Quirks and Glitches

RAIN!!!!!

2011-09-30T07:47:00.004-05:00

It's a good thing we sleep with our windows open, because there's nothing like waking up in the middle of the night with the sound of rain and thunder roaring in your ears, the smell of petrichor wafting through the room, the feel of a fresh breeze blowing on your skin, and the coolness of raindrops plopping on your face. In the middle of the drought of the century.

YESSSSSS!!!!!!

HOWDY From HELL

2011-09-29T22:16:00.022-05:00

It's bad when Satan comes around and has to go back because it is too hot out here. That's what it's been like around here all flaming summer long.

Record hot temperatures. Record number of days over 100 degrees. Record number of consecutive days over 100 degrees. Record hot highs. Record hot lows. And how about this: we have even had the case of our low temperature being higher than the reigning record high temperature on a given date. I don't even know what kind of record to call that?

Oh, and did I mention that, according to our friendly neighborhood weatherman, we are in the middle of a 7-year drought? AAAGGGHHHH!!!!!

Well into September, after day after day of a blazing season, we finally got a cool front! Though when "cool" means "down in the 90's," it doesn't mean much. But, we get what we get, and in this case, we were glad to get it.

We turned off the a/c, we opened the windows, and I even psyched myself up to fire up the oven and cook, for the first time since April. We loved this for almost a whole week! But then Monday came along, and suddenly GOTCHA!! Back over 100 degrees, and a new record: fully one-quarter of this year has been given over to the infernity of 100-degree days.

Are there any records left? I'm afraid to know.

One of my favorite pieces of Texana trivia is the parting speech given by Davy Crockett to his once-constituents after losing his bid for re-election to the Tennessee State House of Representatives: "You all can go to hell, I'm going to Texas."

Well, Davy, after sweating through this steaming, screaming, searing, swearing, simmering, sweltering, sizzling, scorching summer season, I am beginning to wonder if you didn't get the two mixed up...

The Fountain Of Youth

2011-04-21T00:49:00.005-05:00

I'VE FOUND IT!!!!!

When I get up in the morning, everything hurts. My muscles are stiff, my back hurts, my plantar fasciitis is agonizing. I suck it up and gut it out: I walk on the treadmill, work in the garden, chase little kids, move the chicken house, hang out the laundry, and after a day of lifting that bale and toting that barge, I feel every day of my years. Long before bedtime, I am ready to give in, and I'm not surprised when I wake up with Charley Horse a few hours later. That's the way it is at home.

But here! Out here in magical California, things are different! I cook, fetch and carry, do errands, work in the garage, take out the dumpsters (ours and the neighbors' for a grand total of seven, and those suckers are heavy!). Throw in my little mother and her sister to take care of, and just like at home, it adds up to hard labor. By 7 o'clock, it's bedtime at the old folks' home. They are all tucked into their recliners, in their pj's, for an evening of Mexican Dr. Phil. I've still got hours to go, but you know what, NOTHING HURTS!!!

So. What's the deal? Do I recommend California? Nope. I've given this some thought, and I'm pretty sure I've got it figured out.

At home, I am just about the oldest person around, but here...well, the opposite. There is no Fountain of Youth, not really. What there is though, is two old great/grandmas, and there's nothing like a couple of 80+yo's to make a 50-something grandma feel like a KID!

In the final analysis, it's all kinda "relative"....

Flying Through Phoenix

2011-04-16T23:39:00.009-05:00

It isn't that I fly to LA all that often or anything, but every time I do, I find myself in Phoenix. And every time, the same thing happens. It goes like this:

We are making good time. Not only are we on time, we are a few minutes early. So far so good. But as soon as we land, we come to a stop, and the captain announces that our gate is occupied and we will just cool our w/heels out here on the fringes for a "few minutes" until our gate is free.

We settle down to wait, and from then on, every five minutes we hear, "It should just be another few minutes." This goes on enough times that my one-plus-hour layover ends up shortened by 25%. The flight attendant optimistically informs me that a run is probably not required, but a hustle will definitely be helpful, and don't worry, there are golf carts and moving sidewalks. So, I don't worry, but I tie on my running shoes and prepare to sprint.

Even 45 minutes is do-able for a grandma in fairly decent shape, but the minute I step into the terminal, I see that a run may not be a bad idea, because I have de-barked at this end of the "B" gates, and my connecting flight is alllllllllll the way at that end of the "A" gates.

The race is on! And God bless the man who invented wheels on suitcases. I just wish that was the kind of suitcase I had right now.

Sky Harbor is well-marked, and it takes just a quick glance to locate the "A Gates" arrow. I scurry over to the sign and behold a corridor stretching to eternity. I can't even see the other end. Fortunately there is a moving sidewalk. It would be even more fortunate if it worked. But that would be a lot to expect at this point, wouldn't it, so I gird up my loins and start the first mile.

Lo and behold! The second leg of the moving sidewalk is moving, and I hop on! "Stand on the right/Walk on the left," the sign says, and that's cool, except that the sign doesn't say how fast to walk, and it only takes one minute for me to catch up to the next walker who is taking his Sunday stroll. There is no way to pass, so I fall in and slow my step to match his, which leaves me frantically cooling my heels and see myself being overtaken, and passed, by the horde that spurned the hi-tech sidewalk in favor of only their own foot power.

The moving sidewalk finally reaches the end of the terminal. I think. But when I get off...PSYYYYCH! It's only the corner in a 90-degree turn, and off to the right stretches another endless hallway. "A" gates all, but mine is nowhere in sight.

I spit on my hands, hoist my non-wheeled case over my shoulder, and gird up my loins, rejecting the moving sidewalk to take off on my own. Sure enough, I easily pass the ~~suckers~~ walkers on the moving sidewalk. Coming to one last moving sidewalk, which I also bypass, I can see my gate coming up in the nebulous distance. YAY! There is light at the end of the tunnel!

I really don't know what I'm worried about. This event is scripted and finely tuned, and I have participated enough times to know how it comes out: I will make it to the gate in plenty to time to make my flight.

What I should be worried about is what comes next: KALIFORNIA.

A Tale of Two Summers

2011-01-29T10:18:00.003-06:00

YAY! Summer! Not. Summer is far and away my least favorite season, but this one promised Pure Promise: a new(ish) house, a trip to Jamaica, a trip to California, and TWO visits from our cadet! What could be better? Well, as it happens...

Good Summer: A new house! Well, new to us. Definitely not our dream house, but we have discovered that our dream house doesn't exist. At least not in our price range.

More Good Summer: A visit from the cadet! Having him safe at home in his own little bed is reason enough worth living for, all by itself. But having him at home to lend some friendly muscle to toting that barge and lifting that bale, What could top that?!

More Good Summer yet: Our first trip to Jamaica, and all expenses paid! Jamaica absolutely lived up to every expectation. Waterfalls, beaches, open-air restaurants, humorous road signs, flowers in cascades of rainbows, good weather~complete with a summer storm~and friendly natives. But as much as we liked the "Jamaica" stamp in our passport, nothing measures up to the "America" stamp at the end of the trail. Well, to be perfectly honest, there is no "America" stamp, only a disappointing electronic swipe. But if there were an "America" stamp, it would definitely be the best.

And this is when the Promise fell apart.

Bad Summer: One day after we arrived back in the Land of the Free, our cadet showed up for his second visit. That is always cause for celebration, and so far so good. But one day after his arrival, one of our darling daughters got sick. Fine one day, deathly sick the next, with not an instant of warning.

For her: emergency room visits, tests, scans, labs, appointments with doctors of every specialty. Threats of lupus, Crone's disease, cancer, leukemia, kidney infections, and who-knows-what other unnamed horrors.

For me: grandma-ing in spades. Breakfasts and lunches, laundries, beds, toys, you-name-it, for four little almost-motherless kidlets. Keeping two houses going is not for sissies, and only the bare minimum got done at either place. My house, four months later, still looks like we moved in yesterday.

Thank God that the other grandmother, who lives in the area was able and willing to do the afternoon shift. There went eight weeks. And finally, armed with a freezer full of ready-to-eat meals and an accommodating husband, darling daughter was able to hold her own. Nothing heroic yet, but at least essential functions. So it was time for California for me.

Good summer: California! Sorta. I am NOT a fan of California, but my mom lives there, and my brother, who lives in Japan, was coming for a visit, so that is worthwhile anyplace. It was a trip to remember, dusting off old memories, and making new ones. We were kids again, visiting the house we lived in, playing in the house where we used to visit our cousins half a century ago, doing some touristy things, meeting the new neighbors, enjoying the 107-degree record-breaking heat that we thought we had left at home. Oh, no, scratch that last one. It goes under Bad Summer.

Bad summer: My little mother's health is failing. She can no longer get around without the help of a cane or a walker. Her beloved garden and outside birds now take up far more time than they used to, but...in a way, time is what she has now. Some things she simply can do no more. She gave up driving, leaving her at the mercy of whomever will take the time to take her the few places she needs to go. I am sandwiched between the realization of the mortality of my daughter on one side and of my mother on the other side.

At last home again, home again, to things precariously balanced, but ok for the moment. Nothing good happened at home while I was gone. My house still looked like we moved in yesterday, and my paperwork was piled sky-high. Neither of those has shown any significant improvement. But nothing terribly bad happened, either, and though my darling daughter has had another small relapse or two, she is overall very much better, a fact for which we are very thankful, even though we still don't know what ails her.

Just to top off the bad-ness of the summer, shortly after I came home my internet went on strike. Two weeks later, I am still internet-less, on begged and borrowed computer time, and really, no relief on the horizon that I can see. Trivial in the big scheme of things, I know, but how frustrated do I want to be. Technology is wonderful. When it works, but, alas.... And now I am ashamed to even include this little irritation in my bad summer, because the hits just kept on coming.

More Bad Summer: Two days later we had word that our little 3-year-old friend died suddenly. Her grandmother and I were homeschooling moms together about a hundred years ago, when our children were young. A lot of things can happen in 25 years, and what happened was that our children grew up and became parents themselves. This little girl suffered some major injuries at birth, and her life was severely compromised. She was blind, and at the age of 3 still did not sit up or even hold her own head up. We always knew that "someday" this would happen, but we had no way to know that it would be as simple and sudden, and shocking, as a cold when she was visiting her other grandmother in Florida with her family. I am once again acutely confronted with mortality in a place you don't usually find it.

