Gainfully employed

It's official, starting next week, I'll once again be gainfully employed. The law firm that I've been interning at offered me a position. I'll just be part-time to start with. A lot of their business is real estate related, so the current economy has impacted their numbers. They're making a place for me now and my hours should increase as the economy improves.

I'm very happy about the position and not upset about being part-time. I like the firm, the work, and the people. While working part-time isn't as lucrative, it also won't be as stressful. I know there are plenty of people that balance work and household duties, but frankly since I get pretty much zero help around the house, I wasn't looking forward to juggling everything right away.

Dad is less enthusiastic about the part-time hours. He doesn't realize how much of a change having him here has been. When I was working full-time, I hardly ever cooked and I ate whenever it suited me. Now I have to have a meal on the table at noon every day and fix his sandwich for supper. Throw in laundry, cleaning, yard work, and being his social secretary, and I'm left feeling a bit overwhelmed at times. I tried to make that point tactfully, but I could tell he wasn't convinced. Regardless, his life was going to change drastically if I went to work full-time because he was going to have to start pitching in.

So, I'm happy, Dillon's happy, and Dad's resigned. I can live with that. As long as he's quietly resigned.

Biscuits

I made biscuits for lunch yesterday. Dad and I disagree on what makes a good biscuit. I like mine fat and fluffy. He likes his flat and hard, although he prefers the term crisp. I imagine he would have found what cowboys referred to as hard tack acceptable.

When I make biscuits, I try to flatten out a couple for him and leave mine their normal thickness, which most everyone else finds acceptable if not downright delicious. Yesterday he didn’t eat either of his flat, hard biscuits. That was doubly annoying this morning when I went to toast them for breakfast.

My normal breakfast is a couple of pieces of whatever cornbread or biscuits were left over from the previous meal, toasted with jelly or honey. It’s practically impossible to cut one of his type of biscuits in half the next day and keep it intact for toasting. Dillon gets lots of crumbs when the biscuit practically disintegrates on the plate. I informed Dad that from now on I'd be making all of the biscuits to suit me. He can just pull out the insides if he wants to.

Years ago he did that to one of Mom’s friend’s biscuits. The poor woman was terribly upset thinking there was something wrong with the biscuit. Mom was left to explain that Dad just doesn’t appreciate a good biscuit the way that normal people do. She was probably wishing that he’d skipped the biscuits.

Spring

“There is, indeed, something inexpressibly pleasing, in the annual renovation of the world, and the new display of the treasures of nature.”
-- Samuel Johnson


I'm in the mood for spring. I channeled some of that enthusiasm into brightening up my study. My first purchase was a Van Gogh poster, Almond Blossom, painted for the birth of his nephew and symbolizing budding life. Admittedly, I knew none of that when I picked it out. I confess that I bought it mainly because I liked the turquoise color; it picks up the color in my study.

Frankly, I wasn't even sure which way was up. Turns out I wanted to hang it sideways because it was going to fit better on my wall that way. Probably no one else would have ever noticed the difference, but now that I know which way is up, I'm not sure which way to hang it. Full disclosure, Dad correctly picked which way was up before I did an internet search to find out. He's not a big fan of the painting. I'm not sure I'll display it forever, but for around $20 including the frame, I'm happy with it.


Then I got this great pillow at Pier 1.

It makes me happy every time I look at it. I recently read a suggestion on The Happiness Project site that spaces that are uncluttered are likely to remain that way and spaces that are frequently used as dumping spots continue to attract more clutter. That was the case of the platform rocker in my study. Everything ended up in that chair.

I have no intention of clearing up every bit of clutter in my study, that would take much more time and effort than I want to expend. But I figured I could do something about that chair. Clearing it off worked for the first week; I stopped dumping stuff there. I decided that making it a pretty focal point instead of a clutter catcher would encourage me to continue the behavior. So I rewarded myself with the pillow, which makes me very happy.

Really?

