waiting room was filling up rapidly when my name was called. Unfortunately the first time they page you, it’s just to have your weight and blood pressure checked. Then you have to head back to the waiting room and fight for a seat all over again.
For some strange reason, the intake nurse was determined to take my height as well as my weight. I’ve been going there 16 years now and they’ve never taken my height before. She thought this was a gross oversight. I stood against the wall and she announced that I was 5’7”. I’m 5’6”. I’ve been 5’6” ever since I stopped growing. Everyone knows that women don’t get taller in their old age, they shrink. Silly me, I had to open my big mouth and correct her. She had to check out my shoes, I was wearing flats, and dither for a minute or two. She finally decided that my height wasn’t a critical health care issue and I could return to the waiting room.
I had barely taken my seat when my name was called again. I was thrilled, thinking that I was actually going to see the doctor on time. It was the intake nurse again. She was concerned that my height hadn’t been measured accurately. I was the second patient that morning who had said the measurement was off, so she’d paged her supervisor to come check out the equipment and she wanted me to be the test subject. I couldn’t believe it. Why couldn’t she have just used the next patient due in intake?
So I had to wait for the supervisor, who came and measured me and announced that I was 5’7”. “But she says she’s 5’6”,” said the intake nurse. So then, the supervisor measured herself and discovered that the measurement came out an inch taller than her actual height as well. The intake nurse and the supervisor conferred. There were now 5 people crowded into this one small room. Two intake nurses share space. I noticed the other nurse wasn't measuring the height of her patients. I finally interrupted them to ask, “Can I go now?” They decided they’d done everything they could to get my height measured correctly, so I could return to the waiting room. At this point, a little of my euphoria at getting a clean mammogram was beginning to wear off and I was on the verge of being seriously annoyed.
Of course by now, my original seat was occupied as were most of the other seats in the waiting room. My new seat was in an awkward spot that put me directly in the path of several patients in wheelchairs. Their caregivers weren’t terribly adept at steering and despite the fact that I had my feet as far under my chair as I could get them, I still almost lost a couple of toes. Almost 2 hours later, I finally got called back to see the doctor.
The good news is, I got a good report and I’m all set for another year. Maybe by then they will have adjusted the equipment and I’ll measure 5’6” again. Of course then they’ll think I’ve shrunk an inch and I’ll have to explain why. Something to look forward to.
Fortunately, I decided to wear a terracotta colored blouse because the lid didn’t fit well on my coffee and I managed to spill part of it down the front of my blouse. I aimed the vents at my torso, turned the heat up and the fan on high, opened the sunroof so I wouldn’t roast, and managed to dry my blouse before I arrived. You couldn’t even tell I’d spilled coffee on it. I tried to take that as a good omen.
Got my mammogram in record time by a nurse who wasn’t auditioning for Guantanamo and then headed back up to the doctor’s waiting room. I was hoping since I was there early in the day that he wouldn’t be as far behind as normal. I have waited as long as 4 hours for my turn. The waiting room was filling up rapidly when my name was called. Unfortunately the first time they page you, it’s just to have your weight and blood pressure checked. Then you have to head back to the waiting room and fight for a seat all over again.
For some strange reason, the intake nurse was determined to take my height as well as my weight. I’ve been going there 16 years now and they’ve never taken my height before. She thought this was a gross oversight. I stood against the wall and she announced that I was 5’7”. I’m 5’6”. I’ve been 5’6” ever since I stopped growing. Everyone knows that women don’t get taller in their old age, they shrink. Silly me, I had to open my big mouth and correct her. She had to check out my shoes, I was wearing flats, and dither for a minute or two. She finally decided that my height wasn’t a critical health care issue and I could return to the waiting room.
I had barely taken my seat when my name was called again. I was thrilled, thinking that I was actually going to see the doctor on time. It was the intake nurse again. She was concerned that my height hadn’t been measured accurately. I was the second patient that morning who had said the measurement was off, so she’d paged her supervisor to come check out the equipment and she wanted me to be the test subject. I couldn’t believe it. Why couldn’t she have just used the next patient due in intake?
So I had to wait for the supervisor, who came and measured me and announced that I was 5’7”. “But she says she’s 5’6”,” said the intake nurse. So then, the supervisor measured herself and discovered that the measurement came out an inch taller than her actual height as well. The intake nurse and the supervisor conferred. There were now 5 people crowded into this one small room. Two intake nurses share space. I noticed the other nurse wasn't measuring the height of her patients. I finally interrupted them to ask, “Can I go now?” They decided they’d done everything they could to get my height measured correctly, so I could return to the waiting room. At this point, a little of my euphoria at getting a clean mammogram was beginning to wear off and I was on the verge of being seriously annoyed.
Of course by now, my original seat was occupied as were most of the other seats in the waiting room. My new seat was in an awkward spot that put me directly in the path of several patients in wheelchairs. Their caregivers weren’t terribly adept at steering and despite the fact that I had my feet as far under my chair as I could get them, I still almost lost a couple of toes. Almost 2 hours later, I finally got called back to see the doctor.
The good news is, I got a good report and I’m all set for another year. Maybe by then they will have adjusted the equipment and I’ll measure 5’6” again. Of course then they’ll think I’ve shrunk an inch and I’ll have to explain why. Something to look forward to.
Friday, October 23, 2009
He's at it again
I heard the sound of hammering coming from the garage this morning. I had to give Dad a message, I’d straightened out a billing issue involving his doctor’s office, so I went out to investigate. He was driving a nail into the wall below an existing shelf. “What are you doing?” “I’m going to put another shelf down here. You can put your toolboxes on it.”
My toolboxes had been on MY shelves. Now the shelf they had been sitting on was completely taken up by 3 large plastic storage bins full of artificial flowers. The artificial flowers had previously been in nice, big plastic bags on top of a blanket chest in the garage. They weren’t bothering anything, except my father apparently.
“See, I put your flowers on the shelves.” “They were fine in the bags.” “But they were falling all over the place in the bags. Now they’re organized.” “They weren’t bothering anything in the bags.” “But they fit on the shelf now.” “I liked them where they were and I was planning to put all my Christmas decorations on those shelves.” “You still have shelf space left.” “Have you seen the attic? It’s full of decorations. It’s going to take more than 3 shelves.” He just looked at me and since I had other things to do, I went back inside.
I’ve told him before to leave my things alone. What he sees as being helpful and organizing, I see as messing with my stuff. And I don’t like it. I tried politely to make that point again at lunch. “The shelf is very nice, but you need to stop organizing my stuff.” “But it’s still where you can see it.” “That’s not the point. I was happy with it where it was." “But you can put it back.”
Why should I have to waste my time putting something back where it should have stayed to begin with? “I don’t want to put it back; I want it to be where I left it.” He tried to justify himself again. I cut him off. “How would you like it if I went out to your shed and started moving all of your stuff around?” That shut him up for a minute. He tried once more to point out that the things were still in the same general area. “The point is that what you see as being helpful and a nice surprise, I see as messing with my stuff. If something of mine is in your way, tell me about it. Otherwise, leave it alone.”
He assured me that the message was received. Given that this is at least the 3rd time we’ve had this discussion, I don’t believe him. He used to do the same thing to Mom and she didn’t appreciate it either. I swear, next time he does it; I’m going to “organize” something of his and see how he likes it. Or maybe I’ll just hide the tv remote. When you’re conducting a successful insurgency, you don’t win by playing fair.
My toolboxes had been on MY shelves. Now the shelf they had been sitting on was completely taken up by 3 large plastic storage bins full of artificial flowers. The artificial flowers had previously been in nice, big plastic bags on top of a blanket chest in the garage. They weren’t bothering anything, except my father apparently.
“See, I put your flowers on the shelves.” “They were fine in the bags.” “But they were falling all over the place in the bags. Now they’re organized.” “They weren’t bothering anything in the bags.” “But they fit on the shelf now.” “I liked them where they were and I was planning to put all my Christmas decorations on those shelves.” “You still have shelf space left.” “Have you seen the attic? It’s full of decorations. It’s going to take more than 3 shelves.” He just looked at me and since I had other things to do, I went back inside.
I’ve told him before to leave my things alone. What he sees as being helpful and organizing, I see as messing with my stuff. And I don’t like it. I tried politely to make that point again at lunch. “The shelf is very nice, but you need to stop organizing my stuff.” “But it’s still where you can see it.” “That’s not the point. I was happy with it where it was." “But you can put it back.”
Why should I have to waste my time putting something back where it should have stayed to begin with? “I don’t want to put it back; I want it to be where I left it.” He tried to justify himself again. I cut him off. “How would you like it if I went out to your shed and started moving all of your stuff around?” That shut him up for a minute. He tried once more to point out that the things were still in the same general area. “The point is that what you see as being helpful and a nice surprise, I see as messing with my stuff. If something of mine is in your way, tell me about it. Otherwise, leave it alone.”
