Oh! The Iron(y)!

Long time, no post. I know. I know. Don't even start.


So the other night, hubby, daughter and I were lying about the living room watching a movie - I don't know what, we've been donig the Harold Lloyd marathon lately - when son poked his head in the door. He just kind of stood there for a couple minutes and then, in his own unique way of talking without actually moving his jaw even a fraction of an inch, said "Where is the irony?"

Which stopped me dead in my tracks.

Where is the irony?

What?

Is this my son? Is this my very own boy waxing linguistic? I mean, some days the deepest question I might get from him is "Are you going to be done in there soon?" as he waits impatiently on the other side of the bathroom door.

Where is the irony?

My husband paused the movie and, kind of in a slow-motion manner - at least it seemed that way - we all swung our world weary heads to this new teenage philosopher. We looked at him for what seemed an eternity, waiting, waiting for the next bit of prophecy.

Actually, it was probably only seconds until hubby said "What?"

And then my son, this young intelligentsia, this, this, disciple of reasoning, said a little more clearly...

"The iron. Where is it?"




Which, given the source, is just as amazing a question.

I Am So Glad That Today Is Almost Over

I did not have a great day today.

It started off well enough. I didn't have work today and that's always a good thing, right?

So, in all fairness, I did not have a good evening today. Let's rewind to...let's say about 3 o'clock. No, wait... I actually have to rewind back two days.

As you might have read in the previous post, I have been working on a little painting project in my living room. Well, it's coming along alright but it kind of stalled out and here is why. I picked this...um, mustardy yellow color for the walls. I know, mustardy yellow doesn't really sound appealing to me either but it's not that bad. I think it's called Golden Valley or something like that but, really, Golden Valley doesn't give you the same understanding of the color as mustardy yellow does, I think.

Anyway...

I got the walls painted and I was thinking it needed a little something else for some pizzaz. So I figured I could try the old world look and rub a stain over the paint. You see, I have plaster walls in my living room and they are all full of cracks and such. None of which I bothered to repair because this whole paint job was really more of an emotional thing rather than an actual home improvement where you get into doing the job right. All I wanted was instant gratification.

I should have known better.

So I bought my stain and figured I could just rub it onto the already painted wall, wipe it off, and all of the cracks would be accented just so.

I was wrong.

You see, even though my walls are full of cracks, it would seem that the stain doesn't necessarily understand what it's supposed to do. Hello, Stain? Crack. There.

Nope. It all just wiped right off. So...get this...I had to PAINT the cracks back on my wall with the stain. How crazy is that? I mean, if I didn't want the cracks to show, I'm sure they would be there glaring like the freaking crack of dawn! But no! Now that I want the cracks to show, no dice.

So, I paint all the cracks on. And I do the rub-it-in thing, trying to make my living room wall look like some villa in Tuscanny. And it turned out ok. For what it was supposed to be. And then I brought my hubby in to see what he thought.

Me: So, what do you think?
Hubby: What do you think? Translated: Hoo boy. I don't think I know the right answer to this question.
Me: Well, I guess it's what I was trying to do.
Hubby: Mmmmm... It looks good.Translated: I hope she's done asking questions.
Me: I'm just not sure if it fits the room or not.
Hubby: Yeah, that's what I think...I'm not sure either. Translated: If I get the next question right, maybe I'll get sex tonight.
Me: I was shooting for that "Old World" look but I just don't know if it fits...
Hubby: That's it! I was trying to place it and you just placed it for me.

Quiet time staring at the wall...

Hubby: It would look really good in a pizzaria.
Me:...?!

So, I decided to paint it over. Luckily, I only painted one wall with the "Old World" look so I only had one to repaint. Unfortunately, I was out of paint. The next day, I went back to Sears to get another quart of paint and, wouldn't you know, they don't sell that kind of paint in quarts. So's I have to buy a whole gallon. Except I can't because, wouldn't you know, they are out of that particular tint base.

Yay.

Fast forward to today.

Hubby decided to go skiing with the kids this afternoon. I, on the other hand, am of the opinion that if I want to freeze my patooty off, I can stay at home and do it for free. So I hatched a plan of sorts. I happened to have a $50 gift certificat for the Allentown Mall that's been hanging around since Christmas. I figured I could drop hubby off at the ski place and then go and spend my certificate. After that, I would go to the Sears in Allentown and maybe I could get another gallon of paint. And after that, I would kill some time at Borders because I LOVE BOOKSTORES! And then I would go to Friendly's and eat an ice cream while reading a book until it was time to pick up Hubby from skiing.

So that was the plan.

It all started to unravel just after we made the turn into the ski area. Once you turn off the road, it's about a quarter mile or so until you actually get to the lodge. We had only gone about 300 feet off the road when we spotted a chicken on the side of the road. A live chicken. Just doing chicken things. On the top of a mountain. In the middle of the woods. A chicken.

So I had to pull over.

It took us about 15 minutes, one bag of chocolate covered popcorn and a lot of strange looks from the folks coming to and leaving the ski area until we had the chicken. In the end, it was my Hubby's skillful weilding of a large stick that enabled him to squash the chicken enough for me to grab it.

Hubby: So...what do we do now?
Me: We take it home of course.
Hubby: I knew that.

We drove up to the lodge and Hubby stayed in the car with the chicken while I went in to try and score a box. I went to the ski store and asked a nice lady if she might have a box about so big as I gestured with my hands. She checked a back room and then another place and then another back room and finally came back with a box that was woefully inadequate. I said "Oh, thank you so much but that one is too small. You see, my husband and I found a chicken..." To which she cheerfully replied "Well, why didn't you say that to begin with?" And I'm thinking "Um, because you would think I'm a freak?" But I just laughed "Ho, ho...yes, a chicken..." And she went and found a suitable box for chicken transport.

I boxed up the chicken, kissed my Hubby goodbye and headed to the mall.

Now, for those of you who may never have had the chance to go to the Allentown Mall, or actually the Lehigh Valley Mall, it's one of the bigger malls in the area. It's got two whole floors of stores. Whoowee! I started on the second floor and worked my way around the mall, checking out the stores that I thought might have something I would like, and tried to make a decision. I ruled out clothes because I just didn't feel like trying anything on. I decided I would spend it on something that I normally wouldn't buy. I narrowed it down to a pair of boots (not really clothes, right?), a comforter for the bed and a nice ski jacket. Ok, so the jacket falls into the clothes category. And considering I just gave up an evening of skiing because I don't like to be cold, it probably doesn't seem like a wise choice. But maybe, just maybe, if I had a nice warm jacket in trendy colors, I would go skiing. Right?

Now, I've been hankering for a pair of tall black leather dressy boots for a few years now. I always have trouble finding ones I like because they have to look nice but also not hinder my ability to kick the crap out of an attacker or, at least, run away from an attacker of whom I failed to kick the crap out. Of. Oh, and they have to have a front made for people who's big toe is the longest toe, not the middle toe, like most women's footwear is these days. So, finally, after a really long search, I found a pair. And I really mulled this one over in my mind before I actually sent the shoe lady to look for my size. As luck would have it, they didn't have my size. They didn't have my size in the runner-up boot either. Finally, I picked one more and...nope. Ok, so no boots.

I went back to look at the jacket. I tried it on. I tried it on in a bigger size. I tried the other one on. After way too many minutes of this, I decided that, no, I don't need another jacket for not-skiing and I would go for the comforter instead.

Buoyed by my new ability to make a decision, I trotted off to Strawbridge's. I picked out the comforter - a lovely thing in a deep red color, so sexy, so chic - and carried it to the sales desk. They were having a huge storewide sale and I wasn't exactly sure if it was 40 or 50% off. The clerk rang it up and said it would come to $74. Not bad for a $250 comforter. And then I said "Oh, by the way, do you take mall gift certificates?" And she said "No, we do not."

With those four words she just stamped the last 3 - count 'em - 3 hours of my life with a big WASTE OF TIME stamp. I burst into tears and walked away, back to my car.

That still had a chicken in the back seat.

I jsut spent three hours in one of the largest malls in the area and could not spend $50. On anything. I am such a failure at being a girl.

I went to Sears and did manage to get my paint, but at this point in the evening, it was so late that I only had time to quickly go through the Wendy's drive thru - no Borders, no Friendly's - and go pick up my Hubby.

Just as I was heading out of Allentown he called.

Hubby: Hey.
Me: Hi. How was skiing?
Hubby: Ok. Some blood. But not on my head.
Me: Oh? Where?
Hubby: My arm. How's the chicken?
Me: Good enough. I mean, she's not dead or anything.
Hubby: Ok. Are you on your way?
Me: Yep. I'll see you soon.

So I picked up hubby and we headed home. We were pondering the circumstances that would bring a chicken to the top of the Blue Mountain and then decided that it must have been hiking the Appalachian Trail. Then we tried to think of a name for her. Hubby said it should have something to do with skiing so we settled on Suzie Drumstick. As in Suzie Chapstick. Yuk, yuk, yuk.

So we finally made it home and I carted the chicken inside. I let the two beagles out. I did a quick scan for Geri-dog, our old dog, in case he wanted to go out too. He, however, was sound asleep in the hallway. The whole time I'm thinking to myself "Man, it's really cold in here."

I went upstairs to take out my contacts and when I went to wash my hands there was no hot water. Great. The stoker went out. I told hubby and he went to have a looksey while I got changed into some nice, fresh cozy pajamas.