Duke is playing for the last spot in the NCAA Final 4. Dad was very pleased that the game started at 5 p.m. because he’s been staying up way past his bedtime to watch all the NCAA games. I turned on the tv to monitor the game while I was doing some chores. I didn’t pay any attention to the play-by-play or the score, I just wanted to know when the first half was over so I could feed Dad. After quickly finishing his sandwich, he announced that the second half had probably started and he needed to go back out to his tv. “You had pretty good timing though,” he said in passing.

Excuse me; he thought it was sheer coincidence that his sandwich was on the table at the start of half time? I quickly informed him that I’d timed it that way on purpose and the second half had not yet started. The game was on in the den, so I could tell what was going on. He hadn’t realized what show was playing on the tv. You would think I’d get some credit for trying to schedule meals around his sporting events. I’ve been doing it all winter.

I went to Rocky Mount shopping yesterday. I bought a bunch of stuff at Michael’s including a picture frame, 2 huge art posters, a poster frame, some silk hydrangeas, and potpourri. I had a basket full. The prints and poster frame were too big to put in a bag, but the cashier assured me that the rest of my stuff was in the bag. I naturally assumed she meant 1 bag. It wasn’t until I got back home that evening that I took stock and realized I was missing a 16x20 floating frame.

I called the store to see if possibly, the cashier had realized that it was left on the counter. Tisha, the store associate who answered the phone, checked and said no. They were busy, so she asked if she could call me back in 10 minutes, which she did. She took the information from my receipt and told me she’d pull one of the frames from stock and leave it at customer service for me to pick up. It was there when I went back today. You can’t beat that for service. She had no proof other than my word that I’d left the frame there, but she could not have been nicer.

I had to go back to Rocky Mount anyway to return some cushions I bought for the dining room chairs that turned out to be too big. Since I was going back to Michael’s, I returned the poster frame and then turned around and bought it again. Yesterday it was full price. Today it was 40% off and I had a coupon for an additional 25% off the sale price. I figured that paid for my gas. Dad just shook his head. Who does he think I learned bargain hunting from?

I happen to like clean clothes

Wednesday is laundry day at our house. My first semester of school, all of my assignments were due on Tuesday so Wednesday mornings were a time to catch up on the household chores. Once you establish a schedule, and it gets firmly established in Dad's brain, you pretty much have to stick to it. Unfortunately, although I can get him to strip his bed every Wednesday morning, getting him to surrender his jeans is another story altogether.

He seems to believe that unless they're completely covered in dirt or some other foreign substance, they don't require washing. No matter how long it's been since they last saw the inside of a washing machine. Apparently he's afraid that too much laundering will make them wear out too fast. He's 84 years old. He won't outlive these jeans no matter how often I wash them.

Mom had the same problem. She had an advantage though. She could swipe them off the chair before he woke up in the morning and put them on. He's already wearing them by the time I see him in the morning. Even I draw the line at physically taking them off his body, although I don't completely rule it out.

This morning when I started emptying the hamper, his jeans weren't in it. Heading for the washing machine with an armful of my laundry, I passed him sitting at the kitchen table eating his bowl of cereal. I informed him that since I haven't seen his jeans in the wash for the past 2 weeks, I expect to find them in the hamper tomorrow morning. "I was thinking they'd last until the weather turns warm," was his response. "You thought wrong," I stated firmly.

When I got ready to start a second load of laundry, I found a pair of jeans in the hamper. Dad happened to be standing nearby. "Good for you," I told him. "If I had a gold star I'd give it to you." He stared at the jeans in my hand looking confused. I looked at the jeans a little closer. "These are mine. I should have known you were being too cooperative. I take it all back," I told him. He walked away laughing. "Good to know I'm not sick."

The butterfly of the moment

Vita Sackville-West said: "It is necessary to write, if the days are not to slip emptily by. How else, indeed, to clap the net over the butterfly of the moment?"

I found that quote on Garrison Keillor's site, The Writer's Almanac. As much as I love Garrison Keillor's selections of poetry, I have both of his books, I can't believe that I had no idea the site existed. I've now added it to my daily sites to check. I get stuck on a few sites and fail to broaden my horizons. There are so many choices it can be overwhelming. I usually find the best sites through other favorite sites.