He assured me that the message was received. Given that this is at least the 3rd time we’ve had this discussion, I don’t believe him. He used to do the same thing to Mom and she didn’t appreciate it either. I swear, next time he does it; I’m going to “organize” something of his and see how he likes it. Or maybe I’ll just hide the tv remote. When you’re conducting a successful insurgency, you don’t win by playing fair.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Hands where I can see them!
The Superintendent of Schools and the Maintenance Supervisor are both fellow Kiwanis Club members. Doug, the Maintenance Supervisor, is our club president. I helped him out with some club business the other day and he sent me an e-mail thanking me with the words, "You are an angel." I sent him the following reply today.
Could you put that opinion in an official memo and circulate it among the school personnel at Belmont? Because apparently they don’t think I look angelic. In fact, they seem to think I’m a suspicious looking character who requires closer examination. That’s not a complaint, but it is the set-up for what I think is a funny incident.
My Reading Buddy appointment is Thursdays at 1:15 pm. I arrived a few minutes early today, signed in and picked up my visitor sticker, and went to Ms. Outland’s room. The kids were still on the playground, so I propped myself against the wall to wait. A minute or so later, a nice, official looking woman approached. “Do I know you?” she asked. I get that a lot because people remember me from the mall. “I don’t know," I replied and introduced myself. She just kept looking at me. “I’m a Reading Buddy,” I added because plainly she was waiting for more information.
I forgot to mention that she had a maintenance man in tow. Richard used to work at the mall and I’d already spoken to him when I passed as I went down the hall. Her face cleared. “Oh, I didn’t see your visitor sticker so I wasn’t sure what you were doing here.” Then she introduced herself and we chatted about the Reading Buddy program for a minute or so. She was the Assistant Principal.
I’m not complaining about the confusion. She acted completely appropriately. I just find it very amusing to think of myself as a potential security threat. I was particularly flattered that she thought I might require physical eviction, which I assume is why Richard was in the background. It’s even funnier when I think back on how many times I did exactly the same thing when I was at the mall and had to approach someone. My opening line was usually “Can I help you?” although if the individual had done something to annoy me, I was more blunt and went with “Who are you?” This is the first time I’ve been on the receiving end of the exchange.
For the record, I did have my official Belmont Visitor sticker on my collar. I try to follow the rules and be on my best behavior when I go to school. Really. My father got a big kick out of the whole thing. He just laughed and laughed at the thought of someone seeing me as a suspicious character. Not that he thinks I’m an angel either. He’d probably still be laughing if I tried to convince him of that.
Could you put that opinion in an official memo and circulate it among the school personnel at Belmont? Because apparently they don’t think I look angelic. In fact, they seem to think I’m a suspicious looking character who requires closer examination. That’s not a complaint, but it is the set-up for what I think is a funny incident.
My Reading Buddy appointment is Thursdays at 1:15 pm. I arrived a few minutes early today, signed in and picked up my visitor sticker, and went to Ms. Outland’s room. The kids were still on the playground, so I propped myself against the wall to wait. A minute or so later, a nice, official looking woman approached. “Do I know you?” she asked. I get that a lot because people remember me from the mall. “I don’t know," I replied and introduced myself. She just kept looking at me. “I’m a Reading Buddy,” I added because plainly she was waiting for more information.
I forgot to mention that she had a maintenance man in tow. Richard used to work at the mall and I’d already spoken to him when I passed as I went down the hall. Her face cleared. “Oh, I didn’t see your visitor sticker so I wasn’t sure what you were doing here.” Then she introduced herself and we chatted about the Reading Buddy program for a minute or so. She was the Assistant Principal.
I’m not complaining about the confusion. She acted completely appropriately. I just find it very amusing to think of myself as a potential security threat. I was particularly flattered that she thought I might require physical eviction, which I assume is why Richard was in the background. It’s even funnier when I think back on how many times I did exactly the same thing when I was at the mall and had to approach someone. My opening line was usually “Can I help you?” although if the individual had done something to annoy me, I was more blunt and went with “Who are you?” This is the first time I’ve been on the receiving end of the exchange.
For the record, I did have my official Belmont Visitor sticker on my collar. I try to follow the rules and be on my best behavior when I go to school. Really. My father got a big kick out of the whole thing. He just laughed and laughed at the thought of someone seeing me as a suspicious character. Not that he thinks I’m an angel either. He’d probably still be laughing if I tried to convince him of that.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Retail therapy
I'm a sucker for festive decorations. Big Lots is one of my favorite places to shop for seasonal items. They usually have cute, inexpensive things. I stopped by there today to pick up a Halloween treat for my Reading Buddy. I found 2 things that were just too cute to choose between, a bobble head skeleton full of bubblegum and a mini-monster flashlight full of sweet and sour candy. Since they were only $1 each, I bought both. Aren't they cute! I hope they're not too silly for a 4th grader.
I refuse to wear shoes unless they're comfortable. I also like them to be reasonably attractive. My LLBean Mary Jane summer sneakers may be a bit clunky looking, but they are cool and comfortable. You can even wear them in the water. I ordered my first pair in beige after my cousin raved about them. I liked them so much, I decided I needed another pair to wear when doing chores and messing around in the yard. They were sold out of beige, so now I have celadon. The pink or acqua reminded me a bit too much of clown shoes. The good news is, they won't show grass stains. They're on sale for only $14.99.
I refuse to wear shoes unless they're comfortable. I also like them to be reasonably attractive. My LLBean Mary Jane summer sneakers may be a bit clunky looking, but they are cool and comfortable. You can even wear them in the water. I ordered my first pair in beige after my cousin raved about them. I liked them so much, I decided I needed another pair to wear when doing chores and messing around in the yard. They were sold out of beige, so now I have celadon. The pink or acqua reminded me a bit too much of clown shoes. The good news is, they won't show grass stains. They're on sale for only $14.99.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
My name is Nancy, what's yours?
Isn’t mail tampering a federal offense? Wonder how Dad would look in a bright orange jumpsuit?
Dad and I share the same bank, a couple of the same mutual fund companies, and as luck would have it, the same credit card company. We don’t share the same first name or initials. Yet, if I don’t get to the mail first, he has this annoying habit of just assuming that whatever the mailman puts through the slot is for him. He then proceeds to open it without bothering to read whom it’s actually addressed to. He did it again today.
I was in the middle of taking my Bankruptcy midterm, so I couldn’t just get up and go to the door when I heard the mail arrive. When I finished and went to get my mail, my credit card bill had already been neatly sliced open. Dad appeared in my study shortly thereafter. “I did it again. I’m sorry.”
I was already seriously annoyed because the computer graded 3 of the exam questions wrong when I knew they were right. I had just finished firing off an e-mail to the instructor explaining, complete with text quotes and page numbers, why I was right and the exam answers were wrong. So he really picked the wrong time.
I didn’t tell him it was okay. I looked straight at him and pointed out that since his credit card statement had just come yesterday, it looks like he would have realized that the one that came in today’s mail probably wasn’t for him. “Well, I didn’t look at it any further after I opened it and realized it wasn’t mine.” Yeah, but by that time, he’d already seen the balance due. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t carry an outstanding balance on my card and my bill this month was really low. But my finances are none of his business.
When I go back to work, I won’t be here every day to try and get to the mail first. I guess I’ll have to get a post office box if I want privacy.
Dad and I share the same bank, a couple of the same mutual fund companies, and as luck would have it, the same credit card company. We don’t share the same first name or initials. Yet, if I don’t get to the mail first, he has this annoying habit of just assuming that whatever the mailman puts through the slot is for him. He then proceeds to open it without bothering to read whom it’s actually addressed to. He did it again today.
I was in the middle of taking my Bankruptcy midterm, so I couldn’t just get up and go to the door when I heard the mail arrive. When I finished and went to get my mail, my credit card bill had already been neatly sliced open. Dad appeared in my study shortly thereafter. “I did it again. I’m sorry.”
I was already seriously annoyed because the computer graded 3 of the exam questions wrong when I knew they were right. I had just finished firing off an e-mail to the instructor explaining, complete with text quotes and page numbers, why I was right and the exam answers were wrong. So he really picked the wrong time.
I didn’t tell him it was okay. I looked straight at him and pointed out that since his credit card statement had just come yesterday, it looks like he would have realized that the one that came in today’s mail probably wasn’t for him. “Well, I didn’t look at it any further after I opened it and realized it wasn’t mine.” Yeah, but by that time, he’d already seen the balance due. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t carry an outstanding balance on my card and my bill this month was really low. But my finances are none of his business.