Yet more of a Bad Summer: My daughter's precious mother-in-law, so selfless and generous all summer long with her time and her resources, has been diagnosed with inflammatory breast cancer. All the more unbelievable because she was perfectly fine until only five days before, but since then, every day she is visibly worse than the day before.

What could possibly measure up to a summer that set out to be so promising? Well, as it turned out, maybe nothing. Maybe nothing at all. Maybe what trumps everything is the uneventful, everyday, ordinary day.

A Housewife's Life - August

2010-08-17T23:25:00.004-05:00

This brought to mind Jenny Wren's "A Day in My Life" from awhile back. That was always fun to write, and it's fun to look back at now and then and be reminded of all the little ordinary things that make up a lifetime.

I was out of the house by 6:15 this morning for Mom Duty. C has been having some health issues for the last month or so, and today I took her to her fluoroscopy appointment ~ basically a 2-and-a-half-hour x-ray. Good thing I remembered my book!

After the appointment we stopped briefly at the bookstore, and by then it was well into lunchtime, so we drove through our favorite drive-thru, Chick-Fil-A, on our way home.

When we got home we found the other grandma watching Mickey Mouse with the little kids while the big kids played a round of football against a team of stuffed animals.

I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out what to do next. We moved recently and still have piles and piles of boxes all over the house waiting to be unpacked and put away, or better yet, donated. Gotta get busy on that!

After dinner I watched NCIS. I usually have a date to watch it with M on IM, but he had better things to do tonight, so I just caught up folding the laundry while I watched the rerun, and later I shopped for an airline ticket for a trip to California to visit my mom and her sister, and my brother and his family who will be there from Japan for a couple of weeks.

Now it's bedtime, and it's still HOT! Nothing like going to bed and sweating all night under the fan.

The Fine Print

2010-07-13T21:29:00.005-05:00

Shouts of "DO WE GET A REFUND???" provided a welcome interruption to the tedium of malingering at the end of the long, slow line to check in for our flight to Jamaica. A quick glance around the terminal revealed the source: a knot of women chattering excitedly as they frantically waved their passport-card-bearing hands around.

It did not take long to learn that these women would not be taking their long-anticipated, eagerly-awaited vacation in Jamaica, because when they applied for their passports they opted to save $35 by going with the $65 passport card rather than the $100 passport book.

All but one of the women walked away, to the general murmur of sympathy among the rest of the passengers. Consensus: It wasn't their fault. WAAAAH! It should have been explained to them that the card is good only for cruises and for driving acroxx into Canada or Mexico.

My mind floated back to the day I saw the question on my passport application: Card? Or Book? I DON"T KNOW!!!! And nobody explained it to me, either. The difference between me and them was...I asked. And I guess their friend asked, too, because she was the lone one in the group with a book passport and no compunction about going on to Jamaica without them.

My best advice is: Read the fine print. And if you can't make it out, ask. Because the vacation you save may be your own.

Signs of Jamaica

2010-07-13T16:38:00.010-05:00

Traffic signs:

ARRIVE ALIVE, DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE.
PROTECT YOUR HEAD, DON'T END UP DEAD, illustrated by a picture of a motorcycle going off in one direction while its rider takes a conk on his helmeted head.
SPEED KILLS. DON'T BE IN A HURRY TO ENTER ETERNITY.
KEEP FATALITIES DOWN. DRIVE, RIDE, AND WALK GOOD.
GIVE WAY = Yield.

Other road signs:

Only fools break safety rules.
Children our future - Watch out for them on the road.
NO SMOKIN ~ We thought at first that the "G" had fallen off, but on second thought...Maybe not?
Have a COOL day.
PROUD TO BE JAMAICAN ~ A caricature of a horse head saying "Yeh, Mon."

Billboards:

Spruce up Jamaica. Nice up Yourself ~ Some sort of tourist promotion?
My Life Soon Set with Lotto.

Business names:

Stronger for Longer ~ Name of a battery store.
Choice Cut for Choosy People ~ Deli, grocery, meat store.
Haberdashery ~ I'm not sure I've ever even seen a haberdashery store, but in Jamaica they abound, a holdover, I suppose, from their recent British past.
Liquor and Ice Cream ~ The store with something for everybody.
Long and Strong ~ A party store.
FDR ~ Franklyn D Resort.
Art's Car Park ~ I saw several of these, kinda like a chain business. I never could figure out if it was a parking lot or a car dealer, but at least it rhymes.
Devon House I Scream, Devon House I Cream ~ The Baskin-Robbins of Jamaica, I'm guessing.

And, the WINNER! Seen at a gas station:

NO NAKED LIGHTS = "No Smoking."

Definitive Guide to Moving

2010-06-15T08:56:00.001-05:00

Don't.

Primary 2010

2010-04-05T16:35:00.004-05:00

214 Republican, 39 Democrats. That was the final count on Primary Election Day last month. A pretty typical voter turnout in Small Town, Texas.

I worked my first election in Harris County, Texas back in 1992, when my Man and I were approached by a fellow homeschool mom who I later found out served, with her husband, as the county chairman. We did not know, when we both agreed to do our Civic Duty, that it was actually a paying job. Not a big paying job, but still. When one is unemployed, as my Man was at the time, any pay is more than no pay. Since then I have worked at elections of all sorts ~ city elections, special elections, runoff elections, primary elections, presidential elections, off-year elections, school board elections, you-name-the elections ~ both as a clerk and as a judge.

Whatever one’s capacity, Election Day is one l-o-n-g day, beginning long before dawn and ending long after dark. Some elections, such as the Presidential election, are much more popular than others, but whichever it is, and no matter how un/popular it may be, you can just rest assured that somebody is going to be there well before opening time to whine about something:

The door wasn’t unlocked until three seconds after 7:00a.m;
The yellow sheet wasn’t posted;
The VOTE sign is sagging at the corner;
The distance markers aren’t exactly at 100 feet;
This voter didn’t get a card in the mail;
That voter’s mother is on oxygen and can’t make it to the poll, so she is being disenfranchised;
The other voter wasn’t told who was on the ballot;
The next voter doesn’t speak English, and an Urdu interpreter hasn’t been provided.

What doesn’t really matter; the object is to complain. Loudly and bitterly, making sure everyone in the vicinity is privy to the voter’s pain and suffering. And since, in the age of PC-ness, we are in the business of appeasement, well, we better be good and ready to fix up every little one of their little hearts’ desires. And that’s the way most elections go.

You might think all elections are equally easy/hard to hold, but you would be wrong. City and school board elections are usually easy ones, because only the most dutiful and informed citizenry are even aware of those. Presidential elections, on the other hand, tend to be somewhat hazardous, particularly when there is a hotly contested or polarizing competition. Voters who have never seen the inside of a polling place come out for those, and they all have “issues.“

If I had to choose the hardest/worst election to work, it would be, no contest, the Primary. That’s because that is the election where the most uninformed show up. All they know for sure is that they have rights: the right to vote, the right to have a ballot in their language, the right not to have to wait in line, things like that. Conspicuously missing is their duty to educate themselves, and they are often ignorant as to what is at stake and/or how the system works. This results in a whole lot of clueless voters, who, when asked if they wish to vote Republican or Democrat, lose not a moment unleashing a torrent of abuse and foul language on the poor miscreant who dares to inquire.

“WHAT do you mean??? You can‘t ask me THAT!!! How DARE you infringe on my right to privacy! That is NONE of YOUR BUSINESS!!! I have the right to a secret ballot!!! Where’s the complaint number??? I’m going to report you!!!” Etc.

Well, Primary Election Day, 2010 wasn’t any different. We had the usual assortment of righteously indignant voters who threatened not to vote if we made them divulge their party affiliation, but only one or two actually made good on their promise. And then there were those in the wrong precinct who heaped outrage upon us for trying to direct them to the right one. There were the requisite two or three illiterates who had to have the ballot read to them, and don’t forget the few who found it too difficult to get out of the car and had to have a ballot taken to them outside. Add to that two election workers who nearly came to blows. Nothing really out of the ordinary. Until…

Enter the voting Nazi (Am I allowed to use that word without being offensive to somebody?). In all my years of working elections, this lady was a first. My first thought was how much she reminded me of one of my children’s piano teachers. But I was quickly disabused of that notion.

She wore a pencil-skirted business suit and stiletto heels, and hair pulled severely back into a braid that was clipped onto the top of her head. In her left hand she carried a wallet/planner/something-or-other, and with her right hand she shook hands with everyone in the room, showing off her badge as she introduced herself. She made sure we alllll knew she was a special officer from Fort Hood who did background investigations for top secret clearances (Hmmm….Is that really something you go around advertising?).

“Rep or Dem?” we asked.

“I’ll take Dem,” she crisply informed us. “I’m not going to vote like everyone else.” And away she clicked across the freshly polished faux-wood floor to the corner of the room where the *e* voting machine was set up.

But almost immediately she was back. And she was frantic. There was only one person she specifically wanted to vote for. He had told her she could vote for him! But he wasn’t on the Dem ballot! And that’s when she bothered to look at the Rep ballot (which was prominently displayed on the wall next to the door, but which neither she, nor anybody else, had ever bothered to look at). Lo and behold, there was her man, and oh-so-fortunately, she had not yet hit the *enter* button on her ballot, so we were able to cancel her Dem ballot and give her a Rep one. That was our one-and-only canceled ballot of the day.

Off she scurried again with her ballot, presumably the right one this time, and she soon came back to our table, once again securely in possession of all her self-confident persona, for another round of smiles, head-bowing, hand-shaking, and “thank you’s” to each of us for doing our civic duty.

So in case you’ve ever put any faith in our “Democratic Process” or in our duly elected leaders, or in those who elect them for that matter, you may want to reconsider. Sometimes I think we would do just as well with a roll of the dice…a crap shoot, so to speak.

Happy Voting!

Census, Anyone?

2010-04-01T23:41:00.005-05:00

People are funny. If you don’t believe me, try taking census. I did. Twenty years ago. In Houston, Texas of all places! I must have been out of my mind.