If I had been aware of that quote before I started this blog, I would have titled it The butterfly of the moment instead of a medley of extemporanea. Because Sackville-West captured exactly why I write. It's as much for me as for anyone else. I wish I had the patience to keep a handwritten journal, but my handwriting is practically illegible even to me. I find it so much easier to type and have the luxury of using backspace, delete, cut and paste, and of course spell check. The blog allows me to note the small moments of my life that I'd likely otherwise forget.

Before I started blogging, I relied on e-mail. I printed some of them out and saved them in a notebook. When I was cleaning recently, I started paging through the notebook, reading a random entry or two. There were all these funny moments featuring Mom and Dad and Katie, many of which I'd completely forgotten. Reading them was like opening a window and getting a peek at moments that have grown more precious as the players have aged and passed on. Butterflies of the moment.

Grin and bear it

I had a dental appointment this morning. I got there right on time and then cooled my heels in the waiting room for over 30 minutes. At least 5 other patients who arrived after me were called back while I sat there. I was about to go ask if they'd lost my chart when the dental hygienist finally called me back. She then spent at least 5 minutes apologizing for being behind schedule. I appreciated the apology, and understood the reason, but I found myself wondering if she dislikes being behind schedule so much why she couldn't have done her apologizing while cleaning my teeth. It wasn't like I was contributing anything to the conversation. I could have listened while she cleaned. Of course the good news was that she didn't spend nearly as much time as usual trying to pry my teeth loose.

The same woman, Jennifer, sees Dad when he goes for his dental appointments. She thinks he's the cutest thing and so soft-spoken. She went on and on about how cute she and the other hygienist think he is. They think he needs to be on a magazine cover or something. Dad laughed hysterically when I relayed all of this to him. I suggested we have some professional pictures taken and put into a portfolio. We could be missing a new career opportunity for him. He just walked away shaking his head.

It's spring!

It's amazing what a difference a few days of warmth and sunshine makes in the spring landscape. Suddenly there are tiny leaves beginning to unfurl on several of my trees. A few branches of the redbud tree have flowered. There are lovely little violets scattered in my grass. Soon the grass will be green and Dillon will stop looking like a scaredog when he does his ritual stop, drop, and roll. He does enjoy rolling in the grass, but at the moment he winds up covered with sprigs of dead grass which means he has to be brushed off before he comes inside. He's not as fond of being brushed.

I spent quite a bit of time over the weekend taking down the St. Patrick's Day decorations and putting up the Easter decorations. There are bunnies and butterflies, baskets and eggs everywhere you look. I bought some silk butterflies attached to tiny plastic clips from Pier 1 at an after Easter sale a year or so ago. They were cute in the store, but I never used them after I got them home. Yesterday I had the best time finding places for them to land. A couple are perched on basket handles. Two are resting on a grapevine wreath watching a stuffed bunny snoozing in his hammock. One is sitting on the shoulder of the 3 ft. tall bunny standing at the end of the hall. We're very festive.

Blooming idiot

Dad and I each have our own routes around town. Needless to say, we each find our own route superior. He prefers a more straightforward path with fewer turns and stops. Unfortunately his route is decidedly less scenic and takes him through less desirable neighborhoods. One big old house has been divided into apartments or maybe even just rooms for rent. There is generally a pile of discarded belongings or broken furniture at the curb. Dad commented that there was obviously a pretty frequent turnover of renters.

A picture of the house appeared in the Herald this week. The police had a drug raid at that address and arrested a number of the occupants. "I knew there was something going on at that address," Dad commented as he pointed at the picture. "Yet you continue to drive by it instead of going through a safer neighborhood," I retorted. He just laughed.

Spring is a beautiful time of year here. The daffodils are blooming and there is some type of tree loaded with pink blooms. It's not a dogwood or a redbud. I asked Dad if he knew what it was. He didn't even know what trees I was talking about. There aren't any planted along his route. This morning at breakfast I asked Edith if she knew what they were. She wasn't sure, but thought they might be a flowering cherry.