By the time I got back downstairs, Geri-dog decided that yes, he did in fact have to go pee and well why not just pee all over the floor instead of going out in the cold. I came down and found a small lake in front of the door.

Me: GAAAAAA!!!! Couldn't you wait two more seconds? You were fast asleep for cryin'' out loud.

All of this has little effect on Geri-dog because he's deaf. He just wags his tail, happy with his empty bladder.

I grabbed a bucket and sponge mop and mopped up Lake Geri-dog. Then I took the bucket in to our laundry room so I could empty it into the utility sink. I was just telling hubby to "Watch out 'cause this is going to be really gross" when the bucket started to topple.

Topple, topple, topple... I made a desperate attempt to grab it, got it upright, and then it slipped and landed SMACK! square on it's bottom in the utility sink. The force of the impact sent all the dog pee water into the air and then it came down, mostly on me.

And I just put nice, fresh, cozy pajamas on.

And I couldn't buy the comforter I wanted.

And they didn't have the boots in my size.

And I have a chicken in my laundry room.



Oh, yes, and the stoker is out. So, hot water for a shower? Afraid not.

A Rather Long Post About Cats

If any of you have recently checked out my seestor's blog, you would see that she gave me rather lovely birthday tribute. Thank you, deeeer seestor, for that. It was a pleasant surprise.

Other than that wonderful gift, you are probably all wondering "What does someone like Mz. Qintessence do on her birthday?" Well...let me tell you...

I painted my living room.

Ok, it's not that bad - I actually wanted to paint my living room for my birthday. When hubby asked what I wanted as my present I said "Paint for the living room." And so, my birthday wish was fulfilled. I'm not quite finished with the project yet as it involves a kind of Basse danse of furniture and drop cloths. Hopefully by the end of the week...

Also, we went out for dinner and a movie. Awwwwwww........

At any rate...

Ok, it would seem as though I have some questions to answer regarding an indordinately large amount of expired felines that were, at one time or another, under my care.

It's true. I am a killer of cats.

BUT!

These were all accidental.

I know, you're probably thinking "Sure they are. One accident, maybe, but..."

No! It's true! I swear. I like cats. I really do. I would even go so far as to say I love certain cats. And this, you see, is where the problem stems from.

I like cats to the point of taking them in and trying to give them a good home. Maybe not necessarily inside my house, but a good home nonetheless. Over the years I've had...um... let me get my abacus...approximately 26.75 cats. Not all at one time, mind you. It's been over a span of 15 years.

So, you can see, when working with such a population, there are bound to be a few...accidents.

Our first cat, Zagnut, was a shelter cat. We got her when we found a mouse in our house. Our kids were still toddlers and, given the propensity for disater in my family, I didn't want to put out poison or traps. So, what's the next best thing? A cat, of course.

We picked her out at the local shelter because she looked pretty lively.

Yes. Well, she certainly was at that.

She was lively to the point of killing everything in the neighborhood. At that time, we lived in a row house. I remember my neighbor telling me that the neighbor next to him was getting a little upset because she liked to feed the birds and, well, I guess her yard was like Game Lands for Zagnut. One day, I was going out into the yard to hang laundry. The bird lady was visitng with the middle neighbor and they were sitting on his back porch. I stopped to chat awhile and, wouldn't you know, that's when Zagnut appeared with a rather large bird in her mouth. She stood on the wall between our porches, commanding everyone's attention, and then gracefully leaped down onto my neighbor's porch and trotted by the bird lady. I was mortified.

Eventually, Zagnut began to stalk bigger game, namely us. She would lie in wait in the dining room and when I had to dash through say, to check something in the oven, she would leap out at me, grab my legs and bite me, and then take off wildly out of the room.

Even though she tried to kill us on a regular basis, we loved our Zagnut. Unfortunately, she was too good of a hunter for the neighbors and we eventually put her into foster care with my sister. Zagnut settled happily in with her family, stalking them, until one day when she disappeared into the streets of Philadelphia. I have no doubt that she is now involved in some savage crime ring in the city.

Our next group of cats arrived after we moved into our present house. Again, it was a mouse issue that started the whole thing off. This time, I decided I would keep my eye out for a Siamese cat. Hubby and I both grew up with a Saimese. Siameses. Siami?
Anyway, I found an ad in the Allentown paper for a pair of 1 year old Siamese cats. Jackpot.

We went to a small apartment occupied by a young hippy-ish couple and came home with Simon and Simone. Who immediately got down to business and had a litter of kittens a few shorts months later.

Kittens I did not want. Fortunately, I was able to find homes for all 4 kittens. Also fortunately, I was able to make an appointment with the vet to get Simone spayed.

Unfortunately, no one told me that cats immediately go into heat again after they give birth.

Litter of Kittens - take 2.

This time, Simone had her kittens in one of the rooms upstairs. We tried to keep them contained to a bedroom and were doing pretty well with it until that one fateful evening (of course these things always happen after the vet's office is closed) when I was in the kitchen and heard a dull whap! in the hallway. As it turns out, one of the kittens wandered out of the room and slipped through the railing of the steps and down he went.

We named him Freefall.

This is the kitten I did mouth-to-muzzle resuscitation on. He wasn't doing too well and I spent that night with the little guy sleeping on my chest. (My husband has since tried to squeeze through the railing as well but no dice.) The next day I took him to the vet's office. The vet gave him a looksie and shot and said he should be fine. I really didn't want to go into work that afternoon but, alas, an injured kitten would not fly as an excuse. When I came home, Freefall was gone. As in dead.

I dreaded breaking the news to my kids because we had all been pulling for little Freefall. Finally, I couldn't avoid it any longer and I told them.

Me: Listen you two, I have some bad news. Freefall didn't make it.
Kids: blank stare
Me: So, um...we're going to have to bury him.
Kids: blank stare
Me:

And then finally...

Son: Couldn't we make a stew with him or something?
Me: GAAAAA!


We did keep one of the kittens from this litter. Hugo lived with us for a few years until, again, one fateful evening...
This was just a few days after my father died so, you'll have to forgive us, we weren't really thinking clearly. We were all getting ready for something or other - I can't even remember anymore - and I had some clothes in our then malfunctioning dryer. The problem with the dryer was that you had to run it for a cycle - during which the clothes wouldn't really dry - and then let it cool for a bit and then run it again. And, of course, the quickest way to cool the dryer is to let the door open. And, of course, cats like to crawl into dark, warm places.

I think you can all see where this is going so I'll spare you the details.

Suffice it to say, Hugo was definitely dry-clean only.


It was somewhere in this whole mix that my daughter - the lovely little imp - tried to pet some wild kittens after soccer practice one day. She got close enough to get bitten and then to watch the kittens scamper off into the woods, leaving us to wonder "Just when do we start the rabies shots?"

As it turns out, you start them within 10 days. Because, you know, you can't take your kids anywhere when they are frothing at the mouth.

In hopes of avoiding RABIES SHOTS!!!, I borrowed a trap from the local animal shelter and tried to catch the kittens. The first night, I caught the mom. I didn't know what to do with her so I brought her home and put her in our chicken pen. From which she promptly escaped. Well.

The next morning, I checked my trap (at least once every 24 hours like a good trapper should) to find a little white kitten with gray spots. Bingo! For my daughter said it was a white kitten that bit her. I proudly brought the trap and kitten home, knowing I could now spare my daughter that fate that every child fears - "Don't touch that cat! It might have rabies! Then you'll have to get RABIES SHOTS!!!" dum, dum dum...

So I show her the kitten and she tells me "There were two white ones. I'm not sure if this is the one."

Sigh. Back to the woods.

The next night I caught a possum. Opossum. Which, for some reason, started a thing in our family where we say "Possum, possum, O! possum!"

Anyway... it was becoming uncomfortably close to the 10 day mark so I finally had to take dear daughter for her rabies shots. As it turns out, it's not nearly as bad as it used to be. No shots in the stomach any more. Now it's just a shot in the butt, one in each arm, and a great big one to the wallet. Because for some reason, Blue Cross & Blue Shield don't consider a pre-emptive strike on a disease that will most certainly kill you in a rather uncomfortable way something worth covering. Go figure.

And, wouldn't you know, the next morning the two remaining kittens were in the trap.

So that is how we got Ed, Rascal and Fang. Go ahead and guess which one bit her.

Since they were so young, I couldn't get a vet to spay or neuter them right away. And since I was concurrently dealing with the Siamese plague in my house, I decided that the wild kittens could, indeed, stay wild. I took them for their shots and figured I would feed them - thusly winning their trust - and would then take them to get fixed when they were old enough.

As it turns out, Fang was the only one willing to give her heart in exchange for food. Ed turned out to be a huge cat, quite capable of taking down cows at the neighboring farms and, while he would let us pet him, there was no way you could pick him up and get him into a cat carrier.

Rascal - the little hussy - was super wary and even more prolific. I did eventually catch her, but not until she added another 2 litters of kittens to the population.

She was also very crafty at hiding her kittens, assuring that we wouldn't find them until they were quite mobile and just as wary as she. It took a lot of time - and a lot of dollars - but I eventually caught all of her offspring and managed to get them fixed. Not wanting to dump them all on the local shelter, we decided to keep them as our farm cats. They always had a building to sleep in and plenty of food, and still had the joy of being a wild cat. It almost brings a tear to the eye...

And let me tell you, nothing brings tears to the eye like getting a cat fixed and finding it several weeks later, run over by a car. Because that's what invariably happens. Either that or you accidentaly close a car door on their head. Because that happens too. At least to me.