My first assignment was “non-response follow-up.” That meant going door-to-door to all the houses that had not returned a census form. Well, at least according to the Census Bureau's record. More than one of my “clients” claimed they had already sent in the form, and they weren’t all that pleased about now being interviewed in person, particularly when they had originally been sent the 6-question short form and were now being asked to fill out the 12-page long form. Can’t say that I blame them…

Talk about intrusive… How is the number of bathrooms in your house any of the government’s business? Or how much you paid for your house? Or what time you leave your house to go to work in the morning? Or whether you go to work in the afternoon? Yep. Definitely intrusive.

That distasteful aspect of the job aside, there was a sort of fun and fascinating side to it : going all over Houston to all sorts of neighborhoods and places I would never ordinarily go, and meeting all sorts of people that I would never meet on my regular daily rounds.

I’m pretty sure I would not tackle that job today; as I say, I was probably out of my mind. If not, I was at least Naïve, with a capital N. The country girl come to town.

Some of the people I met:

A 35-year-old grandmother of five babies, all under the age of 3, all children of her 18-year-old daughter who was then pregnant with her 6th child (This, I learned, is possible, if you have four pregnancies, each 11 months apart, one of which results in twins, and, of course, you have to start early.). As Grandma lamented bitterly that the judge kept taking the babies away from the daughter and giving the custody to her, the bedroom door opened, and who should emerge but the pregnant daughter and her boyfriend. “MOM!” I wanted to say. “Get a clue!!!!”

And then there was the guy on the bayou. A house on a bayou is no novelty in Houston. In fact, my own backyard ended at a bayou. But this guy was a wee bit different. His back yard was full of five alligators and 13 raccoons, and I left with an invitation to bring my children over to see them. Anytime.

One address that had failed to respond turned out to be not a house, but a bar, where several of the midday patrons offered to buy me a drink. They didn’t really accept “no” for an answer, until the kindly bartender pointed out that I was “on duty.” He did, however, invite me to come back when I was no longer on the clock.

Some people were just plain nice. They invited me to come in and have a glass of lemonade, and you know what? Sometimes I did. We were trained/cautioned/instructed NOT to go inside any houses, but, well, sometimes the heat and the humidity joined together to persuade me, and I must say, I was never sorry.

Maybe the strangest place I went was the mannequin factory. As far as I could tell, it was just another old house in another old neighborhood. I knocked on the screen door, and in response to “Come in,” I did. And got the shock of my life. There was not a soul in the room. What there was in the room was a whole slew of body parts. Some hanging from the ceiling, others on the floor, yet others on a table. The sound of the voice calling to come through to the next room kindof jolted me back to, uh, reality, and I started to notice that these were parts of mannequins. Well, as I say, I must have been out of my mind, because I went on through. To another shock: Sitting in the next room on a stool, painting a mannequin head was…Santa Claus. I swear. He was sitting there, just like in the movies. Red pants. White t-shirt. Wire-rimmed glasses. Long white hair. Flowing white beard. As I looked around I could see into some of the other rooms, and they, too, were full of body parts. Santa explained that this old once-upon-a-time house had been changed into a mannequin factory, one of only a handful in the country, and he was it. He sanded and painted and whatever else it is one does to dummies and shipped them off to various clients all over the country. So he said. In hindsight, I think it might have been a toy factory in disguise.

Another strange thing I encountered from time to time was a respondent who did not know who lived in the house. They were usually ok with their own name and maybe another one or two, but before it was over they would be yelling across the room: “Honey! Who else lives here?“ “Does Becky’s boyfriend stay here?“ “What about that guy that always wears a polo shirt?“ “Do any of them work?“

More than once I encountered a less-than-friendly dog, but only once was I threatened with one, unlike another member of my team who complained that it must be mandatory to have a junkyard dog in Houston.

Another time, while climbing the stairs to a garage apartment, I was met with a shower of dust and debris from above. I looked up through the cloud and discovered Magilla Gorilla sweeping off the landing.

I think the very best benefit of the job was that here I met SE. She happened to be driving out of the park one day as I was driving in to meet my team leader. I really didn’t notice her until she whipped around, got out of the car, and came towards me. She had seen my bumper sticker and wanted to ask me about it. It was love at first sight, and she remains one of my dearest friends still, 20 years later.

So now it is Census Day again. April 1st, 2010. Hmmm...Isn't that April Fool's Day? I can't help wondering about the significance of that. In another bizarre moment of madness, I applied for a job, which entailed taking a bonehead test and filling out some papers. I heard I did very well on the test, and if the number of follow up phone calls is any indication, I believe it. Someone or other calls from the census bureau just about daily to offer me a job, but somewhere between the test and the phone call, sanity kicked in, and so far I have declined every offer.

It’s a decent-paying job by any standard, especially so in the current economy. But…I am older and wiser now, and I fear I may get the task of going to any of several Edgar-Allen-Poe houses that I have seen around town. What if I run into Magilla or Santa again? What if they invite me in again? Twenty years down the road I have lost a lot of my innocence, and things just don’t seem as benevolent as they once did.

2010...it’s a different world. No, thank you.

Say AAAHHHHH! Part 2

2010-03-09T14:47:00.011-06:00

I believe in allowing my fearfully-and-wonderfully-made self every opportunity to heal itself. Alas, I am aware that we live in a fallen world, and despite the Perfect Design, sin sometimes gets the upper hand. So, after suffering through four days of rock-swallowing pain, yesterday I conceded and went to The Doctor. That is a big, big deal for me. Fortunately, I was able to get an appointment with Dr. K, so that made things better before I even got there.

The Good News: Throat is nice and pink, ears and nose and lungs clear. This eliminates strep, pneumonia, TB, and a host of other respiratory undesirables. Dr. K cannot find a single thing wrong with me, so he wants to write me up in the medical journals, because:

The Bad News: I have the most severely painful sore throat, I can't swallow and I can't spit, and I keep coughing up crap, although . . . hhmmmm . . . come to think of it, that has lightened up considerably since I started washing out my head with the neti pot.

The Good News: Dr. K believes me, and he has a suspicion of what might be causing my pain (hemosomethingorother). And, he knows the perfect antibiotic to take care of it.

The Bad News: This antibiotic is distantly related to another one which is distantly related to penicillin, and I am allergic to penicillin. Oh, and it tastes vile. According to Dr. K, "If you don't get this good and all the way down, you will be tasting it for the next 12 hours."

The Good News: "Nine out of ten 'pen-allergics' can take this drug with no ill effects, but if you react badly to it, we'll try something else." Well, that's great for the Nine. I hope I am one of them.

The Bad News: I could be the One. But I am desperate.

The Good News: They have generic.

The Bad News: The generic costs $67!!!

The Good News: I have $67.

The Bad News: Not anymore I don't.

As anti-antibiotic as I am, I was actually anxious to take this nasty pill. I could not wait to get rid of this sore throat. But, whoa! Maybe I should wait until morning to take it? You know, where if I have an allergic reaction I can call the doctor's office instead of hitting the ER.

My impatience won out, and I took the first evil-tasting dose and went about my business. A little bit later I had an itch on my stomach, and an ever-so-tiny little welt. NNOOOOOO!!!! It's starting! Then my hand itched, and then my foot, then my back and my hair, and here an itch, there an itch, everywhere an itch, itch, ITCH, and . . . PSYYYYCH!!! It was just those little everyday itches. No ulterior motives. It reminded me of how a bunch of moms start talking about lice and pretty soon they are all scratching their heads.

This morning I woke up soooo much better! Not good, but compared to how I woke up yesterday, it was practically a miracle. I took the second dose, making sure I ate first, as per directions, and...

So Far, So Good!

Dear Dr. K, thank you, Thank You, THANK YOU!!!!!

Day 4

2010-03-07T12:59:00.005-06:00

Sorry to say, I am something of a connoisseur of sore throats, and this one is absolutely the sore throat from hell, complete with knives and fire. At least the headache hasn't made a re-appearance.

Yesterday I tried oil of oregano and GSE. Oh, and chocolate. Nothing made a dent, and what a waste of chocolate that was.

Today I am still doing the hourly gargle with one thing or another, and still spraying as much as I can stand. Not that anything helps.

On tap for today: a steaming bath, reflexology, Aleve, and more fervent pleas to the Great Physician. If I don't miraculously recover by tomorrow morning...the doctor it is. I am desperate!

Say AAAAAAAGGGHHHHH!!!!!

2010-03-05T17:48:00.006-06:00

I have the dubious distinction of playing host to the biggest, baddest sore throat on the planet. To borrow a phrase from the deadly departed Saddam Hussein, it is The Mother of all Sore Throats.

The last time I had this sore throat was, hmmm.... back in January. It was a just-shoot-me-now kind of sore throat, but it lasted only one day. Alas, it was followed by five solid weeks of rib-shattering coughing, but last Monday I noticed that the coughing had eased up quite a bit, so, even though my ribs were still sore, they were getting a break.

Tuesday my ill health took a Sabbatical while I worked a 14-hour day at the election, but yesterday, oh, my...

Yesterday the sore throat was back, with an edge, and instead of hanging out with D and the Princess and the Gingerbread Cookie, I spent the day trying out different cold/sore throat remedies:

Tried-and-true hot water with honey and lemon. Check.
Hot whiskey. Check.
Salt water gargle. Check.
Vicks. Check.
Tea tree oil gargle. Check.
Sore throat spray. Check.
Hot tea. Check.
Zinc lozenges. Check.
Plain hot water. Check.
Raw garlic. Really.

I tried them allll. Nothing touched it. It's a sore throat on steroids. I'd say the prize for the worst remedy was the tea tree oil gargle. Until I tried the garlic. Holy cow! That might have been the longest ten minutes of my life. It put tears in my eyes and fire in my mouth. If it had half the effect on the germs that it had on me...wow, the possibilities are endless. But no. Same old sore throat, and now I definitely need a new toothbrush.

That was yesterday.

Today, Round Two: Airborne, vinegar gargle, nutmeg tea, more Vicks, more hot tea. So far no good. I would have tried the dark Karo syrup gargle, but I don't have any of that, and I would have tried the neti pot, but I don't have any plain salt on hand, so those will be for tomorrow after a quick trip to the store.

So. Advice and suggestions welcome. I am willing to try anything. If anybody out there is working on any experimental drugs, I'm your guinea pig. For now, I am going to go to bed. At 8:30. Hardly proper.

If things don't improve around here, I may have to resort to my very last resort...GASP...the doctor...