On the way back, Dad asked if Edith had known what the pink flowering bushes were. I repeated what she'd said and reminded him that I was talking about a flowering tree not a shrub. He then pointed at a bush with pink blooms. "Is that what you're talking about?" "That's a camellia," I replied. "I know what that is. Plus it's a bush, not a tree. I do know the difference between a tree and a bush." Sometimes I wonder exactly how dumb he thinks I am.

FSN Carolinas employs idiots

Wake Forest was scheduled to play their first game of the NCAA Tournament last night at 9:30 p.m. That's past Dad's bedtime and he was sure they were going to lose, but he stayed up and watched it anyway. This morning he started telling me how they won in overtime. "See, that's why they play the game," I reminded him. Of course he had to go into great detail about the last few seconds and how awful the Deacons' coach is. I finally informed him that at least he got to see the game.

My Hurricanes played the Washington Capitols last night. I tuned in to see the game at 7 p.m. and got a blank blue screen of death. The problem wasn't my tv, all the other channels were fine. Some idiot at the FSN Carolinas network forgot to program a switch correctly, so we had 3 hours of nothing. Occasionally a few commercials would come on, apparently commercials are programmed for either network or local access, but then it would go back to the blue screen of death.

No, I didn't stare at it fuming for all 3 hours. I listened to the game via the computer broadcast for the first hour, while monitoring the blank tv screen, then switched over to watch FlashForward on ABC, occasionally flipping back to see if by any miracle someone at the network had discovered their error. Wouldn't you think someone would monitor these things? I was even more angry this morning when Dad informed me that the Canes won in overtime.

FSN Carolinas does a condensed rebroadcast of Hurricanes' games the following day. I've set my VCR. It'll be interesting to see if that broadcasts correctly or if I'll have recorded 2 hours of nothing. I did e-mail the network. Of course odds are no one reads viewer comments. If they'd had a telephone number, I'd have called. This same thing happened repeatedly year before last. It's the first time it's happened this year, but that doesn't make me any less annoyed.

Getting your priorities straight

This Red & Rover strip reminds me so much of Dillon. The kid obviously understands that family comes first! I tried to post the full strip here so you wouldn't have to click on the link, but it was too big for the page. The last panel disappeared behind Dillon's picture.

Hooray!

I did the Promissory Note calculations right! I even earned a "good job" from the paralegal who had the unenviable task of trying to teach me how to do it. I went in expecting to be fitted for a dunce cap and left feeling like I'd earned a gold star. Not a bad day.

Money, money, money.........

My father spent almost the whole of his adult working life employed by Commercial Credit and working at their corporate office. His title was Manager of Dealer Credit. I don't know exactly what his job involved, but it definitely did not include calculating the balance of principal and interest due on a Promissory Note. "We had people for that," was his response when I asked for help.

I wish I had people. In this case, I'm the person whose desk the task landed on. I'm supposed to calculate the pay-off and per diem on 3 Promissory Notes. It would be too easy if each involved the same set of circumstances. Where's the fun in that? Each one presents its own special challenge.

I thought surely when I asked Dad for help, since his career involved finance, it would be a snap and he'd have the satisfaction of helping me learn a new work-related skill. I should have known better. He had people. I guess that's the benefit of being the Manager.

Tick tock

Every Sunday when Dad and I go to Oscar's for breakfast, he takes along the sports page and I take the advertising circulars. I didn't see a single ad for an atomic clock today which strikes me as a wasted opportunity on the part of the retailers who sell clocks. The two times a year when everyone probably wishes they owned atomic clocks are when daylight savings time begins and ends. I still haven't finished changing all my watches and clocks. There are just too many things that have built-in clocks these days. Sort of makes you wish for the days of sundials. You didn't have to change those twice a year.