So, after what we now refer to as the "dryer incident", we got two more inside cats from the local SPCA - Fred and Sonya. Fred is a great, big bray cat with very yellow eyes and he is evil personified. Catified. Whatever. Sonya is a dainty calico whom we refer to as the silent film star due to her habit of making meowing motions at you with no sound attached.

Here they are...



Miss Sonya

and...



The Evil Fred.


And two of our current...um, six I think...outside cats.



Fang and Oddball

By the way, when I mentioned we had 26.75 cats, Fang is the 0.75. She is the 3 legged cat, a result, I think, of either a fight with another animal or a fight with a trap.

And last, and least in a way - size wise, anyway - is Victor, our 3rd inside cat. He was really supposed to be an outside cat but he's just so darn little and so darn cute that we took him in. Too bad we didn't know before hand what a little bastard he would turn out to be.



Victor the Little Black Bastard - all dressed up and no place to go


So you see, dear readers, that while I must admit some felines have met an untimely demise at my hands, it was never on purpose. And, when you average it out, hopefully I've done less harm than good.

Meow.

Vice President Bing Bing Bing!

Ricochet Cheney.

In case you haven't heard, our illustrious Vice President



Big Dick Cheney was out hunting quail and "accidentally" shot an attornery in the face.

Yes, you heard me.



He was able to mistake this...





for this...




Go figure.

This ought to really make us look good in the eyes of the rest of the world.

Hi...remember me?

Ok...it's another meme thing.

And really, it couldn't have come along at a better time for just this very morning I was looking in my medicine cabinet crying "Oh Muse! Where are you?" But alas, the medicing cabinet was empty. Well, empty except for various hygiene type items that, while they will keep one's self spic and span, do nothing for the muse. Cleanliness may indeed be next to Godliness but certainly not museliness.

And so, I can thank my dear seestor for giving me a kick in the patoot.

Four Jobs I've Had

1. Concession stand at the cinema in the local mall. Not nearly as exciting as you would think. The best perk to this job was making the cheese for the nachos and cheese. I always added a lot of jalepeno pepper juice. Yum!

2. Taking pictures of children on Santa's lap - also at the local mall. This is the first and only time I ever met someone who actually ate cranberry sauce on turkey. It was Santa Claus and he put it on his turkey leftover sandwich after Thankgiving.

3. Substitute teacher. I'm still in therapy for this and I can't really talk about it just yet.

4. Making plastic plumbing parts. This was my graveyard shift job. It was loud, smelled bad but I think it helped build character. At the very least, I know a lot more about plumbing parts now.


Four Movies I Could Watch Over and Over

1. The Sound of Music - I can also sing along to all of the songs.

2. The Nightmare Before Christmas

3. Bringing Up Baby

4. Raising Arizona


Four Places I've Lived

1. Frackville, PA - My hometown.

2. Philadelphia, PA - a brief college tour

3. Mahanoy City, PA - ...um...good block parties

4. Barnesville, PA - Sanctuary!


Four TV Shows I Love

Ok, for obvious reasons, these will all be older shows...

1. Cheers

2. The Brady Bunch - Why just this very day I had the opportunity to say "Baby talk! Baby talk! It's a wonder you can walk!"

3. Taxi

4. Looney Toons


Four Places I've Vacationed

1. Niagra Falls - where I had the bejeezus scared out of me just looking at it.

2. Grassroots Music Festival

3. Cape Cod

4. Ireland


My Four Favorite Dishes

1. Garlic with pasta - yes, in that order

2. Garlic with brocolli

3. Garlic with garlic

4. Garlic with garlic and cheese


Four Websites I Visit Daily

1. My Seestor's Blog

2. www.google.com

3. www.yahoo.com

4. wwww.wnep.com


Four Places I'd Rather Be

1. In a hot tub.

2. In a bookstore with a good cupa.

3. Greece

4. Italy


Four People I'm Tagging

Well, I only know a few with blogs that I can tag so...

1. d.b. echo...sorry

2. cousins...make your hubby do it too. That way it counts as two for me!

and...

3. Kenny! Ha! I know you're out there. And don't give me the old "I don't have a blog" excuse. You can post your answers in the comments. Better yet, start a blog!

Music and Counselling

Alright, so yesterday hubby and I had a date at the Hometown Farmer's Market. He didn't get off work until 6 so I caught a ride over a little bit earlier with my mom and figured I'd just browse around a bit until he showed up.

I came across a stand where a guy was selling DVDs and CDs - the music kind, not the savings kind - and, well you all know how I am about music. The CDs were only $4 each and I thought "Surely I can find something for me!" So I start flipping through the selection.

Things were looking grim. I was really hoping to find one along the order of "70's Greatest Disco Hits" or maybe "Getting Down With You Bad Self Funk", for house cleaning, you know. It's really motivating. However, it was really slim pickin's, even for the likes of me.

Whilst I was searching, I could overhear the conversation between the guy manning the booth and a buddy of his. As it turns out, Buddy is apparantly divorced and sharing custody of his children with his X. Booth Guy was counselling him on making sure to let his employer know that he's all caught up on the back support. Poor Buddy was attempting to listen but he was trying to wrap his mind around why, when he has the kids, they always need a pair of sneakers or something..."I mean, I send her support. Where is that going?"

Finally I found it. "Gospel Legends" featuring Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Golden Gate Quartet, Mahalia Jackson and Many More! I don't have any old timey gospel music so I thought this would be a good start.

I checked through the rest of the CDs - just in case - and figured I'd made the best selection, considering the options. I dug through my pusre for $4 and turned to the guy manning the booth. He was a biggish sort of fellow with some kind of unremarkable t-shirt under a flannel shirt, all topped off with an Eagles baseball cap. He was standing - bag at the ready - waiting for me. I handed him the CD and my $4.

He took everything and looked at the CD.

He looked at me.

He looked at the back of the CD.

He looked at me.

He looked back at the CD like he was carefully contemplating what he would say. Finally...

Booth Guy: I have some christian music right here...

I look at two stacks of CDs.

Me: No thanks, I'd like the gospel music, please.


He looks back at the CD, shrugs and starts to put it into the bag.

Booth Guy: You look a little bit young to be listening to gospel music.

As I took the bag from him I said "I know...but I'll be careful. Bye."




At that point I turned and walked away, leaving him to wonder "Just what the hell was that all about, Alfie?"




Next week I'm going back for the Helen Reddy CD.

Because I Am A Professional

Here's an amusing little anecdote.

Today I was at work, fielding calls from the various folks dabbling in real estate, when I get a phone call from a client who recently closed on a building. The building he bought was loaded - and I mean loaded - with all kinds of stuff including 3 full size church organs. All of the assorted treasures came along with the building.

When he first put the offer in on it, there was a good bit of discussion as to what would be the best way to deal with everything inside. Ebay, auctions, dumpsters...everything was considered. Even the free ads in the newspaper. But for some reason, everything always circled back to the organs. I guess because...well...an organ. And not just one, but three. How do you find homes for three organs?

I mentioned that there were one or two items that I would be willing to buy when he got around to cleaning it out. And that was that.

Until today.

There I am, sitting at my desk, being all professional and everything, cutting real estate deals right and left, impressing my co-workers with not only my fluent knowledge of the business, but human nature as well, when he calls.

Client: Hey, are you still interested in those things in the building I bought?
Me: Sure. Are you starting to clean it out?
Client: Well, pretty soon. I think I might have an auction but I figured I'd let you take what you wanted first.
Me: Well that's awfully nice of you. Just let me know when you're at the property and I can come by to pick everything up.
Client: Ok. I should be there in a couple of days.
Me: Ok. Just call me here or on my cell.
Client: There's just one thing...
Me: What's that?
Client: Well, for each item you want, you have to take an organ.

and me, without missing a beat...

Me: I wouldn't have any idea where to even put an organ.



ahem


This is the point where all my co-workers landed on the floor, doubled in laughter.


Me: I can't believe I just said that.
Client: What?
Me: Nevermind.

My Exciting Life

I don't want to fan the flames of jealousy here or anything, but I just wanted to give a little update on what Ms. Quintessence has been up to this new year.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we? And I mean the very beginning - those first few exciting, romantic seconds of the New Year that, as some superstitions have it, determine how you will spend the rest of the year.

So, if legend serves us right, where will Ms. Quintessence spend the bulk of 2006? Partying it up in the Big Apple? Nooooo.

Jet setting off to far and distant lands?

Nooooo.

Revelling in the streets with drunken friends?

No.

Judging by my first few moments of the New Year, it would seem that a job at a power plant must be in my near future because, yes, that's where I rang in 2006.

As it turned out, hubby had to work New Year's Eve (and into New Year's Dawn). So I made a nice batch of chocolately chip brownies and son and I took them there for hubby and the rest of the crew. (Daughter didn't go along because she had a better offer in advance.) We brought the Anatomically Correct Clock - which was brought to our house by friends attending previous parties at our house where we have to call someone who actually has a television to walk us through the countdown. So I, along with son, hubby and the rest of the midnight crew at the power plant, greeted 2006 with mouths full of brownie. Then hubby took me and son on a tour of the plant, which I wish I could have paid more attention to but I was kind of like that mouse in the cartoons that is watching the unfolding of the elaborate trap the cat has made. You know, the one that includes at least one bowling ball and one iron?

Anyway, moving right along.

I'm just going to skip the work part of the new year because that's a given.

What else...what else...