Worthy Winter

2010-02-18T20:36:00.006-06:00

So much for Wispy Western Winters. This wet and wild and windy one has hung on longer and colder than any in recent memory.

Winter Weather isn't just Weather. It is a whole other entity, demanding to be consulted and considered multiple times every day, beginning as soon as I get up.

Actually, it begins before that...Am I even sure I want to get up? Trade in the cozy comfort of my warm bed to do battle with the frigid air waiting right outside the covers? Shiver into a wooly bathrobe to make my way to the bathroom so I can splash icy water onto my sleepy face?

What's the menu today? Forget salad or sandwiches. I better dig out the crockpot and load up some chili or some bean soup or some other warming, comforting thing.

How early do I need to leave to allow for windshield-scraping, road-icing, traffic-jamming, and still get there on time? And WHERE is the ice scraper?!

Will a jacket be enough? Do I need a serious coat? Gloves? What about some layers? And don't forget the scarf!

Outside? Can I take a walk? Maybe I better stay in and chase down the exercise videos. Can I plant my garden? Or do I need to unearth the peat pots and play in the garage?

The nerve. Coming in here to micromanage every minute of my day. But here you are, and what can't be cured must be endured. So, to the third member of our little two-person family ~ Welcome, W/interloper.

BRRR!

2010-01-08T14:37:00.000-06:00

Not even three weeks into winter, and It's Snowtime! Winter in this part of the country never really begins until well into January, and then it's basically in name only. Nothing really to write home about. But this year...!!!

*Snow* on Xmas Eve!!! True, just a slight dusting, but in central Texas snow is snow, and on Xmas morning, there was some still left in the shady places. Almost-White Almost-Xmas. UNHEARD OF!!!
Just a few days later, it happened again! Two snows in less than one week's time! Now, according to M, in New York these would barely qualify as flurries, but in Texas we take what we can get.
Yesterday, after scraping and de-icing, my Man took off for work one hour later than his usual 5:30 am departure time, only to return in half an hour with this report: "I barely got as far as Walgreen's. My windshield kept icing up, and I had to pull over four times to scrape the ice. So I turned around and came home, and I am going to call in."
According to the news yesterday: "Anchorage, Alaska; Someplace in Antarctica (I really should take better notes.); and Another Anonymous Place (I really should take better notes!). Q: What do these three places have in common? A: They are all warmer than Austin, Texas today.
We are going for our third night of record-breaking cold, as in overnight temperatures of 8-10º. Previous record is 15º. In 1913. That is almost a century!
No frozen pipes for us, thank goodness, unless you count the outside faucet connected to the dog-waterer. But, we did have a friend over for a shower today, due to frozen pipes at his house.
And it isn't just Texas. From the wastelands of Kansas, D reports that it took three city trucks and a monster tow truck six hours to free the garbage truck from the snowdrift in front of her house.

Somebody call Al Gore! This Global Warming simply has to stop!

Christmas Past

2009-12-28T11:03:00.001-06:00

Three days after Xmas, and more holiday to come:

Thursday New Year's Eve party, complete with fireworks, out in the COLD;
Friday Dinner with Little Sister and family;
Saturday J family reunion.

And then, End of Holiday. Sometimes I think it's easier to stay up all night than to get up in the middle of it, but we do plan to get *some* sleep on Saturday night, the better to get up Sunday "morning" at 2:30 AM to get M to the airport for his 6:01 flight back to West Point.

On a related note, I am still writing "Xmas" cards, only technically I have now moved on the "Happy New Year" cards. I still have miles to go, but I am sooooo far ahead of where I was at this time last year! And, after talking with a number of friends, I am pleased to note that I am not the only one in this predicament. It's a pandemic!

Christmas Continued

2009-12-25T11:02:00.000-06:00

No kidlets in this house on Xmas morning. That is a first for us in the last 35 years. Not a happy first.

This year, my very first not to host Xmas dinner at my house, C and I are sharing the kitchen favors. My duty is to make the classic green bean casserole and the dressing for the turkey, which C is going to cook, and while I am busy not cooking the turkey, I am answering a series of phone calls from C.

Once we get everything ready here, we are off to the second shift of Xmas at C's house, where she and De have cooked their very first turkey. Everything is well in hand, the turkey is eminently edible! and, unlike last Xmas, this dinner goes off uneventfully.

C's extra guests include their sweet little neighbors, a young army family with two small children. Having gone home to Utah for Thanksgiving, they are, or would be, spending Xmas alone at home. They are pleasant company, and ever so appreciative, repeatedly expressing thanks for the invitation.

We eat, we visit, we open presents, we talk, we play games, we clean up. And eventually it is time to call it a day. So we divvy up the leftovers and head home, to our Xmas-less house. Well, Xmas-less it would be, but our cadet comes home with us, so we are happily blessed.

Another Xmas goes to memory, and another year. 2010 is just ahead. 2010??? Now if someone would tell me it was 1999 coming up, that I could believe!

'Twas the Week Before Xmas

2009-12-24T09:39:00.000-06:00

Sunday ~ Xmas tree is leaning forlornly against the side of the house, waiting, waiting, waiting to come in! I give C instructions to take the turkey out of the freezer today. I start thinking about writing Xmas cards. But just thinking about it.

Monday ~ Today is spent last-minute tidying. M is due at 8:45 tonight, but his plane is early, of all things, and we find him standing on the sidewalk in front of the terminal. On our way home we stop briefly at C's to disrupt their bedtime and then hit the Taco Bell drive-thru.

Tuesday ~ Dark and early I am up to put Cajun Beef Stew, at M's request, in the crockpot, my very favorite kitchen servant. Ordinarily M spends his mornings at home sleeping. But today he gets up early-ish and brings in the Xmas tree! Then we go out for ~~last-minute~~ Xmas shopping and other errands. After lunch we head to C's to make Xmas cookies. Then we come home to eat and run. It's Xmas caroling night! When we get home M dresses the Xmas tree with lights, half of which don't work. They worked when we put them away last year, so....????

Wednesday ~ Another dark and early morning. M goes off with the chimney sweep. I stay home and write a couple of Xmas cards. The guys come back for lunch, and later C and crew come over for dinner. And Xmas-tree decorating. I may start a "Twelve Days of Christmas Tree Decorations" tradition.

Thursday ~ Xmas Eve! Snow flurries!!! Early morning grocery shopping. And that's it! Positively NO MORE shopping before Xmas!!!! More writing of more Xmas cards, and this afternoon M is off to spend the night at C's. Guess why? Because he doesn't think it's proper to wake up on Xmas morning in a kidless-house? I must say I agree. But, he is the kidlet of this house, so What? About? Us??? Except for the first Xmas we were married, we have never had a Xmas morning without kidlets, so I guess we are getting ready to find out what that's like.

Still to do ~ dressing and green bean casserole to cook, presents to wrap, still Xmas cards to write and plenty more where those came from.

We have to share S with his in-laws, so we had Xmas with his family last week; D, alas, is off in the wilds of Kansas, trapped, thanks to Global Warming, in the Blizzard of the Century, so we will not be seeing them anytime soon. But tomorrow, M and C+...

Christmas coming up!

Christmas, First Shift

2009-12-20T21:17:00.002-06:00

S and G and the Blue-Eyed Boy live in a maze in some remote part of the county. Every time we go there it's a whole new world, and we can't remember the way. Or maybe it's that we always come from a different direction...? In any case, yesterday was no exception.

We knew which exit to take off the highway, but...then what? When the road dead ends do we turn left? Or do we turn right? What to do when we get to the high school? And which way is the church that we have to pass in order to get to the bridge? Time to call S for directions. Again. The same way, I'm embarrassed to say, we have to do every time we go to their house. Too bad he isn't answering the phone...

Fortunately, the Chimney Sweep gets around, and after a bit of wandering like the lost tribes of Israel, he saw something familiar and got an inspiration of how to proceed. YAY!! We arrived just minutes after C and D, the BB's, and the Other Princess.

Dinner strayed a bit from the usual, all in a good way: fried turkey, green bean bundles, peppermint cheesecake. Oh, and what was left of the mashed potatoes after the crockpot tipped over in the car at the stop sign.

Presents, too, anything anybody could possibly want...

pj's
legos
books
games
scented candles
soft, fuzzy gripper socks
puzzles
gadgets

...and the first shift of Xmas passes to memory.

D is still off traipsing the wilds of Kansas and will not be home at all this year, but next year lurks on the horizon getting closer by the minute.

M, happily, will be home tomorrow evening. So...Xmas, Part II, coming up!

Bah Humbug/Merry Christmas!

2009-12-09T22:02:00.001-06:00

This morning found my Man and me cooling our heels at the post office in possession of a little orange slip informing us that we had something to pick up at the window. The line was long and slow, affording lots of time for endless speculation, but the little paper gave us not a clue, and we could not imagine what it might be or whom it might be from.

We eventually were next, and we handed it over to our Favorite Postal Clerk who scurried off to look for it. He was back right away with the news that we had a postage-due letter.

Did we want it? he inquired.

Well, we don't know...Who is it from? we asked.

He showed it to us, and we were no better off than we were before. There was no return address, but it was quite obviously a Xmas card. Having received only a dozen or so cards so far this season, and since my Man (quite out of the ordinary) had a $ in his pocket, we decided to spring for another one. AHA! Light bulb moment!

Xmas cards are/is? one of my favorite traditions of the season. They are sometimes our only communication all year with a faraway loved one, so I love getting and sending them, but the price of postage, higher every year, is frankly starting to suck the joy out of it. I hate spending untold $$$ on postage, but I also hate not sending the cards, so in recent years I have resorted to cost-saving measures such as spending a few cents less to mail postcards instead of regular cards with envelopes.

But this!!!! This is waaaaay better! If you send the cards with no return address, the post office cannot return them to you, and if you send them with no stamp, your ~~victims~~ friends will have to pay to get them! How can you beat that? Well, I do have one other idea for you: instead of spending $ to buy postcards, cut the fronts off the cards you receive and use those for postcards. Voila'!!! Free cards, free postage. Now, that you can't beat!!!

My Man forked over the $, and we were on our way. Back in the car we could not wait to see who it was from, so we opened it right away, and TA-DA! Nobel Prize for Economics, Holiday Hints Division, goes to none other than T&E!!!! T&E are two of our very favorite friends, so we were just the happier.