I don't even attempt to change the clocks on the indoor/outdoor thermometers because going through the menu is too annoying. Why do I need a clock on a thermometer anyway? I'd have been happier if they'd just left that feature off. We have 3 indoor/outdoor thermometers. One of mine has an atomic clock. I wish I'd ponied up the extra money and bought all 3 with atomic clocks. Mom and Dad used to just not change their kitchen clock or the clocks in their vehicles. They thought it was too much trouble and adopted the philosophy that the clocks were right for half the year and they could remember to add or subtract an hour for the other half. I always thought that was lazy and confusing. Now I've started doing it too. I guess it's true that you turn into your parents as you get older.

Of course since the time changed, I've felt behind since I got up this morning. I woke up at my normal 6:45 a.m., except that today it was 7:45 a.m. When we got to Oscar's, Edith had almost finished her pancake. She set her alarm clock so she'd be on time. I explained that we relied on God to wake us up and he obviously hadn't concerned himself with daylight savings time.

It's been gray and gloomy here all day. Walking the Canal Trail is a muddy, messy slog. Raking it down to the bare dirt made it worse. Dillon and I still enjoyed our walk even if we did come home a bit muddy. Some of the trees along the way have leaves that have turned white and papery over the winter. They remind me of a Japanese screen. It makes a nice contrast with all the browns and grays of winter. This picture fails to do justice to the landscape, but it will give you an idea of what I'm talking about.


The camera did do justice to my sweet Dillon, well except for the part where his front legs look like they belong on a basset hound. But look at that sweet face! This was taken after our walk. He's still ready to play ball.


Just to show that his legs aren't abnormally short!

Tales from the trail

I'm having a do practically nothing day. Yesterday between Dad's birthday and work and the Kiwanis BBQ plate sale, I was pretty much on full speed ahead all day, so today I'm doing as little as possible. I began by sitting in a lawn chair in the back yard drinking my coffee and watching the half-marathoners run by on the Canal Trail behind the house. There were 400 runners signed up for the half-marathon. One section of the trail passes over the dam at Rochelle Pond and is visible from our house. Dad thought that was a half-baked idea, but I enjoyed it. I doubt that marathon watching will ever become much of a spectator sport, but the day was pleasantly warm and Dillon was happily meandering around and I found it quite enjoyable.

Dillon and I went for a walk on the Canal Trail this afternoon after the marathoners had dispersed. I saw my first snake of the season just as I was about to step on it. I'm pretty sure it was a copperhead, but thankfully it was a small one more intent on sunning himself than bothering with me. Then we encountered a mother walking with 2 little girls. They were walking towards us, with one little girl about 3 or 4 years old in the lead. She marched right up to Dillon, while her mother was telling her to wait, put a hand on either side of his head and started petting him. Katie would have jumped up, kissed her right on the mouth, and probably knocked her down. Dillon just calmly stood there, wagging his tail.

After she'd petted him for a minute, she came up to me and tried to take the leash away from me. "I can hold it," she assured me. I told her I thought I'd better hold on to it since he might pull her down. She continued to try to pry the leash out of my hand while repeating that she could do it. She wasn't happy when her Mom caught up and they continued in the opposite direction without Dillon. We passed them again on our return. The little girl once again marched up to me and tried to take the leash out of my hands. She was determined to take Dillon for a walk. I kept telling her I'd better hold on to the leash and she kept telling me she could do it and trying to take the leash away from me. I told her mother the child needed a dog to walk. Apparently they have one at home that will "fit in the palm of your hand." The kid figured if she can walk that dog, she can walk Dillon too, even if he is at least 50 times bigger. She was not happy with me when I wouldn't let her have the leash.

A little farther down the trail, we encountered an older, black couple. I told the man good afternoon and commented on how pretty the spot was, they were at the bulkhead which is very scenic. I had shortened up on the leash so Dillon couldn't reach them. Dillon thinks he's the official trail greeter and goes up to everyone. The man asked if my dog bites. I assured him that Dillon was friendly, so he came closer to give him a pat. The woman commented on how pretty Dillon is. "I'd like to have me a coat made out of his fur," she told the man. I decided maybe it was time to keep walking. That kind of compliment makes me nervous. I like Dillon's coat right where it is.

