Raindrops keep falling on my head

It’s cold and rainy here today. The kind of that morning that makes you glad you pee inside and read the news on-line. Unfortunately, if you live with Dillon and Dad, you still end up outside in the rain. Dillon associates the sound of rain with thunder and lightning, which he is convinced will strike him dead. Getting him to go out in the rain to take care of his business is not easy.

I tried standing on the porch and telling him he’d be okay. He looked at me doubtfully and started heading for the door. I walked towards the steps as if I were going out into the yard, getting my fuzzy slippers wet in the process. He ran down the steps, immediately turned around and ran back up, heading for the door. He still hadn’t peed and I couldn’t coax him back out into the yard.

I finally went inside, put on my shoes and raincoat, and grabbed a big golf umbrella. I went out in the rain while Dillon stood on the porch and watched. I called him and he ran down the steps, ran halfway down the yard in a big circle, and ran back up on the porch, never once slowing down long enough to pee. I made him come back down and finally, he lifted his leg and got down to business.

I let Dillon back into the house. Dad still hadn’t finished his morning ablutions. I decided there was no point in both of us getting wet, so I headed out front to pick up his newspaper. I hung it on the front doorknob so he couldn’t possibly miss it and then started my coffee, filled Dillon’s food ball, and went into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.

When I emerged, Dad was in the den opening the newspaper. I told him it was the kind of weather that made you glad you peed inside and read the news on-line, but since I had to go out with Dillon, I’d fetched his paper as well. He looked up, glanced out the window, and said in wonder, “It’s raining.” It’s too bad Dillon isn’t as oblivious as Dad to the sound of rain pattering on the roof. It would be much easier on his nerves.

Forks on the left

Dad’s responsible for setting the table at lunch. It’s about the only domestic chore he’ll do. He’s gotten so he waits until the last minute, which annoys me because if you’re not cooking, you shouldn’t be in my kitchen when I am. I was putting the food on the table and noticed that the fork at my place looked shorter than normal. Closer inspection revealed that it was not a dinner fork, but a dessert fork.

I informed him that while we were having chicken potpie for lunch, the fact that the word pie was included in the name didn’t mean it was a dessert and that a dessert fork was therefore not the appropriate utensil. “I thought maybe it would grow overnight. It’s been on the table since yesterday.”

We had Chick-fil-a yesterday, which didn’t require the use of utensils. “For future reference, that plan doesn’t work,” I told him as I got up to get a dinner fork. Right or wrong, he only sets the table once. After that, you’re on your own.

Those were the days?

When I went out to tell Dad his sandwich was ready, he was watching some old Western. I asked if there was a World Series game today. “Yes, but it doesn’t start until 8:00 p.m.,” he groused. That’s right around his bedtime on a normal night. “I remember when I was growing up, they played baseball at a decent hour, in the afternoon,” he continued. “That’s because when you were growing up they didn’t have lights,” I reminded him. “Or tv,” I finished.

“There was a barbershop on the Avenue that wrote the innings out in front of their store in chalk,” he reminisced. “They had a radio and every inning they’d come out and post the score. That’s how people kept up with the game. I don’t know how many haircuts they got out of it, but they did it for several years. I never got my hair cut there.”

“Where did you get your hair cut? Or did someone do it for you at home?” I asked. “There was a dry cleaners and a laundry where Oscar’s is now. There was a barbershop in front, Tickel’s Barber Shop was the name. I never paid more than a quarter for a haircut.” And that was back when he had a head full of hair! “Did they have a radio?” I asked. “If they did, I don’t remember ever hearing it.”

I asked if people stood in front of the other barbershop waiting for the score to be posted or if they brought lawn chairs and settled in. “They came and went, but no one brought chairs or just stood there for the entire game,” he said. He sounded nostalgic, but if he had to wait for a score to be posted in chalk on a shop window these days, he’d be very upset. This is the man that is still lobbying for satellite tv and more sports channels.

No fringe benefits

I fixed corned beef hash for lunch on Friday. While opening the can of corned beef, I managed to slice my thumb on the edge of the can. Lunch was delayed for a few minutes while I performed first aid and tried to staunch the bleeding. It took 2 band-aids. I had to wear one of Mom’s old rubber gloves to wash the dishes.

At supper that night, Dad noticed my band-aids. “What did you do to your thumb?” he asked, obviously thinking I'd injured it at work and always ready to cast aspersions on my job. “I cut it on the corned beef can at lunch,” I replied. “And I still washed the dishes instead of making you do it.”

He didn’t say another word. If he’d cut his finger, I’d have been expected to play Nurse Nancy and he wouldn’t have gone near a sink full of dishes. Not that he’ll wash a dish when he’s not injured. I should have asked for workman’s comp.