Bah Humbug no more! Given the state of the economy, in any economy at all, 44c for good wishes from good friends is a bargain indeed, and a tip like that...PRICELESS! Merry Christmas!

The Greatest Show On Earth

2009-11-04T22:48:00.000-06:00

Well, not exactly. That would be Barnum & Bailey, wouldn't it, as opposed to Carson & Barnes, which is what showed up here on the edge of town this morning.

Carson & Barnes, the last of the *real* circuses. The ones that play in tents. Wow! And this isn't just any tent. Nosirree!!! This tent is going to be set up by elephants. And, the public is invited to watch! So, early(ish) in the morning, C and her kidlets came over, and we set off to see the circus.

When we got there, a flatbed trailer sat out in the big middle of the field, waiting for its cargo to unfold into The Big Top. The elephants were lounging around, while a herd of circus men brought them wheelbarrow loads of hay, dusted them off, gave them pedicures, and basically waited on them hand and foot, so we judged we were in plenty of time. No hurries in this camp. We stood around awhile, thoroughly enjoying the elephants, but, I confess, beginning to worry a bit about getting this show on the road, so to speak.

Suddenly...worry no more! Hearing shouts and other assorted noises coming from the direction of the tent, we turned to see a multitude of men, harnessed to various belts and pulleys and all sorts of contraptions, d-r-a-g-g-i-n-g one section of the tent from the trailer over to the edge of a circle of stakes that had been set up around it. All I could think of was the massive backache these guys were going to have by lunchtime.

While we were waiting for the elephants to get in gear, we happened to run into Amanda, the Lady in Charge of the Circus. She looked like she might have been all of 18 or 19 years old (though I must admit pretty much everybody is starting to look like a teenager to me anymore), but in our conversation with her we learned, among other things, that she had a Master's degree, one which cost her parents $20,000 a year, and which apparently qualified her to ride elephants in the circus, dressed in sequins and feathers. Whatever.

She explained the workings of the circus to us:

It plays 300 days in a year. In a row. Without even one day off.
They set up early in the morning on the day of the show, and knock everything down immediately following the show that night.
To be in the circus, one must truly be a Jack-of-all-Trades. Everyone has a job "before the show, during the show, and after the show."
The truck drivers are the animal trainers are the tent setter-uppers are the acrobats.
Sleep is an unheard-of luxury, limited to the time between 1-2 am, after everything is packed up and road-ready, and 5am or so, when it is time to hit the road. She didn't offer any information on when they might possibly squeeze in time for a shower or a meal.
Outside of that abbreviated night, the "downtime" in circus life is from 2-3 pm, when everyone is allowed a one-hour nap, for a grand total of 3-5 hours of sleep a day/night, 300 days in a row...something you might want to keep in mind if you ever find yourself sharing the road with a circus caravan. It might be in your best interest to give them the road.

The relevant information we learned from Amanda, however, was that there would be no elephants helping set up the tent today. Or any other day for that matter. You see, the circus no longer employs elephants to do any work, thanks to the Animal Rights people who have intervened on their behalf.

I glanced over at the men's Herculean efforts to whip that tent into shape and wondered where the Human Rights people were. No word from them evidently.

Nothing from the Green Rights people either, even though by now several petroleum-burning, emission-spewing tractors and bulldozers had been called in to do what an elephant could have done effortlessly and fossil-fuel free. Elephants fart, though, so perhaps it's a trade-off in that respect.

Well, that was the circus. We entertained a vague notion of going to the show this afternoon, but showtime came and went, and no sign of Monga home from work. It's probably just as well, for me, anyway. I'm sure the kidlets would have enjoyed it; I have fond memories of the 1-2 times I went to the circus as a kid myself, but I'm thinking that as an adult, especially after the rude, politically-correct disillusions of this morning, I'm probably better off with my memories. Reality never quite measures up to the Good Old Days.

And just think... "These days" are someday going to be somebody's Good Old Days. Imagine that.

Conservative? Or Liberal?

2009-10-26T08:33:00.001-05:00

Just in case you might be wondering, this is how you can tell a conservative from a liberal:

If a conservative doesn't like guns, he doesn't own one; if a liberal doesn't like guns, he doesn't want anyone to have one.
If a conservative is a vegetarian, he doesn't eat meat; if a liberal is a vegetarian, he wants to ban all meat products for everyone.
If a conservative sees a threat, he thinks about how to defeat it; if a liberal sees a threat, he thinks about how to surrender and still look good.
If a conservative is a black or a Hispanic man, he sees himself as independent and successful; if a liberal is a black or a Hispanic man, he sees himself as a victim in need of government protection.
If a conservative is down-and-out, he tries to improve his situation; if a liberal is down-and-out, he tries to find someone to take care of him.
If a conservative doesn't like a talk show host, he changes the channel; if a liberal doesn't like a talk show host, he demands that the channel be shut down.
If a conservative is a non-believer, he doesn't go to church; if a liberal is a non-believer, he demands that all churches be closed.
If a conservative needs some $, he goes to work; if a liberal needs some $, he puts his hand out and waits for *someone* to put some $ in it.
If a conservative needs health care, he shops for it, or he looks for a job that provides it; if a liberal needs health care, he expects his neighbors to pay for it.

And isn't it interesting that a conservative is proud to be called a conservative, but a liberal is *offended* to be labeled a liberal.

So...Any questions?

The Thing About Moms...

2009-10-25T08:07:00.000-05:00

...is that once you are the mom, you are never not the mom.

It doesn't matter that your kidlets are grown up:

C is a competent, capable SAHM with four little kidlets of her own;
While I once patrolled the halls at night checking on all the kidlets sleeping safely in their little beds, now S, a police officer, is on the prowl out there making the world safe for me to sleep in;
D, mom of two, is halfway acroxx the country in Kansas of all places, making the most of what comes and the least of what goes;
And halfway acroxx the country in another direction, M is becoming a soldier who will have my back on another front.

That's it. They're all grown up. They are adults. They are all responsible, contributing citizens. And they are still my kidlets. I am still the mom. They still check in. We communicate. We visit, we txt, we email, we fb, we im, we talk on the phone.

And it was while I wandered around the house last night, talking on my cordless phone to one of the dd's, that I had my latest epiphany: Phones may have become cordless, but mothers never will.

Awesome Autumn!

2009-10-20T11:11:00.000-05:00

It's the most wonderful time of the year!

The air is crisp and snappy this morning. The sky is clear and brilliant beyond blue. I'm not a big fan of the sun, but the sunshine this morning is positively inspiring. It's not the heavy sun of summer. It is thin and airy and yellow and it promises a perfect day. A perfectly warm day. Not one of those hot summer days. This day is going to be perfectly pleasant! Warm enough ~and cool enough ~ to sit outside on the swing and enjoy it. No bugs buzzing around. No sweat running down my skin inside my clothes.

Today makes me want to DO!!! Forget about spring cleaning. Something about spring cleaning, besides the work factor, just doesn't appeal to me. But fall cleaning...that's a whole 'nother thing. Mow the yard one last time; put the outside things in the shed; winterize the cars; get out the winter clothes; harvest the last of the summer garden; plan holiday family times. Close down the work of this year and begin regrouping and preparing for the next one.

Well, not really. We don't live that way anymore, and it's our loss. But it's what we're wired for. To live by the calendar. To savor and enjoy every thing in its own turn. To take the time to make each thing special. Year-around, all-season living has taken something from us. We no longer recognize the uniqueness of any given thing. Something along the lines of "a feast every day is no feast."

Sure, it's great that anything that we want, we can have, any time we want it. Sorta. But it dulls our appreciation for the thing. It turns it into one more piece of clutter in a sea of too many choices.

So, I am for the simplicity of living for the day, one season at a time. And especially I am for simple living at this time of the year, when Nature gives her accounting and shows off her best.

What could be better than Fall? My deFinite Favorite!

At Home At Home

2009-10-13T14:45:00.001-05:00

It has been raining for three days now. The grass is starting to look, uh, a little weedy and unkempt. But I'm not complaining. There can never be too much rain for me. Anyway, I figure we are starting to make up for what we missed this past season. With the year-long drought, we only had to mow two or three times all season, and now that it's raining and the grass is growing, well, summer is well on the way out. Pretty soon the grass will be in hibernation for the winter, so maybe this is all for the best.

Though the Man of the House has been down with a mini-version of the flu or something the last couple of days, he was all set to suit up and get back to work this morning; but dark and early, before we were even up, the phone rang. It was our first client, 25 miles away, with the weather report at her house: torrential rain. Shortly after that we had a call from our next client, 25 miles beyond the first one...same song, second verse.

I got the picture and decided to call and re-schedule the whole day's calendar, though I did wait an hour or two, until I thought they might be out of bed. It can be an exercise in insanity, trying to schedule clients in a way that maximizes time and gas usage; fortunately, everyone on today's business is flexibly retired, so it was easy to move the whole schedule, intact, to another day. Hopefully a dry day.

So my Man ends up at home, on his fourth day of leisure, our fourth day at home alone together. Wow, I don't know when might be the last time that has ever happened. "We" have lots to do:

the usual household chores ~ never any vacation from those;
pumpkin cookies to make ~ with only two of us here, the vast majority of those, enough to last all year, are going in the freezer;
red chicken soup, an old family favorite, for lunch;
radio talk shows and tv, of course;
a week's worth of laundry to fold, and the once-a-month (or less) ironing;
books to read;
a constantly ringing phone to answer ~ weather like this suddenly makes everyone think about heating up the fireplace;
oh, and tonight, NCIS! It is M's favorite show, the only one we watch with regularity, and we watch it with IM in place, the better to bond with M.

All in all, a great day to stay home.

O,Bummer!

2009-10-09T15:38:00.000-05:00

I am in shock. Again. But not in a good way. In case I was harboring any doubt/hope that we are not rushing headlong to hell in a handbasket, on the express, today's news sharply disabused me of that notion.

President Obama. "Humbled" recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize. Humbled??? What he should be is embarrassed.

Hmmm....What prestigious award could possibly be next? Surely there are accolades to come.