Oh! Hubby and I also went grocery shopping! And this was exciting because I bought two different varieties of pomegranate juice. And ginger snaps. Something I hardly ever do. I was so worn out from the excitiment, I came home and went to bed. Whew!

Alright, I admit it - it may not sound like much fun to some people. And perhaps it's not. But, dear readers, it's all in the approach, yes? What I mean is, it doesn't matter what we do or where we are as long as we canbe with the ones we love, right?


But, yet...

I still needed something a little fun and even a bit mischievous.

What to do? What to to? I went about my daily routine and suddenly it came upon me. While I was going about the business of weeding through the books in our library, opportunity presented itself to me. I realized I was standing there with a paperback Bible in my hand and so, I did what any fun loving, mischievous keeper of books would do.

I slipped it in between Atlas Shrugged and The Fountainhead.

All But One

All but one died.

Can you even begin to imagine?

I am so sad for the families of those poor men.




all your daylight i dig in darkness
you feel the wind while i break the stone
in the blackness far below you
my blood runs through veins of coal
veins of coal, veins of coal
my blood runs through veins of coal

a shaft of daylight collapsed behind us
sirens scream up the valley, families moan
in the blackness my breath is fading
in an ocean of frozen stone
frozen stone, frozen stone
in an ocean of frozen stone

do you hear a canary
in a cage in a cave under ground
is she crying or is she singing
in a cage in a cave under ground

i can see you move my body
not connected to my soul
i am floating right beside you
though you touch me i am alone
i'm alone, i'm alone
though you touch me i am alone

do you hear a canary
in a cage in a cave under ground
is she dying or is she sleeping
in a cage in a cave under ground

carry me high into the mountains
pray the Good Lord takes my soul
do not place me beneath the surface
i have been there for far too long
far to long, far too long
i have been there for far too long

let the wind blow through my rib cage
let the sunshine bleach my skull
some day my tears will reach the ocean
and my bones will turn into coal
turn to coal, turn to coal
and my bones will turn to coal

turn to coal, turn to coal
and my bones will turn to coal

-richie stearns

Attention Everybody

Miners Still Trapped


Fall on your knees and pray.

The End Of The Year Post

Hi everyone.

I trust you all had a Merry Christmas, Spiritual Solstice, Happy Hanukkah, Joyful Kwanza, Wonderful Boxing Day...did I miss anyone? I'm sure I have. Well, whatever holiday you celebrate, I hope it was a good one.

So, we are in the last hours of 2005.

Anyone care to say anything special?

...

Ok...I guess since it is my blog, I should do the saying.

In order to make my drivel a little more enjoyable, I will intersperse a photo tour of our Christmas/Winter Solstice/holidy tree among my comments.

And away we go!


First, I think it would be good to thank the Big Being(s) for all of the wonderfulness of the past year. (Atheists feel free to skip this part.) So, with deepest gratitude I would like to thank President George W. Bush and the ladies and gentlemen of Congress...

I'm kidding!

You all know who I mean.

Anyway, I'd like to thank God and Co. for the following:
My life because, well, it just makes sense to do that
My family - immediate and extended because they are the best
My friends - because they are also the best
Our big, beautiful world and all the cool stuff therein
My country
My home
My job
Dictionary.com

You get the idea. I guess this really would have been more suitable as a Thanksgiving post but, alas, here it is.

I think now would be a good time for a picture.

Now, other than the traditional mercury glass balls, we try to decorate our Christmas/Solstice/holiday tree with things that are meaningful to the celebration of the season and so I bring you...




The Christmas Glasses - Do you see what I see?



Back to the scheduled post...

So, anyway...I was trying to think of the big goings on of the year and the first thing that comes to mind is getting the goat. And, while we also got a beagle this year, I think the goat might come to mind first because the beagle didn't happen to eat a rather important piece of mail yesterday that I happened to drop on the porch whilst trying to wrestle my way into the house with a pizza box, a purse, a camera, a few books, a bag of embroidery floss and the rest of the mail, all the while trying to keep the beagles in the house and the goat out. As a result, I guess I have a bit of explaining to do to the insurance company.

Photo op!



The Christmas Coke Can - Everyone looks forward to a visit from the can dressed in red and white!

So, other than the goat, the other events that jump out are the big things that happened with the kids. Daughter went to Europe; Son got his driver's license; both got to go to Grassroots for the first time; Son got his first root canal - you know, all those great milestones of youth.

And speaking of root canals...



The Holiday Dental Mold - You know, All I Want For Christmas Is My ... Root Canal?


Hmm...what else?

Well, I guess if I want to look beyond my own nose I could comment on things like Katrina, the war in Iraq, the earthquake in Pakistan, the ass in the White House and all of the other tragedies of the year. But rather than dwell on the negative, I would prefer to think about the positive things. Like all of the folks who pitched in to help after the tsunami; Sean Penn in a row boat; or was it Angelina Jolie in a Russian orphanage?; or was it Ethiopia?

See what happens when you don't have cable? Now I'm not sure on anything.

At any rate, the one thing that really sticks out in my mind is when the National Guard helped bring a peaceful end to a standoff between Native American casino owners and the women who performed in the nightly shows as entertainment for the casino clientele. I was so moved by the way this dipute was settled that I chose to depict it, as best I could...



...on my Christmas/Solstice/holiday tree.


Moving right along...

I don't know. I'm trying to think of "very meaningful things" but it just isn't happening. I'm having a hard time thinking of anything. My mind is like...like...like this!



The Cristmas Cheese Grater - O Christmas Cheese, O Christmas Cheese...


You know, events just get scraped over it and these little stringy memories fall through the holes, some going where they should but most ending up on the floor.

I was still doing the mind-as-a-cheese-grater thing there in case that didn't make sense to you.

Well, since it seems my muse has left me, I will just finish up with the Christmas/Solstice/holiday tree tour.




The Peacock, Curler and Big Glowing Gumdrop - And a Peacock in a pear treeeeeeeeeee!




The Christmas Crow - Seven crows a-cawing and all that


And who could that be hiding in the Christmas/Soltice/holiday tree? Why it's...



DEATH!


And last but not least, a vignette depicting everyone's favorite Christmas Carol...



The Wreck Of The Old 97



Thank you all for reading my blog this past year. I wish you all a very healthy and Happy New Year full of peace and love.

Our New Pet

I wanted to take some time to introduce you all to our new pet. Before you get all excited, it's not who you think. No, not the new beagle. I will give her a proper introduction...eventually. But for now, something completely different.

The odd thing is, I wasn't even aware of this pet. None of us were. My husband discovered it the other night when he went to take care of the coal stoker in the basement.

As I've alluded to before, we have a bit of a damp basement. Damp and cool. Like a mine. It's almost as dark as one too. This special little environment lends itself to habitation by all sorts of strange and wonderful things.

Why, in this picture, you can see we have some little trees growing in our constantly wet french...oops...Freedom Drain.




I have no idea what kind they are but they have been there - that size - for quite a while now. They probably get about 30 minutes of 40 watt lightbulb light a week. Maybe we'll develop some new low-light maple species. Who knows?

And now that I've typed the word "species", I pause to wonder why it doesn't follow the "i before e except after c" rule.

...

But I digress...

So, I'm in the kitchen and I hear my hubby banging on the floor from below.

Me: What? What's that you're banging about down there in the mines?
Hubby: Come here. And bring the camera.

?

Now my curiosity is piqued.

I get the camera and put some sandals on because you just don't want to walk around in our basement in your socks. I tell my daughter that something exciting is going on in the basement and she follows along. We make our way into the basement and locate my hubby.

Me: What's up?
Hubby: Look what I found.

Stak Trek fans are going to love this...

Hubby: A TRIBBLE!

Daughter and I look and, sure enough, there was a tribble on the floor. So I took a picture...





to share with you all.

Isn't it cute? We're thinking of naming it Scooter. Although it doesn't scoot very much. It just kind of sits there. We watched it for a while and it didn't really do much of anything.

Me: It's not doing anything.
Daughter: Maybe it's depressed.

We finally encouraged hubby to use his psionic talents and try the Vulcan Mind Meld on it.

And I took another picture...





As you can see, it was in a great deal of pain.

We immediately packed it up in a box and took it to the Starship Enterprise for further analysis. The scientists gave it a thourough examination.





We had to leave it overnight for testing and counseling. We went to pick it up the next day and the scientists said it was doing much better. As it turns out, it was just a case of the blues and loneliness. We decided to cheer it up by having a little party before we left. Look how much fun!





And, not to worry. Our tribble isn't lonely anymore. We found a little friend for it.

The Things You Can Find...

So. You might be wondering what I've been up to lately.

Or not.

But if you were, I've been off and on helping my husband replace the roof on our pump house. The pump house is this little brick building that houses, oddly enough, our well pump. Imagine. Like most of the other buildings on the property, it is sorely in need of some attention and we have finally gotten 'round to it.

Now, as I've mentioned before, our home rennovation projects seldom turn out to be weekend things. No. They are more like...month long things. Partly because of our wacky schedules which allow us to work uninterrupted on something for only 28 minutes at a time every three weeks. Ok, so I exaggerate at bit, but only a smidge. The other reason is because everything is such a MAJOR project. There is no such thing as a simple thing around here.

So here's the scoop. The pump house needed a new roof. It's a relatively small building, something like 20 x 10 - easy enough, right? Wrong. Because "new roof" doesn't just mean new shingles. It means shingle, tar paper, decking, stringers, trim, mind and soul. New EVERYTHING.