Where everybody knows your name

Shopping is one of my favorite recreational activities. Talbots and Target are my favorite stores. Unfortunately, neither is located in Roanoke Rapids so I can’t just drop in on a daily basis. Since I don’t have to cook lunch on Sundays, that’s when I’ve scheduled my recent shopping expeditions.

Yesterday, I had 2 bounce-back coupons good for 40% off any regular priced merchandise at Talbots. I wasn’t about to let them go to waste. Dad was on his own for lunch. He still has plenty of Vienna sausage.

As I was wandering around the store picking out things to try on, Crystal, my favorite sales associate, breezed by acknowledging me with a “How are you doing today?” Then she came to an abrupt stop and did a double take.

“It’s not Sunday,” she said. I explained that I was there to use my coupons. “There are certain people I always see on Sunday or who call in every Sunday. I get concerned when I don’t see them. You’re a Sunday person.”

Cheers!

But they're so cute!

I told myself a couple of years ago, no more Christmas-themed clothes. I have enough already. Last year I told myself, no more flannel pj's. I have enough already. Then yesterday I was in Target and saw a pair of adorable Nick and Nora flannel pj's with vintage Santas. There's even a little golden brown dog. Now I ask you, how could I possibly pass them up?

I could hear my mother whispering in my ear, try them on. Of course after I tried them on, she'd have said, "I'll buy them for you." She gave me a new pair of pj's every Christmas. She'd have loved these pajamas. I decided that despite my no new Christmas-themed clothes and no new flannel pj's policy, these were an exception. I didn't even risk waiting to see if they'd go on sale. They only had 1 pair in my size, so I bought them.

They make me smile. I did an internet search hoping to be able to find them online so I could share a picture. I had no luck finding this year's pair, but it turns out, Nick and Nora come out with new Santa-themed pj's every Christmas. The picture below is from their 2010 collection. The Santa and dog are the same, but my pair has naughty and nice lists instead of Christmas trees and fireplaces. I think I just started a new collection.


And yes, I do realize that Santa-themed flannel pj's are a bit juvenile for a 53-year-old woman. At least they're not footed pajamas. It's not as if I plan on wearing them out in public. I'll look very festive curled up in my chair with a mug of hot chocolate watching all the Christmas specials. Does anyone else hear sleigh-bells?

Here comes the bride

Today would have been their 59th anniversary. Dad was 26. Mom was 20. Mom's wedding gown was beautiful and so classic. It's never looked dated or out of style.

When hell freezes over

Well, Dad has been absolved of fault. Apparently, he wasn’t responsible for everything in the freezer thawing out last month. The same thing happened again on Friday. I know the freezer door was firmly closed because since the last incident, I push on it to make sure it’s closed every time I go by. But Friday, when I went to get ice for lunch, I found myself standing in water. Sure enough, I opened the freezer door and everything inside had thawed. The thermometers in the freezer and refrigerator were both in the red zone. Dad went and got ice and I transferred the contents to coolers.

Saturday, it was working fine again. But obviously I can’t just ignore the problem. I hit Lowes and Sears to take another look at refrigerators. None of the models on the floor had all of the features I wanted and I’m really not happy about the new colors. They come in a sleek, shiny finish and the choices are black, white, or stainless steel. My current Kenmore has a textured bisque finish. I like it. It matches my counter tops. Black and stainless steel show every fingerprint and there aren’t enough magnets in the world to cover up all of that shiny white. It would be like living in the middle of the Alaskan tundra. You’d be in danger of developing snow blindness.

When listing my set of required features for a new frig to the saleslady at Sears, I mentioned the problem with my current frig. She said it sounded like a defroster problem. After a quick internet search, I decided she was right. When it thaws, it thaws fast. Then it goes back to working just fine. So it’s not the compressor. I called the repairman to see if there’s an inexpensive fix. When my frig works, I’m happy with it.

Even though it is ten years old, I’d like to see if it will keep working long enough for them to go back to making a color that I like and a model that doesn’t have major ice-maker issues. All of the Kenmores have now gone to one paddle for both ice and water through the door. That’s a deal breaker for me. I want separate dispenser paddles. The Whirlpool I’m most interested in has tons of negative reviews about the ice-maker. Apparently the waterline freezes. Whirlpool does have a less expensive model that I’m considering, but it only comes in white or black.

One of the Whirlpool models does come in bisque, but it would take 58 days to arrive. I think that’s a bit unreasonable. And what if I don’t like it? It’s not like there are more models in bisque readily available. They do make a metallic color that’s not stainless steel and supposedly won’t show fingerprints and it’s not bad. There’s a newer model out with LED lighting that is really cool. If I can hold off for a couple more years, LED will the norm and I won’t have to pay hundreds more for it. Plus, I like them to have time to work the kinks out of the newer models before I buy.

I hate appliance shopping. Given a choice, I'd only do it when hell freezes over. Unfortunately, some days hell is the only thing freezing in my house.