When I go back to work, I won’t be here every day to try and get to the mail first. I guess I’ll have to get a post office box if I want privacy.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Batter up!
When I went into the den this morning, Dad was reading his newspaper. He complained that the Yankees baseball game lasted about 5 hours last night. “I didn’t get to bed until after 1 o’clock.” “I know,” I replied shortly. He looked up at me, “Did I wake you up when I went to bed?” You could say that.
I went to bed last night immediately after the Hurricanes lost their hockey game. It was around 9:30 pm. Dad was still up watching his Yankees game. At 1:15 am, I was abruptly awakened by the sound of Dillon’s frantic barking. I shot straight up in bed. He sounded like something out of The Hound of the Baskervilles. Over the din, I heard the rattle of a doorknob and a man’s voice. It sounded like Dad’s door, I thought it was him, but I couldn’t figure out why he’d be talking to himself and when I looked at the clock and read 1:15 am, I started to have doubts.
Dillon finally quieted down and came over to the bed. I listened for more sounds while trying to figure out if I should be concerned or not. When I heard the sound of water running in his bathroom, I figured we were safe. I found it hard to imagine that an intruder would break in, murder Dad in his sleep, and stop to use the facilities. Dillon was now lying on the floor beside my bed with his body wedged into the L-shape of the bed and the nightstand. I’m not sure who was being guarded. I tend to believe he was depending on me to guard him as opposed to vice versa. Of course, I was going to have some difficulty getting to the aluminum baseball bat I keep underneath the bed with his body blocking it. But if he started barking again that would buy me a little time because he sounds incredibly ferocious. Everything finally got quiet in Dad’s room.
After supper tonight, Dad said sheepishly, “Unless I fall asleep in the chair, I’m going to turn in early tonight.” That would be nice. I’m sure he spent part of his day napping in his chair. I wasn’t fortunate enough to have that opportunity and I’d like to catch up on the sleep I missed last night. After he woke us up, Dillon and I both had to make trips to the bathroom and after that, it was a while before I managed to get back to sleep. The Yankees need to start playing better baseball because these late nights are a pain in the butt.
I went to bed last night immediately after the Hurricanes lost their hockey game. It was around 9:30 pm. Dad was still up watching his Yankees game. At 1:15 am, I was abruptly awakened by the sound of Dillon’s frantic barking. I shot straight up in bed. He sounded like something out of The Hound of the Baskervilles. Over the din, I heard the rattle of a doorknob and a man’s voice. It sounded like Dad’s door, I thought it was him, but I couldn’t figure out why he’d be talking to himself and when I looked at the clock and read 1:15 am, I started to have doubts.
Dillon finally quieted down and came over to the bed. I listened for more sounds while trying to figure out if I should be concerned or not. When I heard the sound of water running in his bathroom, I figured we were safe. I found it hard to imagine that an intruder would break in, murder Dad in his sleep, and stop to use the facilities. Dillon was now lying on the floor beside my bed with his body wedged into the L-shape of the bed and the nightstand. I’m not sure who was being guarded. I tend to believe he was depending on me to guard him as opposed to vice versa. Of course, I was going to have some difficulty getting to the aluminum baseball bat I keep underneath the bed with his body blocking it. But if he started barking again that would buy me a little time because he sounds incredibly ferocious. Everything finally got quiet in Dad’s room.
After supper tonight, Dad said sheepishly, “Unless I fall asleep in the chair, I’m going to turn in early tonight.” That would be nice. I’m sure he spent part of his day napping in his chair. I wasn’t fortunate enough to have that opportunity and I’d like to catch up on the sleep I missed last night. After he woke us up, Dillon and I both had to make trips to the bathroom and after that, it was a while before I managed to get back to sleep. The Yankees need to start playing better baseball because these late nights are a pain in the butt.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Can you spare a dime?
Dad stopped by the grocery store while he was out this morning. Not to buy food mind you, but to check on the ACC basketball magazine he's been looking for. He came back very indignant. He's been buying the same magazine for years and it always comes out in October. He thought it was getting rather late, but he's still been searching the shelves for it. This morning, he couldn't find the magazine he wanted, but he found separate magazines for Carolina and Duke. "They wanted $12.95 a piece for them! Can you imagine?! The magazine I've been getting was only $5.95. It covered all the teams and it was the best basketball magazine out there on the ACC."
He went out and checked his copy of last year's magazine. "Now I know why it's not out there. I looked inside the front cover for the publisher's name and it was sponsored by Chrysler." I guess Chrysler's financial troubles made them cut back on some of their promotional sponsorships and his magazine got the axe. I suggested he write his Congressman. Don't the taxpayers own a big chunk of Chrysler? Surely they could spare a few hundred thousand to publish his ACC basketball magazine. Because obviously he can't afford to pay $12.95 for a magazine after he spent all his money getting the car fixed. "It never rains but it pours," was his rather sour response.
He went out and checked his copy of last year's magazine. "Now I know why it's not out there. I looked inside the front cover for the publisher's name and it was sponsored by Chrysler." I guess Chrysler's financial troubles made them cut back on some of their promotional sponsorships and his magazine got the axe. I suggested he write his Congressman. Don't the taxpayers own a big chunk of Chrysler? Surely they could spare a few hundred thousand to publish his ACC basketball magazine. Because obviously he can't afford to pay $12.95 for a magazine after he spent all his money getting the car fixed. "It never rains but it pours," was his rather sour response.
Look on the bright side
Dad came into the kitchen this morning complaining that the Yankees baseball game lasted 4 hours! To which I responded, "More to enjoy." He was momentarily speechless then he mumbled, "I guess that's one way to look at it." Obviously the game lasted past his bedtime.
He had his car serviced yesterday. He complained that morning that he might as well buy a new car, the work he was having done was going to cost almost $1,000. When he picked it up that afternoon, the total bill was around $600. He was still muttering that he could have bought a new car. I don't know what kind of car he had in mind, nothing I'd want to ride in. I told him he should be happy, the bill was $400 lower than what he'd told me that morning. Obviously he'd been exaggerating then. He just shook his head and walked out.
When I took Dad to pick up the car, it was about 4:45 pm. Dillon had been ready to eat for about half an hour, so I fed him first and then got ready to take Dad. When Dad headed out into the garage, Dillon was interested and thought about following, but he waited to see what I was going to do. When I headed into the garage, he squeezed past and waited by the car, wagging his tail. It didn't bother me if he came, so I loaded him in the backseat.
Poor baby, he doesn't want to get left behind, but apparently he does suffer from carsickness. When he threw up the first day I brought him home, I thought it was just stress and the fact that we'd been in stop and go traffic on 95. Apparently it's a little more than that. The bad news is, he got sick in my car right after he'd just eaten supper. The good news is, apparently he was still hungry, so he just ate supper all over again, leaving me very little to clean up. Dad looked faintly ill himself when I told him the story. I thought it was funny.
Who knew I was turning into Little Mary Sunshine? It would probably be more accurate to say that I enjoy being contrary and have a perverse sense of humor.
He had his car serviced yesterday. He complained that morning that he might as well buy a new car, the work he was having done was going to cost almost $1,000. When he picked it up that afternoon, the total bill was around $600. He was still muttering that he could have bought a new car. I don't know what kind of car he had in mind, nothing I'd want to ride in. I told him he should be happy, the bill was $400 lower than what he'd told me that morning. Obviously he'd been exaggerating then. He just shook his head and walked out.
When I took Dad to pick up the car, it was about 4:45 pm. Dillon had been ready to eat for about half an hour, so I fed him first and then got ready to take Dad. When Dad headed out into the garage, Dillon was interested and thought about following, but he waited to see what I was going to do. When I headed into the garage, he squeezed past and waited by the car, wagging his tail. It didn't bother me if he came, so I loaded him in the backseat.
Poor baby, he doesn't want to get left behind, but apparently he does suffer from carsickness. When he threw up the first day I brought him home, I thought it was just stress and the fact that we'd been in stop and go traffic on 95. Apparently it's a little more than that. The bad news is, he got sick in my car right after he'd just eaten supper. The good news is, apparently he was still hungry, so he just ate supper all over again, leaving me very little to clean up. Dad looked faintly ill himself when I told him the story. I thought it was funny.
Who knew I was turning into Little Mary Sunshine? It would probably be more accurate to say that I enjoy being contrary and have a perverse sense of humor.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Fall
Late Harvest
Time, it is time.
Summer has been
long-stretched-out, full.
Go ahead, Fall:
shrink down the days
and sugar the grapes
for late-harvest wine.