Happy Birthday Dad!

He's 84 years old today and still begins each morning by thoroughly reading the paper, although he complains that if it continues to shrink, he'll soon be left with nothing to read.

Breakfast is the one meal that I am not responsible for. Dad fixes his own bowl of cereal and banana. This morning I told him I wouldn't make him eat cold cereal for his birthday. I gave him a choice of Oscar's or I'd cook breakfast. Surprisingly enough, he said he'd rather I cooked. We had sausage and eggs; Dad prefers his fried, mine were scrambled. Dillon really enjoyed Dad's plate with all that nice egg yolk left behind.

Now Dad has a full day of ACC basketball to look forward to. Normally, this would be a terrific birthday present except that both his teams, Carolina and Wake Forest, lost in the first round yesterday. When I asked who he was pulling for now, he said anyone that could beat Duke. Of course that only applies to conference games. Once they hit the NCAA Tournament, he pulls for Duke. I explained that any true Carolina fan never pulls for Duke, no matter who they're playing. He still insists that you have to support ACC teams when they're playing non-conference opponents. He's wrong of course, but I couldn't change his mind. Some things never change.

Blogs

There are some blogs I check pretty much on a daily basis. I'm a big fan of The Happiness Project because it makes me think and points me to new interesting sites, like thxthxthx. A gratitude journal is an interesting idea, it's way too easy to focus on everything that's wrong as opposed to the multitude of things, big and small, that are right. I doubt I could do it in as clever and entertaining a manner as Leah does. Yeah, some of the posts are a little too contrived, but it's still fun and it does make you view everyday objects in a different light, which can be a good thing. We take way too much for granted.

I also can't stay away from the Lab Rescue of NC site. I love the photos and bits about each dog. Last year when I was looking to adopt, they had a very limited number of black labs on their site. At the moment, they've got a huge number of beautiful black labs they're trying to find homes for. Mandy especially caught my eye. She sounds perfect, but Dad and Dillon get along so well that I'm afraid to rock the boat by introducing a new dog into the mix.

Cake Wrecks is always good for a laugh or an ewww moment. It's amazing what truly awful creations some cake decorators can produce.

The Pioneer Woman Cooks usually has some mouthwatering recipe to offer. Today she's giving away a 9 quart French Oven. Whoever wins it better have a strong husband nearby to lift it in and out of the oven, or she should also be giving away a set of Perfect Pushups. My 5 quart is heavy enough, I can't imagine trying to maneuver a 9 quart.

Heavy lifting

I bought myself a Dutch oven this weekend. I keep coming across recipes that call for one, so I finally decided it was time to quit substituting glass casserole dishes and get one of the real deals. I bought a 5 quart one at Target. Those suckers are heavy! I used it today to make stew beef. It was really easy, nothing fancy, but good old comfort food. I thought it was delicious. I did make a mistake by not spraying the interior sides of the Dutch oven with Pam. I thought the cooking oil the recipe called for would be enough. Big mistake! I wound up with baked on pieces of potato and tomato soup, which made cleanup a pain. I guarantee I won’t forget again.

Stew Beef

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
¾ teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon pepper
¾ pound boneless beef chuck roast-cut into 1 inch cubes (I just used a package of stew beef and didn’t cut anything)
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 (10.75 ounce) can condensed tomato soup, undiluted
1 1/4 cups water
¾ cup chopped onion
¼ teaspoon dried basil
2 medium potatoes, peeled and diced
2 medium carrots, cut into 1 inch pieces (I used baby carrots, didn’t cut them up, and added them after the first ½ hour of cooking time so they cooked for a total of 1 1/2 hours with the meat.)

In a resealable plastic bag, combine the flour, salt and pepper. Add beef cubes, a few at a time, and shake to coat. In a Dutch oven, brown meat in oil. Add the soup, water, onion and basil; mix well. Cover and bake at 350 degrees F for 1 hour. Add potatoes and carrots. Bake 1 hour longer or until meat and vegetables are tender.