*Update* 12:30 p.m. Monday

Fingers crossed that the problem is fixed and my frig will keep cooling and freezing for years to come. The repairman just left. The compressor had a bad contactor, which controls when it turns on and off. The repairman said he was surprised the compressor was able to come on at all. Maybe I'll be lucky and nothing will thaw again anytime soon.

Rainy day ramblings

My Hurricanes are off to a slow start. They’ve lost their first 3 games. This doesn’t bode well for the season, but never let it be said that I’m a fair-weather fan. I’ll keep tuning in and hoping things improve. Dad’s baseball season ended the same day hockey season began. His Yankees didn’t make it past the first round of the play-offs.

The way they keep extending sports seasons is bordering on crazy. Ice hockey goes into the summer and baseball goes practically to Thanksgiving. Of course, it looks as if pro basketball may not be starting at all this year. No great loss in my opinion. The only professional sport I follow is ice hockey. Maybe it’s because so many of the players are Canadian or Scandinavian, but they don’t seem to have the egos and attitudes of so many other professional athletes.

It’s a rainy, dreary day here. It started pouring down while Dillon was having breakfast. He took his food-dispensing ball and retreated to the bathroom. I have a decent size bathroom, but the ball still kept running into walls and the commode. He’d pick the ball up in his mouth and head back out into the hall in search of more room to roam only to retreat back into the perceived safety of the bathroom. There’s been no thunder or lightning, but he’s cautious and even the sound of rain makes him anxious.

Spooktacular

I found the perfect skull and bird for my dining room at Michael's over the weekend. I'm really pleased with the final result. Target has a wonderful 40" tall glow-in-the-dark skeleton that would look great sitting on my velvet loveseat. Unfortunately, it's priced at $40. It wouldn't look that wonderful. But if it goes on sale, that sucker is coming home with me.

I love this cute and clever Halloween display at Inspired by Charm. My blogger template is cutting off the right-hand side of the picture, so you'll have to click on the photo if you want to see the entire thing.

Fall Saturday

The leaves are just beginning to turn. Our backyard will be stunningly beautiful in a few weeks. Then the raking will begin. Best not to think that far ahead. Fall also means that I wake to the sound of gunshots every morning. Some idiot across the lake starts shooting at ducks or geese every morning around 7 a.m. Poor Dillon has a hard time getting his first bathroom trip in between rounds.

The Mitchell brothers got the downed trees out of our yard yesterday. Dad thinks they’re practically magicians with a front end loader and a chain saw. He claims that Dean is akin to Superman given the speed with which he works. They’re also very thorough. They rake the ground when they finish and they dug up and replanted a couple of plants that were growing along the fence that had to come down temporarily to make room for their truck. I have to say they’re the most cooperative and attentive contractors I’ve ever worked with. They not only did a good job, they provided Dad with an entertaining couple of days.

Once the trees were lifted off the fence, we had to figure out a way to secure it until it can be repaired. Without the weight of the trees, there was a huge gap between the bottom of the fence and the ground. Dillon could just walk right under. Dad planned to leave it alone last night and work on it this morning. “But then I’ll have to put Dillon on a leash when he goes out tonight,” I complained. I’d already had to do that Thursday which confused Dillon and inconvenienced me. “Well then, you’ll just have to put him on a leash,” said the man who wasn’t going to be inconvenienced.

I started pulling at the fence and moving some old wooden fence posts. “Stop that. I’ll fix it tomorrow,” Dad said. “I want it secured tonight,” I shot back. He gave me a disgusted look, but found some old chicken wire and attached it to the fence, covering the gap. It wouldn’t work for an escape artist like Katie, but it’ll work just fine for a homebody like Dillon.

It’s good that we got that taken care of last night because Dad has a busy Saturday planned. I was pouring my coffee this morning when he came into the kitchen. He got his banana and started fixing his bowl of cereal. “You’re eating before you get your paper?” I asked. He usually begins his day reading the newspaper. “I’ll get it on my way out to the yard sales,” he replied.

Then he started outlining his day. “I’m going to the yard sales. Then I’m going to the Fall Bazaar at Galatia. I’ll pick up a country ham biscuit while I’m there, so you don’t have to fix me lunch. You don’t like ham biscuits do you?” “I like ham biscuits,” I said quickly, jumping at the opportunity to eat something I haven’t prepared myself.

“I’m not trying to upset your schedule, but you do know that Carolina and Wake Forest are both playing football at noon today, right? And both games are on tv,” I reminded him. “I knew they were probably playing sometime today. I was going to check once I got the paper.”

“You just made my morning easier,” I informed him happily. “I was trying to figure out how to have lunch ready by 11:30.” (A trip to the grocery store is overdue, but that would take too much time.) “If you don’t come home with ham biscuits, you’d better come home with something. Stop at Chick-Fil-A if you have to,” I instructed. He just laughed.