Since he loves NCAA basketball, how about a national championship? Or an MVP?
Perhaps a Motor Trend Car of the Year? He does know how to drive one.
Maybe a Blue Ribbon from the Illinois State Fair? He is known to like pie.
A Pulitzer for his books?
Or the NASCAR Sprint Cup? No one turns left like President Obummer.

A peace prize for what he wants to do, not for what he's done. The Nobel Peace Prize is officially a joke.

An Army Of Our Own

2009-10-01T22:27:00.000-05:00

Things tend to take on a life of their own.

So, I am moving my WP blogs over here.

YESSS!!!!!!!

2009-09-18T10:20:00.000-05:00

I am in shock. For once in a good way. I am absolutely stunned to hear that Congress has overwhelmingly voted to defund ACORN.

According to the CBS News this evening, this will cost ACORN "tens of millions of dollars." Man, I hate their luck. But one man's trash is another man's treasure, and what ACORN loses someone else stands to gain. If Katie is right, there is $, $, $ by the ~~pound~~ ton floating around, and as was pointed out by a friend just a few hours ago, "There is no dormant $ in Washington."

So...What to do with alllllll that extra $? I vote we use it to fund WALNUT: Workers Against Lazy Non-producers United Together. Equal time/opportunity and all that.

This? Or That?

2009-09-17T23:09:00.000-05:00

Outside of the de rigeur academics and military science and sports, the life of a West Point cadet is full of opportunity. To name a few of the bigger deals in his one year there so far: M has gotten a New York state and a national EMT certification; he has traveled to Israel as a guest of the IDF; he has debated (and won!) against Harvard and Yale and others of their ilk. He has had occasion to shake the hand of the president (Bush, not N/Obama); and he has marched in the presidential inaugural parade (alas, N/Obama's). He has learned how to hack computers; he has driven a tank, coordinating a platoon (Is that the right military technology?) of tanks and hummers. He has even dislocated a jaw (his) and broken a nose (also his), courtesy of the evil boxing class required of all male West Point cadets.

This year is shaping up to be equally fascinating. He is on the debate team again, as well as MUN (Is that a team?), both of which offer the possibility of a trip to Oxford. As in England. And he is running for Class President. Nothing else occurs to me at the moment, but the year is young...

Well, a few days ago he called with a dilemma: "I could easily major in English," he said, "or history, IR, language, comp sci, or geography, or management, or philosophy. I would love to branch infantry, aviation, finance, transpo, MP, or JAG. I would love to skip the Army, be a SEAL, or work in the CIA, or be a stay-at-home dad, or a teacher, or a cop, but at some point it all has to narrow down..." :-( And that's the thing. You have to choose. Each is different from the others; none is necessarily better, or worse, than the rest. They can each be done well, or they can be done ill. But they can't be done all.

So this whole conversation, like too many other things I get involved in, got me to thinking. One can know a lot about a few things, or a little about a lot of things. One can be a master of one thing, or perhaps two, or even three, but one cannot be a master of them all.

And that whole line of thinking sent me off on another wonder: Once upon a time, people used to graduate from the 8th grade knowing pretty much everything there was to know. Now people go to 12th grade, college, masters, and beyond, and still don't know anything much. The more we learn, the less we know, because every time we find an answer, it opens up another ? or two, or three. AAAGGGHHHH!!!!!

Every time we say *yes* to something, we say *no* to something else. But, we have to say yes to something. Otherwise, we say yes to nothing.

Life is full of possibilities. At least it starts out that way. But "possibilities" is all most of them ever are, because . . . well . . . because there just isn't enough *us* to go around, and as things go along, things change. The changes are subtle, though, so much so that they generally go unnoticed, until one day....!!! Just like that!

All of a sudden, life is full of improbabilities.

The Three-Party Day

2009-09-16T10:14:00.000-05:00

Friendships are like anything else of value: they come at a cost, and one day last month I paid in spades.

First up a baby shower, in a town 20 miles west of here, for a young mom-to-be, known to us before she herself was born. I had initially considered riding with a friend, but then I re-considered after realizing I would probably have to leave before the party broke up.

Next in line, back in my own home town, was a bridal shower for the daughter of a friend. A luau. This was the *dinner* part of my day, but due to a reluctant gas grill, no one on hand who knew how to operate it, and a steady wind that quickly put out any flame that dared actually to light, dinner was just a vision of dreams to come by the time I had to leave that party. Early.

The final event of the day, in the third town of the day 30 miles to the east, was a recital/high school graduation ceremony for another young lady who not so very long ago was just a little scrap of a girl. I coaxed my Man along for this with the promise of a reception to follow. Between our late start and not knowing exactly where we were going, we completely missed the recital part of the program, but we were there for the graduation. After the graduation was the perfect time for the visiting of old friends and the eating of cheesecake in a host of flavors we'd never heard of, but by that time my Man was hungry(er), and while I don't have any such qualms, he just isn't one to eat dessert before he's had some food. Not even cheesecake. :-(

So we compromised. I still got to talk with everyone I saw that I knew, but not for long. We took off for a quick stop at Chick-Fil-A to go, and then home again, home again, by...oh, 9:30 or so.

I'm really pretty much of a homebody. Give me an uninterrupted day at home and I am thoroughly happy, so a day like today wouldn't ordinarily be a great day in my book. But it is the price of friendship, and who am I to argue with that.

Besides, on reflection, it worked out rather well. The parties were nicely staggered, and we got to see a host of old friends, some of whom we had not seen in years... And, all on the same dress-up. ;-) Can't beat that!

Finally! Fabulous! Fall!

2009-09-15T11:48:00.000-05:00

Beginning with last May's triple-digit temperatures, we have just lived through one of the longest, hottest, driest summers on record.

Several days ago it began to rain with a vengeance. Flash floods. Washed out roads. Roaring-river streets. Closed schools. Canceled jobs.

Now the rain has stopped, but the clouds linger. We are having one dreary, grey, dark, cloudy day after another ~ my very favorite weather! We haven't seen the sun in about a week now, but I'd say we've had our share, and more, of the sun and summer ~ enough to last the rest of the year if you ask me ~ so it is definitely time for a break.

I've lived in Texas long enough to know it's not going to last. Any day now, I expect the sun will break through for a blazing round of Indian Summer. But for now it is Fabulous Fall. Time to live again!

New and Improved!

2009-09-03T16:52:00.000-05:00

So what's the deal? Why is it that I can't watch tv without a written set of instructions (after a tutoring session from my kid, that is...)? I consider myself to be fairly intelligent. I can think logically and rationally. I can put a coherent sentence together. I can even add. So it isn't that I'm not smart enough. Nope. Nothing like that. In fact, if anything, I think I may be too smart. The deal is, that what I am not, is tech-y.

I'm thinking that to be truly tech-y, one must be very literal-minded. Nothing can be assumed or taken for granted, and evidently, my mind is given too far over to flights of fancy (perhaps why my family once unanimously voted me the person most likely to be abducted by aliens), but this is actually rather mind-boggling, because in reality, I am probably the most practical person God ever created. If not, I'd like to know who is. In any event, I am definitely a top contender.

I am not much of a tv-watcher at all. My tv consumption is limited to keeping my Man company ~ he watches nature shows and things while I knit and fold laundry ~ and watching NCIS on Tuesday nights with M ~ we "bond" by way of Google IM. That's the extent of my tv habit, so to get back on track, why do I even care that I need directions to turn the thing on? Well, as is soooooooo often the case, the reason I care is that I just can't help it: there is a serious streak of dyed-in-the-wool rebel in me.

I used to be able to turn on the tv, whether I wanted to or not, until the long arm of the Federal Government determined that we alllll needed better tv reception, therefore: Enter the mandatory digital signal. And just like that! with a snap of the Executive Fingers, we are obsolete. In the absence of cable or a dish or a satellite or some other such techno-wonder, a regular tv set "no longer works" and an antenna is useless.

But no worries! If you are unable or unwilling to ante up for new state-of-the-art equipment, Uncle Sam to the rescue with a $40 coupon for a box that will make everything alright again. Where Uncle Sam is coming up with the $ to give these out, and what, exactly, Uncle Sam's interest might be in making sure everyone has ready access to the God-given right of mind-numbing television is a whole 'nother rant, but the thing is, The Box doesn't make everything alright.

We have had The Box for quite a few months now, and while I have mastered the art of Turning on the TV, which is more than I can say for my Man who, in a bizarre turn of events, calls me whenever he wants to watch tv, I must say, the quality of our picture has gone from Analog-Acceptable to Digital-Dreadful. It is true that we get a lot more channels with The Box, but a great deal of the time the picture is broken up into little squares all over the screen. Other times we simply have a black screen displaying a/n (?) "Unable to get a signal for this channel" message. Don't recall ever having either of those problems with analog.

So ... Three or four channels that we can actually see? Or a myriad that we cannot? Which would you choose? Well. Not that you get a choice.

Welcome to yet another phase of Techno-Hell in the new, improved USSA.

The Job vs. The Handout

2009-09-02T19:41:00.000-05:00

I don't know who came up with this idea, but what a concept.

Like most folks in this country, we work for our living. Like many folks in this country, we do it in the form of a small business, at no small sacrifice to our personal lives. Like many small business owners, in addition to working for ourselves, we work for a national retail corporation in order to provide medical insurance which we could not hope to afford privately.

This is how it works: We work, we get paid, we pay our taxes. Perhaps I should rephrase that: We work, we pay our taxes. And then we get paid. And then the government distributes its ill-gotten gain however it sees fit. Great deal, huh? For somebody.

What's bothering me, outside of having no say over my work and my $, is this: In my Man's case, in order to be able to work to get that paycheck, he is required to pass a random urine test. I find that whole notion insulting, but, ok, maybe employers have a legitimate call on that, given the drugged up state of a wide section of the populace. What I seriously have a problem with is the distribution of our $$$ to people who don't have to pass a urine test.

So, here is my Question: Shouldn't one have to pass a urine test to get a welfare check because we have to pass one to earn it for them?

I have no problem with helping people get back on their feet. I do, on the other hand, have a problem with helping someone sitting on his butt ~ doing drugs or who knows what else, while the rest of us are strong-armed into supporting the Lifestyles of the Entitled. . . . . Can you imagine how much money the government would save if people had to pass a urine test before they were given a public assistance check?

I guess we could call that program, 'Urine or You're Out'.