Jeredith Merrin
It's finally starting to feel like fall. I've traded in my shorts and sleeveless shirts for flannel pj's; Dad unearthed the blankets he stored last fall; and the heat came on for the first time a couple of days ago. The leaves on the trees are just beginning to turn and my camellias have started blooming. I made a big pot of Mom’s vegetable soup yesterday and enjoyed my first mug of hot apple cider.
Dillon loves having his picture taken, no matter what you're really aiming at. That's the camellia bush behind him.
Time, it is time.
Summer has been
long-stretched-out, full.
Go ahead, Fall:
shrink down the days
and sugar the grapes
for late-harvest wine.
Jeredith Merrin
It's finally starting to feel like fall. I've traded in my shorts and sleeveless shirts for flannel pj's; Dad unearthed the blankets he stored last fall; and the heat came on for the first time a couple of days ago. The leaves on the trees are just beginning to turn and my camellias have started blooming. I made a big pot of Mom’s vegetable soup yesterday and enjoyed my first mug of hot apple cider.
Dillon loves having his picture taken, no matter what you're really aiming at. That's the camellia bush behind him.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
One down
I had finished my lunch yesterday and started washing dishes. Dad was still eating. I went to my study to retrieve my water glass from the day before. It was sitting on the trunk between the wall and my old blue La-Z-boy recliner. I reached over the chair to get the glass and caught sight of something fuzzy on the arm of the chair. It was a mouse.
I did the stereotypical cartoon “eeek” and jumped back. Then I retreated all the way to the doorway. I stood there staring at the mouse. It was still just sitting there. I started yelling for Dad. “Come here!” I didn’t hear footsteps. “COME HERE!” Still no sound of movement. The tv was going in the den and he doesn’t hear well, so I wasn’t sure what to do to get his attention. I was afraid if I took my eyes off the mouse, he’d scamper away and I’d have no clue where he went. I tried one more time, “COME HERE NOW!!!” Finally, he and Dillon came down the hall. If Katie had been here, she’d have come running at my first sound, eager to join in the fun. Dillon was trailing behind Dad, in no hurry to enter the fray.
I pointed to the mouse, which was still perched on the arm of my chair. “There’s a mouse on my chair.” Dad looked at the mouse and then at me. I could tell what was coming next, before the words could pass his lips I decided to make myself crystal clear. “I want you to kill it, NOW.” He started looking around for something to use as a weapon. Since he laughed at me a week or so ago when I suggested maybe I should start keeping a broom in my study to use against marauding mice, there was nothing handy. He disappeared back down the hall. I kept an eye on the mouse. Dillon was still standing out in the hall.
Dad reappeared with a flyswatter. It wasn’t even a particularly good flyswatter. It was a limp piece of plastic attached to a plastic handle. It’s a wonder it’s even capable of dispatching a fly. He crossed the room to the chair and whacked the mouse. When he whacked it the second time, Dillon fled to my bedroom, I guess he decided the closet was his best option. The mouse either fell or jumped to the floor. Dad kept whaling away with the flyswatter. When he was finally satisfied that the mouse was either unconscious or dead, he stopped. I started to hand him a trashcan to scoop the body up, but he calmly reached down, grabbed the mouse by the tail and started down the hall with it. Once Dad had stopped flailing away with the flyswatter, Dillon had rejoined us. He followed Dad down the hall with his nose in the air, suddenly very interested in the mouse. Dad took the mouse outside, deposited him in the trashcan, came back in, washed his hands, and calmly sat back down to finish his lunch. My hero!
I found it odd that the mouse had stayed on the arm of my chair all that time. That’s not the behavior of the typical mouse. I think he’d sampled the poison in the trap that’s in my closet (not the one Dillon uses) and was already sick or dying. When Dad gave me that trap, I’d asked what was going to happen to a mouse after it ate the poison. I didn’t want to stumble across, or start smelling, any dead bodies. He assured me that the mice would go somewhere else to die and I’d never see or smell them. I reminded him of that. He agreed that the mouse had been behaving oddly, but didn’t seem overly concerned.
Why did the little rodent have to pick the arm of my chair to make his last stand? How do you sanitize upholstery? It’s not like you can scrub it with bleach. There’s no sign that the mouse was ever on the chair, but I know he was there and it’s creepy. Maybe I need to rent Sunshine Cleaners. It’s a comedy about a woman who makes a living cleaning up crime scenes. I’ve been wanting to see it anyway and now I could claim it was research. Surely, there would be some helpful hints contained in there somewhere, although I don’t think battery on a mouse is considered a crime. Just don’t report us to PETA.
I did the stereotypical cartoon “eeek” and jumped back. Then I retreated all the way to the doorway. I stood there staring at the mouse. It was still just sitting there. I started yelling for Dad. “Come here!” I didn’t hear footsteps. “COME HERE!” Still no sound of movement. The tv was going in the den and he doesn’t hear well, so I wasn’t sure what to do to get his attention. I was afraid if I took my eyes off the mouse, he’d scamper away and I’d have no clue where he went. I tried one more time, “COME HERE NOW!!!” Finally, he and Dillon came down the hall. If Katie had been here, she’d have come running at my first sound, eager to join in the fun. Dillon was trailing behind Dad, in no hurry to enter the fray.
I pointed to the mouse, which was still perched on the arm of my chair. “There’s a mouse on my chair.” Dad looked at the mouse and then at me. I could tell what was coming next, before the words could pass his lips I decided to make myself crystal clear. “I want you to kill it, NOW.” He started looking around for something to use as a weapon. Since he laughed at me a week or so ago when I suggested maybe I should start keeping a broom in my study to use against marauding mice, there was nothing handy. He disappeared back down the hall. I kept an eye on the mouse. Dillon was still standing out in the hall.
Dad reappeared with a flyswatter. It wasn’t even a particularly good flyswatter. It was a limp piece of plastic attached to a plastic handle. It’s a wonder it’s even capable of dispatching a fly. He crossed the room to the chair and whacked the mouse. When he whacked it the second time, Dillon fled to my bedroom, I guess he decided the closet was his best option. The mouse either fell or jumped to the floor. Dad kept whaling away with the flyswatter. When he was finally satisfied that the mouse was either unconscious or dead, he stopped. I started to hand him a trashcan to scoop the body up, but he calmly reached down, grabbed the mouse by the tail and started down the hall with it. Once Dad had stopped flailing away with the flyswatter, Dillon had rejoined us. He followed Dad down the hall with his nose in the air, suddenly very interested in the mouse. Dad took the mouse outside, deposited him in the trashcan, came back in, washed his hands, and calmly sat back down to finish his lunch. My hero!
I found it odd that the mouse had stayed on the arm of my chair all that time. That’s not the behavior of the typical mouse. I think he’d sampled the poison in the trap that’s in my closet (not the one Dillon uses) and was already sick or dying. When Dad gave me that trap, I’d asked what was going to happen to a mouse after it ate the poison. I didn’t want to stumble across, or start smelling, any dead bodies. He assured me that the mice would go somewhere else to die and I’d never see or smell them. I reminded him of that. He agreed that the mouse had been behaving oddly, but didn’t seem overly concerned.
Why did the little rodent have to pick the arm of my chair to make his last stand? How do you sanitize upholstery? It’s not like you can scrub it with bleach. There’s no sign that the mouse was ever on the chair, but I know he was there and it’s creepy. Maybe I need to rent Sunshine Cleaners. It’s a comedy about a woman who makes a living cleaning up crime scenes. I’ve been wanting to see it anyway and now I could claim it was research. Surely, there would be some helpful hints contained in there somewhere, although I don’t think battery on a mouse is considered a crime. Just don’t report us to PETA.
Monday, October 12, 2009
I hate scavenger hunts
I’m supposed to take my cousin, Lisa, to the airport tomorrow. In order to do that, I first had to shovel out the car. No, it hasn’t snowed. While I have a 4-door Camry which should be able to carry 5 passengers, I have it customized to carry 1 human, that would be me as the driver, and a dog. The front passenger seat and floorboard are where I keep my emergency supplies like Nabs, bottled water, umbrella, raincoat, towels, Kleenex, audiobooks, paperback book, food coupons, ballpoint pens, notepads, dog leash, cell phone charger, Garmin Nuvi, etc. The back seat is covered by a dog hammock with an Orvis beanbag dog bed wedged into the floorboard for good measure. The goal is to protect both my upholstery and the dog. My system works great until someone wants a ride. Then it’s time to start shoveling.