Now throw into the mix the fact that the only pieces of scaffolding owned by the extended family are in another state, involved in another roofing project. Thus leaving my hubby to now have to BUILD scaffolding before he can start on the roof.

You can kind of see where things are headed.

Anyway...

Whilst my dear hubby was building the scaffolding, I was given the unenviable task of "cleaning out the pump house and making some room in there".

!

You have no idea. None, what so ever.

You see, back when we bought this place, oh, about 10 years ago, there was a lot of weird stuff left in the house. The kind of stuff that you know you don't need to have on hand but you really should sit down and take a good look at it before you throw it away. Lots of that kind of stuff. And guess where it went? Go on, you'll never. IN THE PUMP HOUSE!

That's right. And now it was my task to sort through it all and make some sense of it.

Sigh.

Well, for the most part, it was just a lot of sorting into three categories - garbage, scrap metal and what the...? I was in the thick of it the one day, kind of in an akward straddle over several boxes of pipe fittings and hinges, when my son walked in.

Son: Whaterya doing?
Me: Trying to sort through all this crap.
Son: ...

So I went back to my sorting while he puttered about, looking at odd things. Finally, he spoke up again. "What's this?"

He was holding a black box that looked kind of like an old purse. Curiosity got the better of me and I stepped over my boxes to have a better look. He opened the box and I could see something that looked like a chrome hand-held hairdryer. There was an odd assortment of what I guessed were attachements and two golf balls.

Me: I don't know. A golf ball polisher?

That seemed to satisfy both of us and he closed the box and put it on a shelf. I went back to my fittings and hinges. My son eventually got bored and left and I didn't think any more about the black box.

At least until I cleaned my way to the shelf.

Now I was presented with the black box yet again. This item definitely fell into the "what the...?" category. I thought I had better have another look and maybe I can decide what exactly to do with it.

I opened the box again. Again I saw the chrome hair-dryer-ish thing and the attachments and golf balls. But this time I noticed a piece of paper at the bottom of the box, under everything else. Ah...something I didn't notice the first time. Maybe it would answer the question of what exactly this thing was.

I carefully picked out the golf balls and attachements with one hand and then lifted the hairdryer/golf ball polisher out with the other. And there on the bottom of the box was the answer to my question. The operating manual for the item.

WHITE CROSS ELECTRIC VIBRATOR

I blinked once and read it again.

WHITE CROSS ELECTRIC VIBRATOR

I looked at the hairdryer/golf ball polisher/vibrator. I looked at the golf balls and attachements. I looked at the hiardryer/golf ball polisher/vibrator. I looked at the golf balls and attachements. In my hand. All of a sudden a light bulb went on somewhere in my brain and I dropped the golf balls and attachments in horror.

Me: GLACK!!!!!
Me: UUULLLK! GLAAACK!
Me: OH MY GOD! UUUULLK!
Me: ULCK! ULCK! ULCK!!!!

I wiped my hand on my pants. Several times. I think I might have stuck it in an old coffee can of acid too...I'm not sure.

A vibrator??!!!

I set it down and gingerly took the manual out of the box. And immediately lost 45 minutes. Amazing. Absolutely amazing.

As it turns out, this thing is a turn of the century, variable speed vibrator, used for treating a number of ailments, not the least of which is the female disorder "hysteria", or, as I am now wont to say, dingy golf balls.

And what is even more amazing is that it works!

Um...

I mean...

Well, see it's this way...

Um...

Ok, I plugged it in. That's it, I swear! Just to see if it would do anything. And, boy, did it ever! I didn't even turn up the speed. As soon as I plugged it in it was happily buzzing away, vibrating my arm, shoulder, neck, head, back and oh, oh, oh...AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!

Um...

No, really, it actually vibrated like a small pneumatic drill. I can't even imagine putting it on my... golf balls. Not even!

So then I unplugged it. And put it back in the box. And put it up on a shelf in our library for... For what? I don't know. I guess to bring out at dinner parties and say "Hey, look what I have! A crazy old vibrator!"

So there you go.

Say Hello to Another Holiday Icon

Hi folks.

I know, I know...long time, no post. I have no excuse. But I do have some good stories.

But you won't read any of them today.

No, today I want to discuss something entirely different: The Commercialization of Holidays.

Yes, it is a subject that is near and dear to my heart.

There is no such thing as a holiday being just about the day anymore, is there? I mean, I saw the Christmas decorations out by the end of August this year. August? No wonder people get cranky about it by the time it gets here.

Thanksgiving? What? What's that? You mean there's another holiday in between Halloween and Christmas? Really? And it's about what? Oh, giving thanks? You mean it's not about adding up the bonus points at the grocery store to get the free turkey? No? Well, whaddaya know!

And it's not just Christmas either. It's even infested Easter. Now, we Christians had enough trouble stealing the holidays from the pagans you would think the capitalists would just leave well enough alone. But no, they had to take Easter too.

And this, people, this is nothing compared to what I've seen today. Nothing. I can almost understand getting all wrapped up in Christmas, Halloween and Easter. Heck, I can even look past the big hoopla about Valentine's Day and the 4th of July. But this tkaes the cake, folks. I mean it really and truly does.

They have gone and commercialized Election Day.

Oh! the horror! I couldn't believe it either. And I know it may seem small to some people but I am more than certain it is going to take off across the country. Pretty soon we are all going to be inundated with this new holiday icon. Yes, you heard me right. They now have a mascot for Election Day. Pretty soon you'll see the Hallmark greeting cards with it's cute little picture on the front. Pretty soon you will see plush look-alikes in the toy department. Pretty soon you will hear the Election Day carols on the radio featuring the latest antics of this new character to grace our sick and twisted holiday celebrations. Pretty soon you will see lines of voters waiting to have a chat with our new cultural icon, whispering who they want to win the election.

What is it, you ask? You've seen the signs for Breakfast with the Easter Bunny. You've seen the signs for Breakfast with Santa Claus. Well, today I was driving past our local fire company - which just so happens to be a polling place - and saw this sign. Get a load of this...




You read it right. Breakfast with Mackerel. Never mind that it's spelled wrong. Who is this Mackerel and, what I really want to know is, who decided it was going to be the election day mascot? Hmm? Who? And why, why oh why, did they pick a mackerel?

I can just see it all now. The night before Election Day, all the registered voters will put out their coolers and creels hoping The Mackerel will swim up the drain pipe during the night and fill them with treats and wise decisions.

Well...now that I think of it, some wise decisions might not be such a bad thing.

But a Mackerel?

Today

I am sitting here writing but my mind is not with it tonight. So forgive me, dear readers, if I am a bit disconnected.

About 10 days ago I found out that one of my neighbors - I will call him B - was in the hospital to have some tests done. It seems as though he was having some trouble remembering things. Initially, it was thought that it might have something to do with some of the medication he was on in his attempt to quit smoking. Nothing major to be sure, but some test would hopefully give some answers.

Today I found out that they brought B home. To die. He is not expected to make it through the night. It turns out he has a brain tumor and there is nothing that can be done.

I met this neighbor and his wife, C, a several years ago after we moved to our home. We didn't meet right away but, rather, came together when a municipal project was put in the works in our neighborhood.

The thing is, I'm not normally the type to go out and get to know the neighbors. I mean, I can't even see any of their houses unless I go for a drive so it's not like we cross paths on a daily basis or anything. At any rate, we started talking at the local meetings and eventually started meeting at houses in the neighborhood.

The meetings eventually moved to their house on a regular basis. They kind of became the leaders of our little pack of concerned citizens. Being retired engineers, they were able to look at plans and translate them into layman's terms for the rest of us. They would sift through zoning and code books, environmental regulations and funding criteria. They attended meetings and hearings during the day and brought back information and reports to those who had to miss them due to work. In the end, B and C are in a large part responsible for making sure the project had as little negative impact on the environment and neighborhood as possible.

During the course of all of this our little neighborhood community began to grow closer. One winter, when we all had it up to our ears with municipal project stuff, we were lamenting the fact that the stretch between Christmas and spring was just too darn long and depressing. Someone came up with the idea of having a party in the beginning of February to shake off the winter blues and thus the Boilo Festival was born. B and C graciously offered their house for the festivities and have done so ever since.

When the municipal project finished, B took on the task of monitoring the water in the local stream on a seasonal basis just to make sure nothing ever got out of whack. He would go along with another neighbor and clamber down hills, through brambles, into the stream to snatch a sample of water. Just to make sure things were ok. Just because he cared.

The last time I saw him was a few weeks ago when we got together with them and other neighbors and purchased a 20 acre tract of land that sat in the middle of our three properties. It came up for sale and we and the other neighbors, although we wanted desperately to buy it, could never afford to do it. B and C offered to go in on it with us. Their main reason for doing it? They just wanted to make sure the land got into the hands of people who would care for it. We went to the closing and signed the papers. B and C and the other neighbors asked if we wanted to go out for dinner to celebrate but, alas, my hubby had to go to work and I had to drive the kids to something or other.

And now this.

B and C don't have any kids. They don't have much other family. B has C and C has B and that's mostly it. And now C is sitting in her house with B while he slowly slips away.

I can't imagine what she is going through. They have one of those marriages where they truly are each other's best friend.

It might seem odd that I am thinking of her rather than him. Maybe it even seems cold, but I rarely feel bad for someone once they are dead. I really believe that we go on to something better so death, in that sense anyway, never really bothered me. It's the people left behind that I feel sorry for. What will she do?