Dealer incentive?

My car is in the shop for the third time in as many weeks. I love my car, a ’95 Toyota Camry, and it’s been relatively maintenance-free over the years. It’s got to be one of the best cars ever made. It still looks good and drives good. Since I especially love having no car payments, I try to fix things before they become big problems.

It started feeling strange when braking, so I took it in to get checked out. They turned the front rotors. That solved the strange feeling. Then I noticed that the rear brakes were squealing, just a little, and only sometimes. I took it back.

They replaced the rear brake drums and pads. That solved the squeal, but now when I brake, there’s a vibration coming from the rear and a faint, strange, sound. I took it back this morning. I don’t know what they did to my rear brakes, but whatever they did, they made things worse, not better.

Naturally, the service department person first suggested that maybe it was a tire problem. It’s definitely not a tire problem. It only vibrates when I brake and the problem is more pronounced when braking at higher speeds. I’m frustrated that I’ve spent quite a bit of money and things are heading in the wrong direction. So far the dealership has benefited more than I have.

Before I could take my car in this morning, we had to go pick Dad’s car up. He has a Ford Taurus station wagon. He uses an independent mechanic instead of the Ford dealer since Ford couldn’t diagnose a previous mechanical issue and Shorty identified the problem in less than 5 minutes. I noticed when we got to the shop that there was a Toyota Highlander waiting for service. If Toyota doesn’t do a better job, I just may give Shorty a try too. I hate having car problems. I like having back-up plans.

Maybe I need to learn to tweet. They say that many companies are quicker to try and resolve customer complaints when the customer tweets about their problem. I've never tweeted or texted, obviously I'm seriously behind the times technologically speaking. But with the right incentive, I'm sure I could quickly become quite a prolific tweeter.

I need a skull

I finished decorating the dining room on Saturday. After wrapping the chandelier with orange pumpkin and black bat tinsel and digging the Radko Halloween ornaments out, I stepped back to check out the overall effect. Something was missing.


I thought adding purple flashing lights to the chandelier would be a nice touch, but there was nowhere to plug them in. Dad was horrified at the thought. Then it hit me, what I really needed was a big black cat for the top of the hutch. I have a medium-size black cat with an arched back in my study. It would have worked, but I really like it in my study and I didn't want to move it. I resolved to be on the lookout for another one next time I went shopping. Then Dillon and I left for our morning walk.

When I got home, there was a bag in my chair. I didn't remember leaving a bag in my chair. I walked over to throw it away and discovered that Dad had run to CVS while Dillon and I were out. He'd found me a black cat! "It's not as nice as the one you have," he apologized. Mine came from Hallmark years ago and is nicely made. This one is a much lighter weight and the tinsel is cheap, but it's perfect for the top of the hutch. I just love it!


Now I just need to find a skull to sit on the cake plate that's sitting on the left-hand side of the hutch. Or maybe a severed hand. I did see a big black raven at Michael's earlier in the season. In the meantime, I'm really loving that black cat.

That's grrrrreat!

That's my Tony the Tiger imitation. It finally turned cooler here and this morning was definitely sweater weather. I wore my tiger-print cardi to breakfast. Imagine my surprise, shock would be a more accurate description, when on the way home Dad informed me, "That's a nice sweater you have on." I can probably count on one hand the number of times Dad has commented on anything I wear. Usually his remarks on my wardrobe are limited to sarcastic remarks and disapproving shakes of the head when I alert him to the fact that I'm expecting a package.

"Thank you," I said when I recovered the power of speech. "This is from my animal-print collection. I'm beginning to feel like I need a whip when I open the closet door, but Mom would be proud. I bought this sweater 4 times," I continued. "I wound up getting it for practically nothing." He just shook his head and suggested that if I didn't watch out, Dillon might be scared to go in the closet with all the wildlife.

I've learned that with Talbots, if you want something, buy it when it reaches a price point you're comfortable with. That way you're assured of having it because certain items sell out. But if you don't need to wear it right away, leave the tags on, save your receipt, and wait to see if you can buy it again at a lower price. Then just return the original purchase. Yeah, it takes some time and effort, but it's sort of a game and as long as shipping is free, it doesn't cost me any money.

The sweater ran small, so the medium I ordered the first time was a little tight. The large I ordered next fit, but I discovered there was a hole in the sleeve. The next large I ordered was way too big. The third large was just right and by that time, it had been reduced yet again and I got an extra percentage off. Talbots' prices are sort of like the stock market these days, they swing wildly from one extreme to the other. It's all a matter of timing and discount codes.

In this case, my persistence was rewarded. I keep telling Dad that a lot of the merchandise in those packages goes back to the store. I'm glad I kept this one.