I got everything unloaded from the front seat and was ready to vacuum. I keep an old vacuum cleaner in the garage strictly for vacuuming my car. It wasn’t there. I started searching the garage and cussing my father because I figured he’d moved it for some reason. It wasn’t on a shelf, it wasn’t in his room, it wasn’t under the table, it wasn’t shoved into another nook or cranny; it wasn’t in the garage. Then I went in search of Dad. He wasn’t in the basement, he wasn’t in his room, he wasn’t out front that I could see. Inspiration struck. When he was organizing his shed a couple of weeks ago, he unrolled a piece of carpet. Maybe he’d vacuumed that. I headed across the yard to his shed. Yep, there was my vacuum cleaner. I could only find 1 attachment, but fortunately it was the one I needed. I hauled the vacuum cleaner back across the yard, up the steps, across the porch, through the kitchen, and into the garage. I was still cussing my father.
When he came in to lunch, I told him that I’d cleaned out my car. “I didn’t know I’d have to go on a scavenger hunt to find the vacuum cleaner.” He looked puzzled, then comprehension dawned. “I used it in the shed and I left it there, didn’t I.” “Yep.” I’ve tried to point out to him that it’s easier to find things if they’re in their proper place. I’ve gone even further and pointed out rather heatedly than I don’t move his stuff. Obviously, I haven’t made much of an impression so far. I hate scavenger hunts.
I got everything unloaded from the front seat and was ready to vacuum. I keep an old vacuum cleaner in the garage strictly for vacuuming my car. It wasn’t there. I started searching the garage and cussing my father because I figured he’d moved it for some reason. It wasn’t on a shelf, it wasn’t in his room, it wasn’t under the table, it wasn’t shoved into another nook or cranny; it wasn’t in the garage. Then I went in search of Dad. He wasn’t in the basement, he wasn’t in his room, he wasn’t out front that I could see. Inspiration struck. When he was organizing his shed a couple of weeks ago, he unrolled a piece of carpet. Maybe he’d vacuumed that. I headed across the yard to his shed. Yep, there was my vacuum cleaner. I could only find 1 attachment, but fortunately it was the one I needed. I hauled the vacuum cleaner back across the yard, up the steps, across the porch, through the kitchen, and into the garage. I was still cussing my father.
When he came in to lunch, I told him that I’d cleaned out my car. “I didn’t know I’d have to go on a scavenger hunt to find the vacuum cleaner.” He looked puzzled, then comprehension dawned. “I used it in the shed and I left it there, didn’t I.” “Yep.” I’ve tried to point out to him that it’s easier to find things if they’re in their proper place. I’ve gone even further and pointed out rather heatedly than I don’t move his stuff. Obviously, I haven’t made much of an impression so far. I hate scavenger hunts.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
You can dress me up, but you can't take me anywhere
Dad and I went to the funeral of one of his cousins today. It was a graveside service. Apparently, the minister, who seemed like a very nice man, didn’t get the memo that graveside services should be short. There was no shade, so we all stood in the sun for 30 minutes while he ran through a greeting, 3 prayers, a reminiscence of the deceased, 2 scripture readings complete with explanatory commentary, a brief recap of that morning’s sermon, and finally, thank you God, the benediction. I was probably the youngest person there; everyone else was about Dad’s age. You shouldn’t keep a bunch of old people like that standing around in the hot midday sun. Afterwards, Dad asked if I was ready to leave. I told him I was ready to leave 5 minutes after we got there. I wore the wrong thing and I was hot.
On the way home, I told him that if I had a graveside service for him, we were going to say a quick prayer and start shoveling dirt. He paused for a minute and then replied that he could assure me that he wouldn’t care. I told him he could look down from above, shake his head, and say that he never did manage to teach me anything. Then I told him that since it was going to be a graveside service, if I had a well-behaved dog, I was going to bring the dog to the funeral. After another moment I added, “Even if it’s not a well-behaved dog, I‘m still going to bring it to the funeral. That’ll definitely speed the process along.” There was a long pause before he responded, “I’d appreciate it if you’d at least keep him from desecrating the grave.” I assured him I’d hold the dog back until all the earth was firmly back in place.
He said that he hadn’t worn the suit he had on for at least 20 years. “How did it look?” Frankly, I hadn’t paid that much attention, he looked fine to me. “Well, your pants didn’t fall down. That’s always encouraging.” “It’s getting harder to prevent that from happening all the time,” he laughed. Thank goodness he does have a sense of humor.
On the way home, I told him that if I had a graveside service for him, we were going to say a quick prayer and start shoveling dirt. He paused for a minute and then replied that he could assure me that he wouldn’t care. I told him he could look down from above, shake his head, and say that he never did manage to teach me anything. Then I told him that since it was going to be a graveside service, if I had a well-behaved dog, I was going to bring the dog to the funeral. After another moment I added, “Even if it’s not a well-behaved dog, I‘m still going to bring it to the funeral. That’ll definitely speed the process along.” There was a long pause before he responded, “I’d appreciate it if you’d at least keep him from desecrating the grave.” I assured him I’d hold the dog back until all the earth was firmly back in place.
He said that he hadn’t worn the suit he had on for at least 20 years. “How did it look?” Frankly, I hadn’t paid that much attention, he looked fine to me. “Well, your pants didn’t fall down. That’s always encouraging.” “It’s getting harder to prevent that from happening all the time,” he laughed. Thank goodness he does have a sense of humor.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Dull but done
Dillon and I had a great walk this morning. We ran into one of our trail buddies, Suzanne, and her 2 yellow labs, Bailey and Xyla. I got brave and let Dillon off-leash to play with them. He was such a good boy. He ran around, took a quick dip in the pond, and then came back and let me put the leash on him for the rest of our walk.
After that, I had a dull, but productive day. I took 2 exams, aced them both, and finished my final assignment for this week. I exercised for an hour, cleaned my bathroom, and then dusted. I'm feeling pretty good about my day's work. Now I'm getting ready to settle in for my hockey game. We won 7-2 last night. It was great. Hopefully lightning will strike twice because tonight we play the Tampa Bay Lightning and we beat them in a shoot-out on Tuesday for our first win of the season.
Dad's happy because the Yankees have won their first 2 play-off games. He claims last night's game had everything and reminded you why you liked baseball. Then he proceeded to give me a play-by-play account of the highlights. I could feel my eyes beginning to glaze over. I haven't been a baseball fan since the days of Brooks and Frank Robinson, Boog Powell, and Rick Dempsey.
My American Beautyberry bush is still full of gorgeous fuschia berries.
The pyracantha is past it's peak, but some sections are still full of bright orange berries.
The leaves on the trees are just beginning to be tinged with red and gold on some of the upper branches.
After that, I had a dull, but productive day. I took 2 exams, aced them both, and finished my final assignment for this week. I exercised for an hour, cleaned my bathroom, and then dusted. I'm feeling pretty good about my day's work. Now I'm getting ready to settle in for my hockey game. We won 7-2 last night. It was great. Hopefully lightning will strike twice because tonight we play the Tampa Bay Lightning and we beat them in a shoot-out on Tuesday for our first win of the season.
Dad's happy because the Yankees have won their first 2 play-off games. He claims last night's game had everything and reminded you why you liked baseball. Then he proceeded to give me a play-by-play account of the highlights. I could feel my eyes beginning to glaze over. I haven't been a baseball fan since the days of Brooks and Frank Robinson, Boog Powell, and Rick Dempsey.
My American Beautyberry bush is still full of gorgeous fuschia berries.
The pyracantha is past it's peak, but some sections are still full of bright orange berries.
The leaves on the trees are just beginning to be tinged with red and gold on some of the upper branches.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Reading Buddy
I met my new Reading Buddy today. This is the third year that I’ve participated in the program. I go to a nearby elementary school once a week and spend half an hour reading with my Reading Buddy. This year I have one-4th grade boy. In previous years, I’ve always had 2 kids at a time and they’ve been 2nd and 3rd graders. This year’s Reading Buddy is shy and quiet. He speaks hesitantly and very softly.
We started with 2 little books. He read them aloud without hesitation or a single mistake and so quickly that I couldn’t understand why he needed help. Then we worked on his word list. The words were simple; ate, do, yes, black, white, pretty, and who among others. He doesn’t know them. Apparently, he has memorized the little books and that’s why he was able to read them perfectly. I have to hand it to him, he had every page memorized so that the word on the page and the words he recited matched exactly. Unless he’s extremely gifted he can’t do that with every subject, so how does he keep up? And how do you take a test if you can’t read the questions?
I felt so inadequate when I was trying to help. Once I realized that he’s so good at memorizing the order of the words, I started mixing up his word list. That made it harder because he had to read the word, not recite the list. I want him to succeed and not get discouraged, so after I started mixing the order, I’d let him pick a word on the page and then I’d pick a word on the page. I figured that way, he’d probably pick one he knew and he wouldn’t get frustrated or embarrassed. He tries hard and although he’s shy, he’s not sullen. He seems very sweet. This is going to be my biggest challenge yet as a Reading Buddy.