Who will finish her sentences?

Who will finish her dinner when she can't?

Who will know how to make a cup of coffee for her exactly the way she likes it?

Who will snuggle up and keep her warm at night?

Who will know exactly what she is thinking just by the look on her face?

Who will be the safe harbor when she needs a break from the world?


I think about her situation and wonder what I would ever do if it were me. It couldn't be the same, of course, because I have children and other family. But I wonder what I would do if I were suddenly faced with her situation. How do you ever get over the loss of your very best friend? That friend who understands you like no one else ever will. The friend so close that you forget they are not actually a part of you but a separate person entirely. How do you wake up the next morning knowing you won't roll over and look in their face? Hear their voice? How do you ever deal with such a thing?


I guess in the end, you just do. Just like everything else.


At any rate, it's a crappy thing.


If you are of the type, please say a prayer to whoever your god is. For B and C. And everyone else who loses a spouse. And after you do that, if you are married to your best friend, go give him or her a big ol' hug and tell them how wonderful s/he is and how lucky you are to have him/her in your life.

Water, water everywhere...

On my dryer.

On my floor.

In my basement.

In about 50,000 buckets all over our house.

Yes, the rain has come and the roof is leaking. Again. So the water is everywhere.

Everywhere except...the pipes. That are supposed to have water.

Such is life.


A quickie update for you all. I know I've been away for a little while and rather lax about posting. It is not, however, without good reason.

The reason has varied parts.

The first part is that we were away for a few days closing up my mother's cabin for the winter. On the way home from there, we picked up a dog at Cornell University. It is a 1.5 year old beagle. She was one of the dogs mentioned in d.b.echo's (see side bar for link) post a little while ago that were in need of good homes. They didn't mention that good homes = dry homes. We didn't bother to bring it up.

Anyway, her name is Ruby and she's really little and really cute. And I would post a photo but...I can't. Further explanation later.

At any rate, we came home to a house with no water because the pressure tank (what?) went bad while we were away. Bad pressure tank. Bad, bad pressure tank.

And since it was our new dog's first car ride, and she was scared to death and consequently slobbered and vomitted all over herself and really needed a bath, it made our arrival home all the more special.

Oh, and the other part of the reason...

We used to have two phone lines with our dsl on one of them. I got thinking to myself..."Self?" I say, "There's no point in paying for two phone lines. Why not just cancel the one and get the dsl put onto the regular phone line?" A simple plan, you would think.

So, I called the phone company shortly before we left for the cabin and explained what I wanted to do. I thought...thought...it would only require some minor flicking of switches and data entry on their part.

I was wrong.

So wrong.

What it in fact requires is the phone guy to come to the house when we are stuck in traffic in Ithaca - resulting in many confused and desperate phone calls to my teenage son who doesn't understand that once you let the phone guy in the house, you will incur such debt with Phone Company Guy Labor charges it will make the national deficit seem like pocket change. Then said teenage son tells you "Well, he already did all the inside work." And you are still stuck in traffic. Only because you had to meet the lady with the dog 10 minutes ago and how were you to know that I81 would be backed up with traffic really bad and the alternate route involving many small country roads - all under construction, every single one and I'm not lying - wouldn't get you there any quicker?

Because that's what it involves when you want to change your dsl to another line. Just so you know.

So when we came home with our pukey, slobbery new dog to no water, we also found out that we had no phone service either. Because the phone guy saw our phone line, which had been perfectly happy laying on the ground after the tree ripped it off the house and pole - hey, it still worked - and he thought it wasn't such a great set up. So he decided that new lines should be put in and, while we're at it, let's run them underground and avoid this whole messy tree business in the future. Which is cool by me. The only downside being that I am still without phone and internet. And I'm getting frighteningly used to it. Frightening to my kids, that is.

So I have my reasons for no update, folks.

Right now I'm at work. Making good use of my time. After this I'm going outside to hang some decorations.

I love my job.


So, if I ever get internet back at home, I'll post a picture of our new dog. Oddly enough, out of everyone in our family, she's attended the best school so far.


Alright, I'm done for today.

The Gweathest Thweeper Of Aw Thime

Hi.

It's the end of a long day and I'm going on about 1 1/2 hours of sleep so I'm just about ready to crash and burn pretty hard. See, I have this little issue with an uncooperative disc in my neck and the end result is apretty constant migrain. On the bright side, I get to spend a lot of time under the influence of pain killers and muscle relaxants. Whoopee!

The down side of this - um, other than addiction and probably some long term nasty side effects - is that they don't really affect me the way you would think. Sure my muscles relax and my pain...well, I wouldn't say it really gets killed...more like...it gets distracted. Or I do. But the sleepy side effect? Nope. Nil. Nyet. Not happenin'. As a matter of fact, I get pretty wound up. So, at the end of a particularly fulfilling day at the real estate office, I come home with a bass rhythm in my head that would put me well in the ribbons at any IASCA event. I could just see me now...standing in the lot amongst the Honda Civics and Monte Carlos - my blood vessuhls droppin' the bass line so bad, biggest dayum headache ah evuh had, I'm gonna kick all yo'asses - you know what ah'm sayin', 'cause ah got a hundred thousand watts bangin on mah brayun'...word.

Or something like that.

Anyway...

I come home with the migrain, take the medicine and then I'm up until all hours of the night. Or morning as the case was this fine first day of Autumn. The last time I allowed myself to look at the clock it was 4am. On the occasions I do manage to sleep, it is usually with my jaw clenched. So guess what? I wake up with a headache as well. Ah, me. My hubby keeps telling me to get one of those mouthpiece things to put in my mouth when I go to sleep. The only problem with that is that when I'm out shopping, I'm not thinking of sleeping. Or not sleeping. Consequently, I end up buying towels or something but not a mouthpiece. I suppose I could put a towel in my mouth but, really, I don't want to wake up with a literal case of cotton mouth.

So...

I come home from work again and decide that nothing would be better for me than a shopping trip with my husband. To the mall. Right.

Actually, it wasn't bad at all other than the fact that I was so sleep deprived I was becoming a little punchy and silly. (I was a little paunchy too but that has nothing to do with anything.) So I danced to the groovy Kmart tunes while my hubby tried to do the shopping.

He's going to West Virginia on a whitewater rafting trip tomorrow. I would go but...how can I put this...do the words "squeal like a pig" mean anything to anyone? No, actually I went a few years ago and figured I'd let the old man do a guy weekend thing. It was my job to be the entertainment on the shopping trip for the supplies.

He was concerned about things like batteries and toothpaste and stuff. I, on the other hand, reminded him of such necessities as Halloween hillbilly teeth. So he can fit in with the locals, you know. He also bought a set for his brother.

Whilst perusing the Halloween aisles, I came across a pair of green rubbery hands that you wear like gloves over your own less rubbery hands. The tag on them said "Soft PVC Monster Hands". I told my hubby "I've never seen a Soft PVC Monster but, by the looks of these hands, it must be a pretty impressive creature." And so I wore them around the store for the rest of the shopping trip. I put them back before we left but I'm thinkin' I'll have to go back and by them. Maybe I'll be a Soft PVC Monster for Halloween. I'm thinking that would be a grand idea. Or, I'll just get the hands and wear them to work. Like a Soft PVC Monster disguising itself as a real estate agent. I could show a house to clients and when I reach my hand out to open, say, the basement door, they would notice my hands and scream, "AAAAHHHH! A Soft PVC Monster! AAAAHHHH!" Wicked scarey!

Anyway, when we got home, hubby was sorting through his stuff and suddenly tossed a little bag my way. I opened it up and what do you know, he bought me a mouthpiece! All together now...AAAAAAAWWWWWWWW! He's so nice like that. So I immediately ripped it open and stuck it in and began to thalk like thith.

Me: Thith ith umcomfthobo.
Hubby: What?
Me: Umcomfthobo. Thith ith. Thith thingh. Ah thah inthucthuns with thith?
Hubby: You're weird.
Me: Ahm weeod? AHM weeod? Yo thu one who wanth me thoo wah thith thingh.
Daughter: What are you doing?
Me: Who meh?
Daughter: Yeah, you.
Me: Ahm thwyin' thith thingh owt thath Thaddy both thor meh.
Daughter: What? What is that thing in your mouth?
Me: Mah mouth thingh. (I beging to shadow box at my daughter.) Ah fwowt wike a buthuhfwy an thing wike a bee.
Daughter: Yeah, ok.
Me: No, weewee. Ah do. Wook. Ahm fwowtin wike a buthuhfwy.
Daughter: Whatever.
Son (to Daughter): Your dog tinkled.
Daughter: Where?
Son: That's part of the fun - finding out where!
Daughter: Come on...
Me (boxing at my family): Fwowtihng wike a buthuhfwy, thinghihng wike a bee!
Hubby: I think you need to go to bed.

I looked at the baggy and, sure enough, there were instructions. You're supposed to plop the mouthpiece into a pot of boiling water and, after 30 seconds, take it out - with a set of tongs as per instructions - then grab it with your hand and put it right in your mouth! From the boiling water! Right into your mouth! How crazy is that? But, see here! The instructions say that "it will not burn". I crap you not.

Hmmm....

Forgive me but I'm a little leary on that one.

And then you are supposed to mold it to you top teeth, biting down and sucking out all of the air. After that, you quickly put it into cold water, thus setting the mold.