My poor baby!

I noticed Dillon repeatedly licking his left front paw this morning. When I took a closer look, I discovered that he'd broken his dew claw, the nerve was exposed, but the nail was still partially attached. Yikes! I didn't even try to tackle it myself. We headed for the vet's office.

Judy took a look and winced. "This is going to hurt. Is it okay if we put a muzzle on him?" I consented. Dillon is a sweet boy who'd normally never try to bite anyone, but if someone was going to start trying to cut off my nail and have to cut the nerve too, I'd be tempted to snap at them. He didn't flinch when they put the muzzle on, but he gave me this pleading look with those big, brown eyes.

Poor baby, it did hurt, even with the lidocaine they gave him to try and numb the area. He struggled, but when Judy was finished she immediately told the other vet tech to take off the muzzle. As soon as it was off and we let him go, he jumped to his feet, limping a little, but wagging his tail and eagerly waiting for the treat he was sure would be immediately forthcoming. I guess all was forgiven. He got a number of cookies and a tongue depressor heavily coated with peanut butter to distract him while Judy applied some cortisone cream to try and stop the bleeding.

When I got home this evening, he greeted me at the door with a ball in his mouth, ready to go out and play. I didn't think all that running and changing directions and making sudden stops was such a good idea. Dillon begged to differ. I threw it a couple of times and that seemed to satisfy him. We're holding off on a walk until tomorrow. They sent him home with an antibiotic and pain medicine, just in case.

He's such a good boy!

Yea, me!

My computer crashed last night while I was trying to take advantage of Bath and Body Works sale plus free shipping offer. That's what I get for ending my boycott. I can't stand their stores, they left my mall and their sales associates are annoying. But I like their lemongrass sage lotion and I really like their Look Ma New Hands cream. So when both products went on sale and they offered free shipping, I figured I could avoid their store, but still enjoy their product. Yeah, my principles are flexible.

I don't know what happened, but the site started functioning very slowly and my computer started making this ominous humming sound. When I tried to close out of the site it wouldn't do anything for about 5 minutes then it finally slowly closed the first window I had open. It took me about an hour to get the computer to shut down. Everything was in super slow motion. It would take 15 minutes to execute a single command. But I persevered because if I do a hard shutdown when it's hung, it won't restart properly. It hangs at loading PBR descriptor 2, whatever the heck that is, and won't finish loading everything, so you're left looking at a black screen and a blinking cursor.

The last time that happened, it took my cousin's husband David almost 2 hours to talk me through a series of commands until we finally found the right ones to get the dumb thing to run again. When we got finished with the marathon phone session, I had no idea what we'd done. David, bless his heart, said that was okay I could always call him again next time it happened. The man has the patience of a saint. Because I hate depending on other people, I did an internet search for a solution to the problem. It's happened to other Dell PC owners as well. I copied and pasted all of their solutions, printed them out, and stored them in my old fashioned paper file devoted to my computer. Thank goodness!

So last night instead of panicking and phoning David, I fished out the file and started following the instructions. It took a long time because the computer was still processing every command at the speed of molasses on a cold day in January, but I finally got it to work again all by myself! I'm so proud!!! Maybe I would actually be capable of replacing the power supply. I'm going to have to tackle that at some point because the noise is annoying. But I must admit, the noisy fan is music to my ears after that horrible, droning, humming in the crash zone.

No fair

Dad had an 8:40 a.m. dentist appointment this morning. By 7:20 a.m. when he still wasn't up, I started getting concerned. As a Murphy's Law type, I'm always afraid when he doesn't get up on time that maybe he's not going to wake up at all. I was relieved to open his bedroom door and discover that he was still fast asleep. I guess last night's Carolina basketball game kept him up past his bedtime. I felt bad about waking him, but there really wasn't a choice.