Stunning September

2009-09-01T14:20:00.001-05:00

Today is September in every way:

School traffic running up and down the street,
Dove hunting season,
Cool temperatures,
Cloudy skies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So who needs all the extra traffic jamming up the road.

What in the world am I going to do with the doves besides clog up the freezer.

And "cool" is sorta relative, isn't it. The best I can say about that is this is still summer in Texas, so any temperature that falls short of three digits is a temperature to celebrate.

But the cloudy sky really is something to write home about at this point.

So, one out of four...Ok, not really stunning. Not yet, anyway. But, it has potential: It is September, even in Texas, and after one of the hottest, longest summers on record, we are on the home stretch!

The Proof Is In The Pudding

2009-08-29T11:14:00.000-05:00

Is this an empty-nested world or what? I suppose technically so, since M left over a year ago, but what with the frequent presence of the Blue-Eyed Boy, and then having D and the two little girls living with us for a few months, it was easy to disabuse ourselves of the notion.

Well, the Blue-Eyed Boy has started school :-( so we do not see him as frequently as we used to; and D and the girls have long gone to Kansas, to be seen only on very special occasions. So "home alone" is now pretty much the norm around here.

Some things stubbornly remain the same: the grass still grows just as fast, dust collects just the same, the cars still need the same amount of washing. But other things relentlessly emphasize the empty nest:

There is no more sleeping with one eye open waiting for the squeak of the door that announces the last kidlet's return home for the night;
Laundry, once done at the rate of 2-3 loads every day, is now done 2-3x a week;
Cooking has dropped from 2+ times a day down to once every day or two;
Even dishwashing, the once-upon-a-time, 3x-a-day dreaded chore now happens maybe once a day.

But the other day something happened that well and truly struck home, reinforcing once-and-for-all, that the empty nest is official. It was a simple thing, really, as turning points often are, recognizable only in retrospect. It happened like this:

The other day, somewhat desperately wondering "What's for dinner?" I decided to make an omelet. My mother taught me growing up to keep two dozen eggs on duty at all times, and this I have done faithfully for the last 30+ years, though over the past year, it has pretty much gone to one dozen. Well, this particular evening, I reached for the one lonely dozen in the refrigerator only to notice the *expiration date* of August 6th. Hm... only three weeks out of date.

And that's when it hit me: We not only don't need two dozen eggs on hand, one dozen is even too much. I have always pitied those blue-haired little old ladies in the grocery store buying their little six-packs of eggs to stock their little kitchens. And now . . . NOOOOOOO . . . I am just like them!!!! Well, not quite. I don't have blue hair. But other than that . . . I am, sadly, too much like one of them.

Eggs . . . or the lack thereof . . . an apt measure, indeed, of an empty nest.

Another One Bites The Dust

2009-08-26T16:26:00.002-05:00

Celebrity Death Alert: announcing the demise of Ted Kennedy. I don't mean to be irreverent or anything, but I'm having a hard time working up any angst over his passing.

I know that in some quarters, the mere f/act of dying automatically qualifies one for sainthood, and such is now the case with Ted Kennedy. A man whose legacy includes such sterling character qualities as alcoholism, debauchery, sexual harrassment, and second-degree murder is now being lionized on every hand.

Regular programming on television this morning is being hijacked to laud and exalt "The Lyin' of the Senate." One reporter had high praise for Teddy's role in such legislative acts as: Americans with Disabilities, Civil Rights Act of 1991, Ryan White Care Act, No Child Left Behind, etc. Government-run health care is reported to be a more recent one of his pet projects. Government-run health care for the masses, that is. Curiously, Teddy and his cronies would be exempt from the health care disaster they are attempting to foist off on us. But I digress.

So off with tv and on to the internet, only to find it awash with lively debate. According to one fan there, he "impacted and will continue to impact millions of lives." Uh, yeah. Exactly the problem, if you ask me. Another fan admonishes us to "show some respect" to this noble, self-sacrificing soul who has spent his entire life in "service" to his country. Service? A term in the Senate does not automatically equate to service, unless, of course, you consider self-service. In any event, Ted Kennedy was a drunk and a womanizer, and no amount of service changes that.

Poor Ted Kennedy, devoting his entire adult life to nine terms in the Senate. NINE terms? Depending on how far into his ninth term he was, that translates to, what.... something on the order of 50 YEARS!!!!! Now there's a record to be proud of: 50 years on the dole. The man never held a real job in his life, so how is it exactly, that he purports to "represent" the people? One thing is certain: the founding fathers never intended a senate seat to be owned the way Ted Kennedy has owned that one.

The Kennedys on the whole are a bunch of self-centered egotists, a family of privilege unequaled, and now that Teddy is out of the picture, what we have to look forward to is... more of the same, because there are plenty more where he came from. Those Kennedys are like the hydra: chop one head off, and two more grow back in its place.

In all of the day's reporting by the news media, the one thing conspicuously missing was any recollection of his misadventures on Chappaquidick Island. The sole mention of this ding on his otherwise stellar CV was from one of M's friends on his Facebook page: "Hey, if they bring up Camelot, we get to bring up the Lady in the Lake," sparking a spirited discussion that, hours later, is reverberating still. Teddy has definitely hit a nerve.

All in all, I would have to agree, Teddy truly was a major player in changing the face of America. Sadly, thanks to 50 years of him and his pals, we are now headed squarely in the direction of socialism.

One Year In

2009-08-18T23:47:00.000-05:00

We are one year, and a little bit more, into a seriously empty-nested life.

A few days ago we had a surprise phone call from M. His only agenda was chit-chat, and he asked what I was doing. "Knitting a baby blanket," I told him.

Then he asked what his dad was doing. "Watching a PBS show about Pennsylvania diners," I said.

And then there was a l-o-n-g pause. "Did I call the house" asked M, "or did I call the old folks' home?"

Hmmmm....good question.

School's In!

2009-08-12T08:06:00.000-05:00

The thing is, what passes for education today is not education at all. It takes no account whatever of the person; it makes no effort to capitalize on the student's strength or to strengthen the student's weakness. Instead, it insists on treating everyone "equally," meaning, for example, that a group of 5-year-olds will all be "taught" the alphabet, even though some of them already know how to read, while others haven't learned the shapes and colors yet. This results in a great deal of frustration to a significant number of children on both ends of the spectrum.

Rather than actually teaching, mentoring, or discipling by word and example, "educators" today very much prefer to stand themselves up in front of a group to tell and lecture, but there is a disconnect between the lecture and the lives of those in the audience, and while the lecturer may be willing to answer questions, woe betide the student who questions the answers. This is not education. This is brainwashing.

Rather than pose problems requiring thinking and discussion and discernment, it is far, far easier to set up a "test" of true/false, or multiple choice questions: Little to no effort required from either the teacher or the student beyond the memorization of a head full of trivia.

This has come about because in America today , the goal of "education" is no longer the development of mind and character. Instead, its object is for all students to come out looking like the same piece of bologna; it is preparation and conditioning for young people to take their places as cogs and robots in a mindless socialistic society and economy where they will be plugged in, interchangeably, at the will of the state.

Yes, there are some wonderful teachers out there, but even the best are hogtied by the rules and regulations of the bureaucracy under which they must operate. And yes, there are those students who come out of the public schools and excel, but I suggest that these succeed in spite of the system through which they are forced.

I don't mean to be facetious, but the detractors of homeschooling are almost always people who don't have a clue about homeschooling, or even education really. They generally labor under the misconception that going through the motions somehow assures learning, and that learning happens only in the classroom. I admit that learning can happen in the classroom, but I submit that more of it happens outside the classroom, in real life.

After a day spent learning to tie her shoes, my then 4yo daughter once said to me, "Now you just have to teach me how to read, and then I'll know everything." What wisdom from a child. If you nurture your child's curiosity and make sure he has the tools to learn ~ reading, 'riting, and 'rithmetic ~ he may not know everything, but he can indeed learn anything.

Sadly, there is no longer any place in "education" for the creativity or imagination or inventiveness which once served as the foundation of the grandest, noblest of all social experiments: America.

Madame Secretary

2009-08-11T16:49:00.000-05:00

Hilary Clinton is a No-Class Act.

So maybe she is the Secretary of State, while her husband, on the other hand, is just a has-been president.

So maybe she feels she wasn't given her due, what with being upstaged by the shadow of her husband and all.

So maybe she was stressed out on her If-It's-Tuesday-This-Must-Be-Belgium whirlwind tour of seven countries in eleven days. Sorry, but "stressed out" is part of the job.

So maybe there was a language barrier. Could she maybe have waited to make sure she understood the question before she rose so testily to her defense? According to the followup, it was explained later to her that there had indeed been a misinterpretation. Did she offer an apology, as Democrats are so very fond of demanding from others? Perhaps an "Oh, I'm sorry, I misunderstood the question?" thereby giving everyone, including herself, a face-saving opportunity? She did not. Her comment to the hapless questioner was, "Don't worry about it."

So, so, so...She signed up for the job. Could she have been even a little bit more, uh, diplomatic? Tact and diplomacy should be the #1 tools of her stock in trade. She is, after all, as she so emphatically pointed out, the Secretary of State of the Unites States of America. Very highly placed indeed, and she certainly ought to have herself in hand. But no. Instead she engaged in a tirade reeking of insecurity and jealousy and immaturity. Basically an adult temper tantrum.

Once again, Madame Secretary has managed to make herself (and, alas, us) look like a childish, egotistical, self-centered, narcissistic prima dona who just can't get over herself, providing another round of ammunition to a hostile world just waiting for another excuse to launch yet one more round of potshots in our direction. As usual, Madame Secretary leaves me scratching my head and rolling my eyes, wondering what "we" have signed up for.

Her behavior is a shame and a disgrace.

Betrayed!

2009-08-07T13:24:00.000-05:00

Whose body is this, anyway?! I am feeling hot and old and tired. Everything hurts. What doesn't hurt doesn't work. And some of what hurts doesn't even work.

My hair is turning GREY!!! At least around my face. That way, when you see my face, I look o-o-o-ld. The back isn't so bad. It's still mostly dark brown, but, being in a braid down the middle of my back, it's a well-kept secret. I guess I could dye it, but I don't know how much time I have left, and whatever I have, I know I don't want to spend it on a new career keeping the grey undercover.

My skin is giving in to gravity. Don't even wanna talk about that.