Well, I figured they must know what they're talking about so I plopped it into the boiling water. Look at clock. Look at pot. Look at clock. Look at pot. Look at clock. Look at pot. I was getting a little nervous that I wouldn't get it out in time and wind up overcooking it and loosing all the flavor and valuable nutirients so I decided I would hold onto to it with the tongs and then I could spirit it out of the water when the time was up. Unfortunately, I was a little too enthusiastic with the tongs and started to squish the mouthpiece. It was sticking to the tongs and I started to panic. I shook them around and the mouthpiece popped off into the pot.

Check the clock. 30 SECONDS IS UP!!! OH NO!!!!

I really started to panic and desperately fished around the pot for the mouthpiece. I finally managed to grab it and, in my frenzy to mold it to my teeth, I stuck everyting in my mouth.

The mouthpiece did not burn at all.

The metal tongs burned like a mother.

Me: AAAAAAA! OOOooowwwwWWWW! OOOOWWWW! Mah mowth! Ith boownd! OOOOWWWWW!
(Biting down, sucking air.)
Me: Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow. Mah wip. Ah boownd mah wip. Owwwwwww......

I took it out and ran it under cold water and put it back in.

Me: Aaaaahhhhhhhh..... tha feewth gooth.


Now I am off to bed to see how things will go. Hopefully I will thweep wike a buthuhfwy and dweem wike a bee.
An tho, ah bidth you aw "Goothnith".

How To Jar Tomatoes In 2(x-5y)+7-(x+y) Easy Steps

Hi folks.

Guess what I did today? That's right. I finally dealt with some of the tomatoes. Not only did I make homemade sauce, but I jarred it as well.

You can just call me Little Suzie Homemaker.

Don't be jealous. You all know how I like to help out the common man. And so, I bring you...

Making - and Jarring, oh my God! - Tomato Sauce


What you need to get started:

- A crap load of tomatoes. What is a crap load? Well, it differs for each and every one of us.
- A big ass pot with lid. And a thingy to stick inside to hold the jars.
- Jars
- Lids and rings
- Lemon juice
- Canning salt. What is this? Darned if I know. I was told non-iodized is the same thing.
- Kitchen-aid mixer with juicer attachment gadget.
- Phone number of someone who knows how to work the attachment gadget for the Kitchen-aid.
- Extension cord.
- Some kind of grippy things to take hot jars out of boiling hot water.
- A buch of bowls.
- Coffee.
- Pry bar.
- Hammer.
- Bucket.
- Bleach.
- Window fan.
- Shop-vac.
- 2 Blueberry Pop-tarts.
- 8 oz. cold milk.
- Band-aid

Note: Do not get supplies ready ahead of time. Things will be more interesting that way.


Preparing to Jar!

1. Go out to a bar the night before you plan to jar. Drink a goodly amount of beer and stay up late.
2. Get up way to early and stumble into the kitchen. See many tomatoes on the table. Groan. Make coffee. See that dog peed on carpet in front of door.
3. Get pry bar and hammer and begin to rip up carpet because you just can't take this whole "dog not quite making it outside thing" any more. Rip up about a 5 x 5 square foot of carpeting and the possible asbestos underlayment. Finally remember to turn on window fan.
4. Vacuum area with Shop-vac. Fill bucket with very hot water and a little too much bleach. Scrub freshly exposed floor as though you are ridding your soul of the demons that have plagued you for many, many years. Feel your lungs begin to burn from the bleach.
5. Look at tomatoes again. Prolong the jarring a little bit longer by toasting 2 Pop-tarts and then dunking them in milk while you read through the jarring book to try to jog your memory on how to do this.
6. After you are sufficiently bored with trying to read through the directions, abandon book and take your breakfast dishes to the sink. Drink a coffee.
7. Go to the bathroom. Change a load of laundry. Fold laundry in the dryer and put it away before cats bed down in it. Wash hands.


Making Sauce

1. Look at tomatoes and sigh.
2. Put the tomatoes in the sink and begin to wash them. Place clean tomatoes into one of the many, many bowls you will use.
3. Let dog out.
4. Try to remember where you last saw the big-ass pot and lid.
5. Go into the basement and try to locate some jars, lids and rings. Oh! There's the big-ass pot and lid! Get that too. Haul everything to the kitchen.
6. Let the dog in.
7. Get Kitchen-aid mixer and set up on table. Try to find extension cord for mixer. After fuitless search for small extension cord, take 25 foot contractor's cord and plug mixer in to outlet 4 feet away.
8. Get box of attachment gadgets for mixer and try to figure out which one is the juicer. Stick your hand into the box with wild abandon and cut the tip of your right-hand index finger on slicer attachment. Mutter explicatives. Wash finger and put Band-aid on cut. Go bakc to box and gingerly remove what you think you might need for the juicer. Lay parts on table next to mixer and ponder your situation awhile.
9. Drink some more coffee.
10. Call person who knows how to work attachment gadget and get instuctions on how to put it together. Turn on mixer to speed 4.
11. Place bowl under juicer to catch juice. Place bowl under other end of juicer gadget to catch not-juice. Begin to feed tomatoes into hopper on top of juicer. DO NOT try to push tomatoes in that are just too darn big. Cut them up.
12. Stare in child-like wonder as Kitchen-aid makes short work of juicing the tomatoes.
13. Place as many jars as you can fit standing up into the big-ass pot and cover them with water. Boil jars for 10 m inutes. Place as many lids and rings as you have jars into another small pot of water and boil for 10 minutes as well.
14. Go back and squish more tomatoes into the mixer.
15. Let you son squish some tomatoes too.
16. Turn everything off because you have to drive your son to a scouting event that you didn't know about.
17. Trun everything back on.
18. Let the dog out.
19. Squish more tomatoes.
20. When you've had about enough, pour the tomato juice into a large pot. Put the not-juice in your compost bin. (You do compost, don't you?)
21. Now it's time to season the sauce. Throw in whatever you darn well please. Salt. Pepper. Um...Italian seasoning? What's that? Oregano, basil, parsley...ok.
22. Peel some garlic and onion and place in food processor to chop. Turn on food processor.
23. Let the dog back in.
24. Answer phone. Talk to your mom for a while. Forget about stuff in food processor. Come back to find it like a garlic and onion smoothie. Oh well. Put it into a small pot with some butter and set it on stove to simmer. Scream bloody murder when you get garlic juice in finger cut.
25. Change another load of laundry. Go to bathroom. Get distracted by unibrow and begin to pluck some eyebrow hairs. Suddenly remember garlic/onion smoothie.
26. Come back to kitchen to find garlic/onion smoothie has boiled all over the place. Pour whatever is left into sauce pot. Take heating element out and try to scrape off burnt garlic flakes. Return element to stove top.
27. Check book and see that sauce has to cook for - what?- 2 hours?! Crap!
28. Turn off pot with jars.
29. Find something to do for two hours. Like picking more tomatoes. And jarring them. No, I'm not kidding. And I'm not even going to get into it here.
30. Pick son up from scout event.


Let's Jar Tomato Sauce!

1. Boil jars, lids and rings again since you are finally ready for them.
2. Remove sauce from stove.
3. Take a jar out of the water - careful! It's hot! - and place it on a towel on the table. Fill the jar with sauce. Add 1 tablespoon of lemon and 1 tablespoon of non-iodized salt.
4. Take a lid and ring from the other pot and go to place it on the jar of sauce. Realize that you used the wrong size lids.Jump around kitchen yelling "What the crap! What the crap!".
5. Find the right size lids and put them in a pot of water to boil for 10 minutes.
6. When the lids are done, take one out and place it on the jar of sauce. Twist a ring onto the jar. Very carefully put jar back into pot of hot water.
7. Continue in the same fashion with other jars until you are out of room in your big-ass pot.
8. Put lid on pot and bring the whole kit and kaboodle to a boil. Boil it all for 40 minutes.
9. When time is up, take your grabby things and try to get the jars out of the pot. This is the most exciting and dangerous part of the process. Once false slip and it's a long, painful trip to the emergency room.
10. Place jars on a towel on table to cool.
11. Look at the jars for awhile.
12. Clap when you hear a lid go "pop". That means it is sealing like a good jar.
13. If you feel like sticking around to hear them all pop, go ahead, but it might take a while.
14. Try not to think about how you just took 8 freaking hours to make seven jars of sauce. Also try not to think about how you just bought sauce at Giant for $1.00 a jar. Don't think about that. At all.
15. Clean up whatever you have the energy to. The rest will be there tomorrow.


Congratulations! You did it!

Me Big Helper

Hey all.

I hope everyone had a nice Tuesday. Mine was uneventful enough. Work. Home. Migrain. Nap. Dinner. Blah, blah, blah.

While I was making dinner, I caught some kind of movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked out the window and saw my son picking what was left of the grapes off the vine in the yard. I turned back to the stove thinking "Oh, isn't that nice to see. He's out there enjoying the day. Roaming the yard. Exploring nature and..."

Poof!

I heard a short blast of air that I knew I should recognize. However, having just awakened from the migrain induced nap, the ol' neurons weren't firing quite right just yet.

Poof!

I heard it again.

I looked out the window again.

Yes, my son was in fact enjoying the outdoors, exploring nature in his own teenage way. He was picking grapes and stuffing them down the barrel of a paint ball gun and then shooting them off at God only knows what.

These are the kinds of things that happen when you deprive your children of television.

Another example.