We started with 2 little books. He read them aloud without hesitation or a single mistake and so quickly that I couldn’t understand why he needed help. Then we worked on his word list. The words were simple; ate, do, yes, black, white, pretty, and who among others. He doesn’t know them. Apparently, he has memorized the little books and that’s why he was able to read them perfectly. I have to hand it to him, he had every page memorized so that the word on the page and the words he recited matched exactly. Unless he’s extremely gifted he can’t do that with every subject, so how does he keep up? And how do you take a test if you can’t read the questions?
I felt so inadequate when I was trying to help. Once I realized that he’s so good at memorizing the order of the words, I started mixing up his word list. That made it harder because he had to read the word, not recite the list. I want him to succeed and not get discouraged, so after I started mixing the order, I’d let him pick a word on the page and then I’d pick a word on the page. I figured that way, he’d probably pick one he knew and he wouldn’t get frustrated or embarrassed. He tries hard and although he’s shy, he’s not sullen. He seems very sweet. This is going to be my biggest challenge yet as a Reading Buddy.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Random thoughts
I took a few “me” hours yesterday and headed to Rocky Mount after our Kiwanis meeting. Dillon needed dog food, I needed contact lens solution, and I was ready for a little shopping therapy.
Last time I was in Pier 1, weeks ago, they had some cute Thanksgiving décor items, including turkeys. I didn’t buy any then because it was still August and I thought there’d be plenty of time. Wrong! There was not a turkey to be found yesterday. They had marked the grapevine lighted pumpkins down, so I was going to buy one for the den. It would have been pretty and served to light Dad’s path from the garage since darkness is falling earlier every day. Fortunately, I had the good sense to ask the sales clerk to plug it in so I could make sure it burned. It didn’t. Too bad because I really liked that pumpkin.
I did get some pretty glittery gold pine cone ornaments for $2.99 each. I thought about waiting, but they’d probably have gone the way of the turkeys! I also found a new chair cushion for my study chair. It matches my blue, green, and brown color scheme and had been marked down to $11. Of course, it’s about 4 times as thick as my previous cushion, so I feel sort of like I’m sitting on a booster chair. But it looks pretty and I figure my butt will compress the stuffing sometime in the next year or so.
I found some gold paper maché reindeer at Michael’s. They’ll look wonderful on top of my dining room hutch. They were only $8.99 each, but the nice cashier rung them up separately, so I got to use two 40% off coupons. When I showed them to Dad he said, “But you had a reindeer up there last year.” “Yes, but that was only one reindeer. Three is a much better number. Now I have a herd.” This logic didn’t seem to impress him. Everyone knows that it’s better to group things for display purposes and odd numbers are more artistic than even.
I left the house yesterday at around 11:30 a.m. When I got back, it was about 5:45 p.m. Dad was sitting in the den watching a baseball game. Dillon greeted me at the door, barking frantically. There was a baggie on the den floor. “What’s that?” I asked. “I don’t know. It’s been on the floor all afternoon. I thought maybe you gave it to Dillon to play with.” Why would I give my dog a baggie, which could potentially choke him, to play with? Turns out it was a baggie with some cornmeal in it that I’d used to bread the okra yesterday. It must have been left on the island and somehow Dillon wound up with it. Fortunately, he lost interest and it was still intact. I pointed out to Dad that I’d never give Dillon a baggie to play with and next time he should pick it up. Then he informed me that Dillon hadn’t been out since I left. Apparently, he wouldn’t go out for Dad. I guess he just lay on my bed and waited for me to come home. Those two are going to need to bond a little better when I go back to work.
I went on poop patrol this morning. I’m surprised Dad hasn’t said something since the area directly in his path from the shed to the basement is poop central. Since Dillon is still eating birdseed, I’m wondering if flowers will spring up in his path?
Last time I was in Pier 1, weeks ago, they had some cute Thanksgiving décor items, including turkeys. I didn’t buy any then because it was still August and I thought there’d be plenty of time. Wrong! There was not a turkey to be found yesterday. They had marked the grapevine lighted pumpkins down, so I was going to buy one for the den. It would have been pretty and served to light Dad’s path from the garage since darkness is falling earlier every day. Fortunately, I had the good sense to ask the sales clerk to plug it in so I could make sure it burned. It didn’t. Too bad because I really liked that pumpkin.
I did get some pretty glittery gold pine cone ornaments for $2.99 each. I thought about waiting, but they’d probably have gone the way of the turkeys! I also found a new chair cushion for my study chair. It matches my blue, green, and brown color scheme and had been marked down to $11. Of course, it’s about 4 times as thick as my previous cushion, so I feel sort of like I’m sitting on a booster chair. But it looks pretty and I figure my butt will compress the stuffing sometime in the next year or so.
I found some gold paper maché reindeer at Michael’s. They’ll look wonderful on top of my dining room hutch. They were only $8.99 each, but the nice cashier rung them up separately, so I got to use two 40% off coupons. When I showed them to Dad he said, “But you had a reindeer up there last year.” “Yes, but that was only one reindeer. Three is a much better number. Now I have a herd.” This logic didn’t seem to impress him. Everyone knows that it’s better to group things for display purposes and odd numbers are more artistic than even.
I left the house yesterday at around 11:30 a.m. When I got back, it was about 5:45 p.m. Dad was sitting in the den watching a baseball game. Dillon greeted me at the door, barking frantically. There was a baggie on the den floor. “What’s that?” I asked. “I don’t know. It’s been on the floor all afternoon. I thought maybe you gave it to Dillon to play with.” Why would I give my dog a baggie, which could potentially choke him, to play with? Turns out it was a baggie with some cornmeal in it that I’d used to bread the okra yesterday. It must have been left on the island and somehow Dillon wound up with it. Fortunately, he lost interest and it was still intact. I pointed out to Dad that I’d never give Dillon a baggie to play with and next time he should pick it up. Then he informed me that Dillon hadn’t been out since I left. Apparently, he wouldn’t go out for Dad. I guess he just lay on my bed and waited for me to come home. Those two are going to need to bond a little better when I go back to work.
I went on poop patrol this morning. I’m surprised Dad hasn’t said something since the area directly in his path from the shed to the basement is poop central. Since Dillon is still eating birdseed, I’m wondering if flowers will spring up in his path?
Monday, October 5, 2009
You got that right
After getting their butts, and just about every other part of their anatomy, kicked Saturday night, the Canes are looking for answers. The general consensus seems to be that they weren’t aggressive enough and didn’t really go out ready to play. I especially liked a couple of comments by Ruutu and Paul Maurice.
“We really just need to do everything the reverse way,” said Tuomo Ruutu.
”Our special teams are not very special right now,” said Maurice.
Maurice is right, our power play continues to be pathetic. And when you did pretty much everything wrong, why make it complicated? Ruutu obviously subscribes to the KISS philosophy. I love that guy and believe me, he's usually our most aggressive player. He doesn't get in many fights, but he knocks the opposing players off their feet and into the boards hard when he takes a run at them.
This is a good example of why I love the Canes. They’re funny and well-spoken and pretty forthright. If you're not going to play well, you can at least talk a good game.
“We really just need to do everything the reverse way,” said Tuomo Ruutu.
”Our special teams are not very special right now,” said Maurice.
Maurice is right, our power play continues to be pathetic. And when you did pretty much everything wrong, why make it complicated? Ruutu obviously subscribes to the KISS philosophy. I love that guy and believe me, he's usually our most aggressive player. He doesn't get in many fights, but he knocks the opposing players off their feet and into the boards hard when he takes a run at them.
This is a good example of why I love the Canes. They’re funny and well-spoken and pretty forthright. If you're not going to play well, you can at least talk a good game.
More aakkkk!!! moments
I forgot to mention my middle of the night aakkkk moment. I woke up to the sound of a dog barking across the pond and some unknown creature making threatening noises in response. Dillon shifted restlessly on the floor, but didn’t join in. I guess he didn’t want to reveal his location and become a potential target. The barking and strange sounding response went on for a long time. I don’t know exactly how to describe the sound, it wasn’t a bark or a snort or a howl or a snarl, but it was loud and scary sounding.
I laid there and tried to figure out what wild animal was making the sound and if it was likely to eat big dogs and people. Thoughts of bears, coyotes, and bobcats went through my mind. Laugh if you want, but there was a bear around the lake a few years back and there are coyotes in North Carolina. Bobcats are probably a bit farfetched, but it was the middle of the night when all scary things are possible. Plus, if we named a North Carolina pro basketball team The Bobcats, doesn’t that imply they must be inhabitants of the state? I had a hard time picturing a rogue buck, possum, or raccoon sounding like that. I know we have foxes. What sound do they make?
It finally got quiet again and thankfully, there was no sound of a life or death struggle, so I guess whatever it was went away. Hopefully far, far, away.