As he was getting ready to leave an hour later, he informed me that if he wasn't home by 10 a.m., it meant that he'd gone to the Seaboard Farm Equipment auction and he wouldn't be back for lunch. I started to entertain the hope that I wouldn't be cooking lunch today. When 10 a.m. arrived, I felt like I'd been given a present; the whole house to myself and no lunch to prepare. Since it was raining, I did my exercises and was just getting ready to jump in the shower when I heard a key in the front door lock. "What happened to 'I won't be here for dinner'?" I asked. It was too cold and too rainy and too muddy and there wasn't anything that really interested him, so he came home. He did volunteer to go out and pick up something for lunch, but I just went ahead and warmed up the leftovers from Sunday.

It really isn't fair to raise my hopes like that. If he says he's not going to be here for lunch, he shouldn't come back home until after lunch! I don't care if he has to hang out at McDonald's and wait for the clock to strike 1.

It's either feast or famine

I must admit that last night, I missed having no Winter Olympics to watch. But tonight, I have way too many choices. My Carolina Hurricanes are playing, my Carolina Tar Heels are playing, and it's the one night of the week that's must-see tv for me on CBS with NCIS, NCIS LA, and The Good Wife. I'm going to flip back and forth between the Canes and the Heels and tape everything on CBS.

Here's a Carolina Tar Heels joke that's making the rounds.

Carolina is going to change it's mascot to a possum. Because they play like they're dead at home and get killed on the road!

This is Senior Night. Maybe we can actually win 2 games in a row.

That's entertainment

Well, my house is now very clean and I have plenty of left-overs. Dad's friend and his wife arrived right as the US Olympic hockey team lost in overtime to the Canadians. I had just yelled at Dad to go open the door and was in the process of yelling "Oh, no!" when he was greeting them. Hopefully they didn't think my comments were directed at them or a kitchen catastrophe of some sort.

I had already threatened Dad with death if he touched the tv remote before the game was over. I may not have been able to see much of the game, but I heard every play. Of course I found it incredibly annoying that Dad, who even during Sunday's remarkable come from behind to tie with seconds left in regulation game continued to insist that he found hockey boring!!!, was sitting in front of the tv watching the game while I was trapped in the kitchen cooking!

So, they came, they ate, they left. They were only here about 2 hours. Most of my cleaning efforts were totally wasted. They were nice and Dad enjoyed the company. He actually participated in the conversation instead of depending on me to do all the talking. The wife obviously wasn't a dog person, she sort of cringed every time Dillon got too close, but Joe likes dogs and Dad assured them that Dillon was the friendliest dog they'd ever meet. Thankfully Dillon settled down on the floor beside me while we ate after cruising around the table to see if anyone wanted to give him anything. He followed me into the kitchen when I cleared the table, so I tried to unobtrusively put the plates down on the floor for him to lick. I don't think anyone saw. I guess it was lucky that no one else saw fit to offer any assistance in the kitchen.

An hour before they were due to arrive, Dad asked me if I had any white adhesive tape. I told him no. He announced that he had to go get some and left. Most people don't have adhesive tape-related emergencies. I was initially puzzled, then it hit me. There's been a small crack in one of the front door panels for years. He's tried caulking it and that didn't work. Instead of getting a new door, a couple of years ago he put tape over it and then painted over the tape. Naturally the tape has since cracked and daylight shows through the door. His next solution was to buy a new storm door. I gave up complaining and resigned myself to a cracked door. He apparently didn't want Joe to see the crack, so he wanted to put adhesive tape on it. I told him that was going to look worse than the crack, but he insisted he could do it. I shut up. They were his friends, not mine. He assures me that he plans to replace the door this summer. Maybe we're expecting more company?

I just went and checked the door. I was right. The tape looks stupid, much worse than the crack. And last night they were probably so distracted by the bird, that has apparently started roosting on the outdoor overhead light fixture and was disturbed when they opened the storm door, frantically circling overhead while I shoved Dad out the door yelling, "Don't let it in the house," that I doubt they'd have even noticed the crack. Do we know how to entertain company or what?