I asked son to whack the weeds at the end of the driveway since they were now higher than the car and it was becoming a little like Russian Roulette whenever you had to pull out. ("No whammys, no whammys, no whammys...Floor it!") I couldn't leave the goat to eat these weeds because it was just a little too close to the road and Lord knows, I don't need some goat inspired law suit over a wrecked vehicle. Son - being the good and obedient child he is - whacked the weeds and then, I guess out of boredom - or, perhaps an unquenchable desire to express himself artistically - decided to use the weed whacker to make crop circles in the lawn.




It's a little hard to see, but I think you can get the idea.

Oh, how my children suffer...


As for myself, I did recover from the migrain enough to venture down to the garden of civil unrest. My sister-in-law begged me to go pick some tomatoes. I don't generally feel right picking any since I don't really pitch in but she was really begging this time. Like this...

Phone: Riiiiing
Me: Hello?
SIL: Have you been in the garden lately?
Me: No, why? Did it burn down or something?
SIL: No.
Me: Oh. Well, whatever it is, I didn't do it.
SIL: No, that's not it. You have to go pick some tomatoes.
Me: Are you sure? What if you don't have enough for jarring and stuff?
SIL: There's enough. Go pick some. There's a lot.
Me: Are you really sure?
SIL: Yes, they're...everywhere. Everywhere. Hundreds, no thousands of them.
Me: So...you're saying there's enough for me to take a few...
SIL: A few. A FEW!!! You don't understand. I...just...can't...take...anymore. I...the tomatoes...orange everywhere. I tried. I tried dammit! God help me! I...I...
Me: Are you...um...ok?
SIL: OH GOD! I can't pick any more tomatoes! You...you have frineds and co-workers who like tomatoes, don't you? You could get rid of them, right?
(She was sounding more and more frantic now.) You! You could take them and give them to the ladies you work with! Your clients! A housewarming basket of tomatoes!
Me: Um...I don't know on that one. I mean, some people are allergic and all...
SIL: Louisiana! Send them to the hurricane victims! A tomato relief drive!
Me: I think you need to get a grip here.
(But she was beyond help now.)
SIL: Go! Go get the tomatoes and save everyone! Save them! There are enough tomatoes to save the world!!!

And I heard the phone hit the floor and sister-in-law sobbing in the back ground.


Ok...I'm making it up.

She did say there were a lot though.

So, today I walked down to the garden while dinner was in the oven and clambered over the fence much the same way I imagine the deer do.

The garden has gone pretty wild by now. At first, everyone is all about the weeding and everything. Once the dog days of summer hit, they all become pretty much like me and are like "Garden? What?"

I walked to the end where the tomatoes are and whoa. There are a lot.







And that's just a small smattering. Like about one fourth of the tomato population.

So I picked three.

And then I took this picture.





See? I'm a helper!

Ok, I promise I'll go pick more tomorrow.

A Posty Post...For Lack of a Better Title

See me.

I am Earthy Woman.

I am salt of the earth.

Smell me.

I am earthy and salty and sweaty.

I just spent the afternoon mowing grass and hacking through brush.


So that's what the cool people did today. That's right. I went to church, grocery shopping and then did yard/jungle work. Don't hate me because I'm terribly hip and cool.

No really. That's it. I have no life. I'm sitting here reeking of sweat and grass and blood and quite possibly dog or goat poop but I just didn't get up the nerve to look at the bottom of my boots yet. Only because I stepped in dog poop yesterday and I'm just not ready for another go-round with it.

I'm trying to hack out the small area of jungle that has grown up around our pump house. We have to put a roof on it and pronto but - and see here's the tricky part - we have to get to it first. It's become quite grown up with booger balls and thorny things and these big tall plants that have lovely dark purple berries that I always think would be cool to dye clothes with until I found out they are poisonous (not just to eat, but to touch as well...but I still think I'm going to try it) and all sorts of other bushy growth.

I seem to have an issue with run-on sentences, don't I?

So I just spent the past 2 hours or so hacking through all of this with my trusty gas powered hedge trimmer we call "Excalibur". When I am wielding it I feel like a powerful king. Lord of the Yard! Bow to me and lick my poopy boots! And tie the laces while you're there. Double knots please. I mean, DOUBLOE KNOTS AND THAT'S AN ORDER!

A little aside here... You all know I have this issue with the spell check thing, right? Well, I usually have my Webster's Unabridged College Dictionary sitting next to me so's I can check words I'm not sure of because, even though I'm not particularly careful about typos, I do try to make an effort. Just so you all know that. My typos are exactly that. Not poor spelling. Because I have very low Speller Self Esteem and I am always second guessing myself. (Guessing...u before e? Check it. Got it.) Well, it seems as though my daughter's biology teacher decided to assign a gigantic (g.i.g.a.n.t.i.c.) leaf project and my kid swiped my dictionary (a.r.y.) to keep her leaves flat while they dry. So now I have to open up a window (on my computer, not in the house. Although it is getting a little stuffy in here and something smells an awful lot like poop...) to Dictionary.com so I can keep checking my spelling.

Life is never easy, is it?

And it's all because of my irrational fear of the spell check. I'm afraid I will get done typing a terribly witty and/or sensationally (ally? yes.) intelligent (ant or ent? Oh look, there's a bit of irony!) post and then do the spell check thing and it will disappear. Gone. Poof! Never to been seen again.

Which makes me think of a joke.

Jesus and the devil were woking on their computers, keeping track of the various people that died and the souls that were saved, or alternatively, not. All of a sudden, a big storm came trough and the power went out. (Now right here you have to go with it. Some people would say "Well, God is in charge of everything and wouldn't allow that to happen while Jesus was working on the computer." However, I pose this hypothesis [Yes, I checked it.]: Even though God might take the time out of a busy schedule to mess with the weather, the devil still put George W. Bush and Co. here to make sure global warming skyrockets, thusly messing up the weather patterns for the rest of human history. So there.) So the power goes out and the computers shut down. The next day, the devil sees Mary at the bar and says "Shit, man. That storm that came through yesterday? I lost my whole data base of souls. Everything. Gone." Mary says to him "Yeah, Jesus told me he was on the computer when the power went out too. Why don't you go ask him for a copy of his data base? I'm sure he'd give you one." The devil says "But I thought you said he was on his computer when the power went out too? Didn't he loose his dadt base?" And Mary...get this...says "Jesus saves."

A HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Um, if there are any priests here...I won't go to Hell for that, will I? No? Ok.


Anyway...

So here I sit, stinky, sweaty, tired and I think I have some booger balls in the back part of my arm pit. (Sis and cuz e, remember how fun it used to be to throw booger balls at each other? Golly, those were the days.) And, let's not forget, the possibly poopy boots.

Ah, me.


Anyway, again...


What I was really going to post about before I got distracted was this...

I was in the bathroom today - nothing gross, just a quick visit - and noticed that we have quite a bit of reading material on the top of the hopper. And, being the odd sort that I am, I thought to myself "What if someone came to visit - ok, someone who doesn't know us all that well. And why would they be visiting if they didn't know us all that well? I don't know. This is my daydream, lay off. - and they had to use the bathroom. Of course curiosity (iosi...ok) would get the better of them and they would at least take a look at what was there. What would the collection say about us as a family unit?" That's what I thought. And then I thought "I'll blog about this later."

So, folks, here's the collection of literature you would find if you came to visit and had to ... um ... powder your nose. And what I think it says about us.

Magazines
1. Progressive Farmer - 2 issues. Well, the word progressive says it all, doesn't it?
2. Horse Illustrated - Equine people. Must have money.
3. Reader's Digest with the lead article "12 Ways to Keep More of Your Money" - Neutralizes Horse Illustrated
4. Realtor Magazine - A trade magazine is always impressive. (No one needs to know it's there in case the tp runs out. Kidding.)
5. This Old House - Obviously hip home renovators (only 1 n). (Hee, hee!)
6. Sing Out! - Either hippie or musically inclined. Or, quite possibly, the dangerous combination of the two.

Books
1. Crosswords for the Connoisseur - Thinkers.
2. 101 Word Games - Thinkers that get bored with crossword puzzles. Or can't do them.
3. Nine Stories by J. D. Salinger - Um, what?
4. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce - Someone has a digestive tract issue. And a seriously messed up idea of light reading.


So, there it is, folks. Now I must leave you and go drive the garbage down to the end of the driveway. It's a long driveway so there's no walking it. And I have a problem with garbage smell so I have to hold it out the driver's door whilst I whiz down to the end, hopefully not knocking my door into any trees along the way. Kind of like stunt driving, if you will.

And I said I don't have an exciting life. Pshaw.

What?

Ok...what is this all about?

Governor Rendell Offers Assistance Pennsylvania Style!

Harrisburg - At a press conference today in the captial rotunda, Governor Edward G. Rendell announced Pennsylvania's offer to the states devistated by hurricane Katrina. Flanked by the owners of Reading Anthracite Company and Lehigh Coal & Navigation, Governor Rendell detailed a plan to offer assitance in the clean up of the storm ravaged area.

"As you know, the Schuylkill County area of Pennsylvania is in the process of reclaiming land that was once used for mining. We are offering these coal lands for the disposal of any storm sludge that has to be removed from New Orleans and the surrounding areas. We think it's a real good idea. And we're going to bring it in by boat to the Philadelphia habor. Go Eagles!"

When asked about the potential toxins and contaminates contained in the sludge, Governor Rendell replied, "It's perfectly safe. DEP will say so. Can someone get me a photo-op with Nagin?"





Ok, ok...I made it up. But possible, no?