At lunch, Dad suddenly looked up with a pleased expression on his face. “Nancy, I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier. If you want to get rid of the mouse all you have to do is bring the snake down out of the attic.” I glared at him. “The snake is longer in the attic. At least that’s what I keep telling myself every time I go up there. You’d just better hope if the snake really is still in the attic, he doesn’t realize the mice have moved and come down here looking for them. I suggest you spend your time figuring out how to build a better mousetrap.” “I thought snakes were the best mousetraps.” “Think again.”
Dad is back to painting the shed today. After lunch, I let Dillon outside. Dad was sitting in his chair reading the paper when he suddenly looked up and said, “There’s nothing out there Dillon can get into except the soap I used to clean the brush. He won’t bother that, will he?” “Where did you leave the soap?” “On the ground where you saw me cleaning the brush. It’s nothing but a bar of Octagon soap.” Katie once made herself royally sick after eating one of his precious bars of Octagon soap. I went out to check on Dillon. The bar of soap was still lying on the ground, looking undisturbed. I didn’t notice any teeth marks or missing chunks. “Lucky for you, Dillon doesn’t appear to have a taste for soap.” “Which one of your dogs was it that ate soap?” “Katie.” “I guess I shouldn’t have left it lying on the ground.” Do ya think?!
I had already gotten after him for leaving his banana peel on the ground this morning. I couldn’t figure out why Dillon was suddenly so interested in the bushes. Then he pounced and proudly came up with a banana peel hanging out of his mouth. I went after him and pried it out. Dillon was very disappointed. Dad insisted that banana peels probably weren’t bad for dogs, “After all, he eats bananas.” “So do you, but I don’t notice you eating the peel!”
I laid there and tried to figure out what wild animal was making the sound and if it was likely to eat big dogs and people. Thoughts of bears, coyotes, and bobcats went through my mind. Laugh if you want, but there was a bear around the lake a few years back and there are coyotes in North Carolina. Bobcats are probably a bit farfetched, but it was the middle of the night when all scary things are possible. Plus, if we named a North Carolina pro basketball team The Bobcats, doesn’t that imply they must be inhabitants of the state? I had a hard time picturing a rogue buck, possum, or raccoon sounding like that. I know we have foxes. What sound do they make?
It finally got quiet again and thankfully, there was no sound of a life or death struggle, so I guess whatever it was went away. Hopefully far, far, away.
At lunch, Dad suddenly looked up with a pleased expression on his face. “Nancy, I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier. If you want to get rid of the mouse all you have to do is bring the snake down out of the attic.” I glared at him. “The snake is longer in the attic. At least that’s what I keep telling myself every time I go up there. You’d just better hope if the snake really is still in the attic, he doesn’t realize the mice have moved and come down here looking for them. I suggest you spend your time figuring out how to build a better mousetrap.” “I thought snakes were the best mousetraps.” “Think again.”
Dad is back to painting the shed today. After lunch, I let Dillon outside. Dad was sitting in his chair reading the paper when he suddenly looked up and said, “There’s nothing out there Dillon can get into except the soap I used to clean the brush. He won’t bother that, will he?” “Where did you leave the soap?” “On the ground where you saw me cleaning the brush. It’s nothing but a bar of Octagon soap.” Katie once made herself royally sick after eating one of his precious bars of Octagon soap. I went out to check on Dillon. The bar of soap was still lying on the ground, looking undisturbed. I didn’t notice any teeth marks or missing chunks. “Lucky for you, Dillon doesn’t appear to have a taste for soap.” “Which one of your dogs was it that ate soap?” “Katie.” “I guess I shouldn’t have left it lying on the ground.” Do ya think?!
I had already gotten after him for leaving his banana peel on the ground this morning. I couldn’t figure out why Dillon was suddenly so interested in the bushes. Then he pounced and proudly came up with a banana peel hanging out of his mouth. I went after him and pried it out. Dillon was very disappointed. Dad insisted that banana peels probably weren’t bad for dogs, “After all, he eats bananas.” “So do you, but I don’t notice you eating the peel!”
Aakkkk!!!
I was straightening up my study prior to calling it a night. When I dumped a handful of file folders containing my class assignments into the basket that corrals my textbooks, notebooks, and school folders, a small black shape suddenly exploded across the floor, ricocheted off the metal popcorn tin I use as a trashcan, and disappeared under the platform rockers. I gave a small shriek, jumped halfway across the room, and stood with my hand over my mouth waiting for the creature’s next move. Dillon had been stretched out asleep on the floor. He leaped up and headed out into the hall. I could hear Dad still snoring in his bedroom. Some help they were.
I stood motionless until it became clear that wherever the mouse had gone, he planned to stay there for a while. Dillon laid down in the hall, right beyond the threshold of the study door, and kept watch, not that I anticipated him coming to my aid. I’m sure he just wanted to be ready to bolt farther away if necessary. I finally mustered the courage to cross the room back into mouse territory and turn off the lights. Then I headed to the kitchen to put my cake into a hopefully mouse-proof plastic container.
If the mouse is venturing out of the pantry, it’s time to take more extensive precautions. I’m considering replacing my moon and stars bedroom slippers with a pair of sturdy hiking boots. It’s easy to run right out of backless bedroom slippers and they’re not much good for stomping on rodents. It may be wise to start keeping a broom within reach at all times. I use a hoe outside for snakes, but that would probably be overkill in the house for a mouse. We need some mousetraps that won’t snap shut on Dillon’s nose because obviously setting them only in the pantry isn’t getting the job done. I needed Dad to wake up so I could start giving him orders.
I woke up around 7 a.m. this morning to the sound of Dillon repeatedly licking some part of his anatomy. I had been dreaming about Tony Stewart turning into a suicide bomber at the mall and me trying to call 911. When I peered over the end of the bed, I could see Dillon was enthusiastically licking his butt. When he saw me, he immediately popped up and gave me a quick lick on the chin. Gee, thanks. My Aakkkk moments obviously weren’t over yet.
I didn’t think I’d heard Dad go out for the paper, but sometimes he manages to get up without making too much noise. When Dillon and I went down the hall, I realized Dad wasn’t sitting in the den reading his paper. I didn’t hear the buzz of the fluorescent lights in his bathroom through my bathroom wall. It was now 7:30, which is way past time for him to be up. I started wondering if my dream about trying to call 911 was my subconscious trying to tell me something was wrong. I sat in the hall outside Dad’s room and listened for sounds of movement. It was a little hard to hear over Dillon’s panting and licking. There was no light under his door. I finally opened the door a crack and peered in. Dad was still in bed, but I saw his shoulder move so he wasn’t dead.
That was a relief. I may complain about him, but I’ve gotten used to having him around. Plus, he needs to get busy and catch this mouse. I’m not sure my instructors will accept, “There’s a mouse in my book basket, so I can’t do my homework,” as a valid excuse. I hope my Aakkkk moments are over for now.
I stood motionless until it became clear that wherever the mouse had gone, he planned to stay there for a while. Dillon laid down in the hall, right beyond the threshold of the study door, and kept watch, not that I anticipated him coming to my aid. I’m sure he just wanted to be ready to bolt farther away if necessary. I finally mustered the courage to cross the room back into mouse territory and turn off the lights. Then I headed to the kitchen to put my cake into a hopefully mouse-proof plastic container.
If the mouse is venturing out of the pantry, it’s time to take more extensive precautions. I’m considering replacing my moon and stars bedroom slippers with a pair of sturdy hiking boots. It’s easy to run right out of backless bedroom slippers and they’re not much good for stomping on rodents. It may be wise to start keeping a broom within reach at all times. I use a hoe outside for snakes, but that would probably be overkill in the house for a mouse. We need some mousetraps that won’t snap shut on Dillon’s nose because obviously setting them only in the pantry isn’t getting the job done. I needed Dad to wake up so I could start giving him orders.
I woke up around 7 a.m. this morning to the sound of Dillon repeatedly licking some part of his anatomy. I had been dreaming about Tony Stewart turning into a suicide bomber at the mall and me trying to call 911. When I peered over the end of the bed, I could see Dillon was enthusiastically licking his butt. When he saw me, he immediately popped up and gave me a quick lick on the chin. Gee, thanks. My Aakkkk moments obviously weren’t over yet.
I didn’t think I’d heard Dad go out for the paper, but sometimes he manages to get up without making too much noise. When Dillon and I went down the hall, I realized Dad wasn’t sitting in the den reading his paper. I didn’t hear the buzz of the fluorescent lights in his bathroom through my bathroom wall. It was now 7:30, which is way past time for him to be up. I started wondering if my dream about trying to call 911 was my subconscious trying to tell me something was wrong. I sat in the hall outside Dad’s room and listened for sounds of movement. It was a little hard to hear over Dillon’s panting and licking. There was no light under his door. I finally opened the door a crack and peered in. Dad was still in bed, but I saw his shoulder move so he wasn’t dead.
That was a relief. I may complain about him, but I’ve gotten used to having him around. Plus, he needs to get busy and catch this mouse. I’m not sure my instructors will accept, “There’s a mouse in my book basket, so I can’t do my homework,” as a valid excuse. I hope my Aakkkk moments are over for now.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Redecorating
Since my house is all decked out for Halloween, I thought it might be fun to decorate the blog too. I'm not sure what happens when I'm in the process of editing, so if things suddenly disappear while I'm fiddling around, sorry! I really think I prefer the regular layout, it's easier to read on a white background, but this is pretty, so we'll see. There's a really cute turkey layout for Thanksgiving and some fun Christmas designs too. I do enjoy seasonal decorations and these don't even have to be dusted and stored.
Food for thought
My current favorite sandwich is a grilled cheese with apple. You fix it just like a regular grilled cheese, but you put slices of Gala apple between the cheese. It's especially good if you use Arnold Oatnut bread. The first time I served it to Dad he looked at it with suspicion and told me he'd never had apple in a sandwich before. After a couple of bites he decided it was pretty good. He particularly liked the flavor of the Gala apple.
My hockey team is off to a dreadful start. We've lost the first 2 games. The Boston Bruins beat us literally and figuratively. They won the game 7-2 and they also won every fight leaving us bloody and beaten. I'm not sure what the record is for most stitches needed in a game, but I think the Hurricanes set the new standard on Saturday. At least 6 of our players left the game bleeding and a 7th had to be helped off the ice after a collision left him with a broken leg. It wasn't a pretty sight. Asked what disturbed him the most about the game, Coach Maurice was succinct. "Just the first 60 minutes," he said. For those who know nothing about ice hockey, a game is only 60 minutes long.
My hockey team is off to a dreadful start. We've lost the first 2 games. The Boston Bruins beat us literally and figuratively. They won the game 7-2 and they also won every fight leaving us bloody and beaten. I'm not sure what the record is for most stitches needed in a game, but I think the Hurricanes set the new standard on Saturday. At least 6 of our players left the game bleeding and a 7th had to be helped off the ice after a collision left him with a broken leg. It wasn't a pretty sight. Asked what disturbed him the most about the game, Coach Maurice was succinct. "Just the first 60 minutes," he said. For those who know nothing about ice hockey, a game is only 60 minutes long.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Sometimes it's the little things
Dad's used to having lunch at 12. I aim for 12, but I don't worry overly much if I miss. If my time is off, we're always eating later, not earlier. That's not a problem during the week, but now that it's college football season it does inconvenience Dad on Saturdays. He hasn't complained, but last Saturday he missed some of the Carolina game while we were eating.
I checked the football tv schedule this morning after I took Dillon for a walk. Carolina kick-off was set for noon. I decided we'd eat a little early so Dad wouldn't miss any of the game. All we were having was spaghetti, so it wasn't like I had a lot of prep work to do. Dad was thrilled to learn we were eating early so he could see the football game. He told me the spaghetti looked good, ate a big plateful, told me afterwards he'd been hungry and it sure was good, thanked me for everything, and then took the unshelled butterbeans he bought at the farmer's market this morning and headed to the garage. "I don't know if I'll get them shelled, but I'm going to go enjoy my football game." I made major brownie points with very little effort.
Of course he earned brownie points last night. He's apparently been paying attention when I say that Uncle Bud brings me pie or cake from the farmer's market while Dad only brings me vegetables. Last night he asked what kind of cake I wanted. I asked what kind of cake they had. "I don't know." If you confuse him, you're going to wind up with nothing. I assured him that I couldn't think of any kind of cake I didn't like. This morning he came back with a pound cake.
We're both happy campers. Of course Dad would be happier if we got ESPNU. That's the only channel that's carrying the State game later this afternoon. That's something I can't help him with.
I checked the football tv schedule this morning after I took Dillon for a walk. Carolina kick-off was set for noon. I decided we'd eat a little early so Dad wouldn't miss any of the game. All we were having was spaghetti, so it wasn't like I had a lot of prep work to do. Dad was thrilled to learn we were eating early so he could see the football game. He told me the spaghetti looked good, ate a big plateful, told me afterwards he'd been hungry and it sure was good, thanked me for everything, and then took the unshelled butterbeans he bought at the farmer's market this morning and headed to the garage. "I don't know if I'll get them shelled, but I'm going to go enjoy my football game." I made major brownie points with very little effort.
Of course he earned brownie points last night. He's apparently been paying attention when I say that Uncle Bud brings me pie or cake from the farmer's market while Dad only brings me vegetables. Last night he asked what kind of cake I wanted. I asked what kind of cake they had. "I don't know." If you confuse him, you're going to wind up with nothing. I assured him that I couldn't think of any kind of cake I didn't like. This morning he came back with a pound cake.
We're both happy campers. Of course Dad would be happier if we got ESPNU. That's the only channel that's carrying the State game later this afternoon. That's something I can't help him with.
Butt, butt, butt
Our Kiwanis Club had a Boston butt sale yesterday. We didn’t make any money on our last fundraiser because we overestimated how many BBQ plates we could sell and wound up donating 300 plates to the Union Mission. Good for them, bad for us. I guess the guys were determined not to repeat that debacle this time. We sold 104 butts at $30 each. We sold some of them more than once.
We only bought as many butts as we’d presold tickets for. That sounds good in theory, but we’re not a terribly organized group. So apparently, our ticket count didn’t match our actual sales volume. Some members may have kept selling after turning in their numbers; many gave us verbal numbers, but turned in no ticket stubs; it was pretty much anybody’s guess what was going on. It didn’t help when the guys decided early on that one of the butts was smaller than the others so they couldn’t in good conscience sell it and they really should sample the product. They fell on that thing like piranhas. They stripped the bone clean in minutes. I reminded them later that they’d eaten part of our profits and we could have used that butt, small or not.
When people kept coming with tickets, and smiles on their faces anticipating picking up the delicious Boston butt that they’d ordered and were counting on for dinner that night, we started scrambling. I had ordered 1 for me and 1 for Uncle Bud and twisted Marvin’s arm shamelessly until he agreed to buy 1. Our club president had a knife with him, so I had him cut 1 butt in half and kept half for me and gave half to Uncle Bud. I couldn’t give it up completely because we were counting on it for dinner. Then I let Marvin’s go and called to tell him I had good news, he could take his $30 and go out to dinner because he didn’t have to buy one just to make me look good. That suited him just fine. None of the guys were willing to part with their butts, so after that we packed up quick and left before anyone else could walk up with a ticket. I’m sure if we missed anyone, they’ll get in touch with the Kiwanian that sold them the ticket.
Our former club president congratulated our current president on having a more successful sale than the one he’d been in charge of last year. Our former club president is running for mayor in November. I told him he was passing up a good campaign issue; he’d fed the hungry and the homeless. His eyes lit up, “I did, didn’t I?” What would these guys do without me?
We only bought as many butts as we’d presold tickets for. That sounds good in theory, but we’re not a terribly organized group. So apparently, our ticket count didn’t match our actual sales volume. Some members may have kept selling after turning in their numbers; many gave us verbal numbers, but turned in no ticket stubs; it was pretty much anybody’s guess what was going on. It didn’t help when the guys decided early on that one of the butts was smaller than the others so they couldn’t in good conscience sell it and they really should sample the product. They fell on that thing like piranhas. They stripped the bone clean in minutes. I reminded them later that they’d eaten part of our profits and we could have used that butt, small or not.
When people kept coming with tickets, and smiles on their faces anticipating picking up the delicious Boston butt that they’d ordered and were counting on for dinner that night, we started scrambling. I had ordered 1 for me and 1 for Uncle Bud and twisted Marvin’s arm shamelessly until he agreed to buy 1. Our club president had a knife with him, so I had him cut 1 butt in half and kept half for me and gave half to Uncle Bud. I couldn’t give it up completely because we were counting on it for dinner. Then I let Marvin’s go and called to tell him I had good news, he could take his $30 and go out to dinner because he didn’t have to buy one just to make me look good. That suited him just fine. None of the guys were willing to part with their butts, so after that we packed up quick and left before anyone else could walk up with a ticket. I’m sure if we missed anyone, they’ll get in touch with the Kiwanian that sold them the ticket.
Our former club president congratulated our current president on having a more successful sale than the one he’d been in charge of last year. Our former club president is running for mayor in November. I told him he was passing up a good campaign issue; he’d fed the hungry and the homeless. His eyes lit up, “I did, didn’t I?” What would these guys do without me?
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