My hands look like overworked old lady hands, with spots and veins, and skin worn so smooth it shines. There are no fingerprints left.

My legs are patterned with varicose veins. Don't wanna talk about that, either.

My neck is killing me. I can't turn my head without suffering excruciating pain. I hurt it engaging in the strenuous activity of washing my hair. Leaned my head back to rinse, and *snap*!!! The neck bone is connected to the wrist/ankle bone, and every time I lift a finger or take a step, the pain shoots all the way up my arm, or my leg, straight to my neck. So in an effort to minimize the misery, I am mostly sitting, ramrod-straight. No movement = no pain, right? Wrong. No movement = different pain, this time in the form of stiffness and tension caused by not moving, leading to the mother of all headaches in a band of pain creeping up the back of my neck, over the top of my head, and settling in squarely behind my left eye.

Unless my Man happens to go to the store with me, I am reduced to buying the small bag of dog food for my over-sized dog, because I can barely pick up the big bag anymore! And if we manage to get the big bag...it takes both of us to dump it into the feeder.

Getting into and out of the car...a production.

There are a whole lot of other things to complain about, but...I can't remember what they are. I can't really remember much of anything anymore.

All I know for sure is I didn't sign up for any of this.

Senses Of Summer

2009-08-04T10:58:00.000-05:00

A feast for the senses! The scents and sights and sounds from deep in the heart of summer...

Newly mown grass
Petrichor after a welcome, surprise thunderstorm
Cool mint, mowed down right along with the grass
Fresh dirt clinging to garden bounty
BBQ grills fired up all over the neighborhood
Fresh air and sunshine on line-dried laundry

Sheet lightning in the distant nighttime sky
Rainbows in the spray of the hose
Neighborhood kids running through the shimmer of the lawn sprinkler
Red and white striped tents at the farmers' market
Piles of fresh veggies straight from the earth
Fresh laundry billowing in the breeze
Fireflies blinking their presence in the evening

The crackle and sizzle of summer lightning
The rumble of thunder early in the morning
The plop of heavy drops on the sidewalk when the rain finally comes
The trill of crickets and cicadas in the heat of the day
Marching band music wafting up the hill from the high school
The whirring of window fans, tower fans, box fans, ceiling fans...
Kids splashing in the pool next door l-a-t-e into the night
The snapping of sheets on the clothesline
And did I mention the wind chimes on the front porch? Great in any season!

Ok, it looks like I'm enjoying summer a little too much. Don't forget, it is still August in Texas. It is still Africa-hot. It is too hot to escape the sweat running down inside your clothes. It is too hot to cook anything in the oven. It is too hot to sleep under a cover, even just a light sheet. So, on the other side...

A hot dog, languishing in the sun
The overpowering ~~scent~~ stench emanating from the too-infrequently-picked-up dumpster
The rotting of the compost pile (although eventually this changes to rich chocolate-brown dirt, see #3 above)
Mildew odors on wet towels
Chlorine smells evaporating from swimming pools
Sweaty clothes
The acrid smoke from a grass fire

Overweight women in if-this-size-fits-you-have-no-business-wearing-it bikinis at the public pool
In any public place, the skimpiest of clothing leaving bra straps hanging out on the top, butt cheeks hanging out on the bottom, and nothing to the imagination
Old men in short shorts exposing their hairy white legs and knobby knees
Yards full of sad yellow grass
Parched, wilted, saggy, droopy gardens

LOUD ~~crap~~ rap music blaring from passing cars with their windows rolled down
Air conditioners working overtime
The ice cream truck coming down the street (The Princess calls it "the music truck.")
The increased traffic of the comings and goings gearing up to start school (We live in a Bermuda Triangle amid three schools.)
The screeched protest of an overworked fan
Crispy, dead grass crackling underfoot
Gangs of motorcycles revving up to hit the road

So. For better or for worse: Summer. In all its glory/misery.

Already August?

2009-08-01T10:00:00.000-05:00

Can it be? This year, which started out like all the other years, fresh and new, is now, like all the other years, more than halfway ~~wasted~~ spent, and it didn't take that long to get that way. So. Time to get a grip before the rest of it slips right through our fingers, and the next thing we know, the whole thing is lost and, like all the other years, no more than a memory.

August. Quite emphatically my very least-favored month of the year. August in Texas is Africa-hot, sultry, and humid. Absolutely nothing to redeem it. August doesn't even have a holiday to its name. Wait! I take that back. August is the month of BB3's and Gi's birthdays, so there is that.

In a transparent effort to ingratiate itself, this August came sneaking in on the heels of yesterday's most welcome thunderstorm, capitalizing on the happy mood and cooler temperatures (and tempers) left in its wake.

So today we have the windows open, filling our ears with the sounds of summer...the buzz of cicadas, the whir of fans, the melodies of wind chimes, against the backdrop of the sun less its sizzle.

Can autumn be far behind? Well, yes actually. Autumn is nowhere in sight. Not even close. But, it's absolutely worth waiting for!

And The Winner Is...

2009-07-16T14:35:00.000-05:00

I thought the squirrel call from Pascagoula, Mississippi was pretty funny. But there has to be some kind of prize for the call we got this morning...

Right away, like I always do when the phone rings, I noticed the caller ID: "NC call." In this day of cell phones, sometimes the guy down the street is calling from another state, so I didn't really think a whole lot about that. And then the caller identified himself as a soldier in North Carolina. Hmmm.... well, perhaps a little unusual, but we do occasionally get phone calls from all over the country, so still not unheard of. But the conversation that followed.... Definitely one of a kind!

After establishing that he had indeed reached the chimney sweep, he informed me that his fiancee lived in an apartment complex in Copperas Cove and was plagued with a cat problem. ????? Surely I didn't hear him say cats??? Surely it was just our ~~bad~~ dreadful connection. I turned up the volume on the phone. I plugged my other ear with my finger. I concentrated on his voice and listened intently. And sure enough, he kept talking about cats...?!

I still thought I must be "mishearing," and after awhile of this I tentatively asked, "Are we talking about...CATS?" I wanted to ask him if they were coming down her chimney, but the customer is always right, so I refrained. Finally I said firmly, "This is the chimney sweep." I thought that might jar something loose, but no. He pleasantly agreed and let me know that he had seen "Animal Removal" on our website. AHA! Now we're getting somewhere.

I took the opening and just as I began to point out that "Animal Removal" refers to animals, usually dead, that are captive inside of chimneys, I heard him drawl, "Oooooohhhh, I'm reading on down the page and I see that. I'm sorry I wasted your time." Whew! That was easy.

But instead of hanging up, he continued, "Do you have any idea what she could do about the cats? There are five strays forever wandering around her parking lot, and she is deathly afraid of them, and she can't go to work, because they are out there just waiting to pounce on her."

All I could think of was the obvious: How about calling Animal Control? His reply, "I've already done that. They said she could come and get a cage, and after the cat is caught they will come and pick it up." It may take awhile, with one trap, to catch five cats, but good, bad, or indifferent, that's the way it works around here. I can personally vouch for that. Do-It-Yourself animal control at its finest. Not a good solution in this case, though; she doesn't actually seem to want to do anything herself. Her involvement seems to be limited to calling him, wherever he may be, and he is a little too far removed to participate in any significant sort of way.

My next suggestion was the other obvious: Didn't you tell me she lives in an apartment complex? Tell her to call the manager and let them deal with Animal Control. His answer to that was, "Yes, I guess I am going to have to call the manager."

I replied, "Yes, I guess you are, and good luck to you!" That's what I said.

What I wanted to say was: So...I'm catching on to a problem here, and it isn't the cats. Are you sure you want to marry this woman? There you are, doing your duty, halfway across the country, and she is calling you to deal with some stray CATS?! What is she going to do when you are halfway across the world in Iraq? She may have to make her own phone calls then, and do ya think she can handle the stress? You want my advice? Perhaps you should reconsider and find yourself a girl that's not scared of cats.

For my part, I may consider changing my phone number. :-P

As I relayed this little story to C the next day, she offered one more idea: Take a can of tuna a few houses down the road, and leave it on the porch. All in all, that sounds about as good a solution as any.

A(nother) Random Weather Report

2009-07-15T08:35:00.001-05:00

Here we go again. Another "cool" day in the hottest summer of the century. This morning is cloudy ~ no promise whatever of rain though (more like an empty threat) ~ and coooool. Well, I suppose it's cool. It feels cool. But it's all relative, isn't it. It could be 98 degrees, and at this point we would find even that cool.

By late morning, we have reached a whopping 86 degrees, with a heat index of 89! But not to worry. There is plenty more where that came from, and long before the end of the day we should be well beyond our usual 100-degree mark.

In the words of our local weatherman, our area averages 21 days of 100 (or higher)-degree days in a year, so, going as we are, into our 23rd day of 100+ temperatures in a summer that is less than 23 days old, those days are behind us, and we are well due for some Hope and Change in the weather department. In fact, according to the non-prophets of The Weather Channel, this weekend will have "an almost fall-like feel," and the highs in August will fluctuate between 92 and 95. It's hard to place any confidence in their predictions, but...I want to believe them!

Well, regardless, in the meantime, it's a welcome relief for the chimney sweep, who has curtailed his $-making activities to early morning and late evening hours until further notice.

This perfectly pleasant morning doesn't fool me, though. It may masquerade as spring, or fall, but I know that it's really only the mask of a hotter-than-Phoenix summer in disguise.

Sometimes...

2009-07-09T11:08:00.000-05:00

...I creep myself out just a little.

Like last Friday. I had gotten up a little after 5 to get my Man off to work. Usually I just stay up, but that day I decided to go back to bed, and the next thing I knew I was sleeping and dreaming away...

In my dream, I and some family members, one of which was D, were in a room in a house I didn't recognize. Notably absent was the Princess, which is about as strange as it gets. She is four years old and doesn't go places without her mom.

But even stranger, M, who was still at West Point, had gone to pick her up from wherever she was, and we were just sorta milling around and waiting for them. Finally I asked D when they were coming back, and she replied, "Any second."

So I went over and looked out the window, and sure enough, there was M, Princess in tow, coming up the walk. They came through the door, and I was just as excited as if I had really been awake, and M and the Princess were really walking through the door!

The waiting and killing time were over, and the best part of the dream was coming! Only just then the beeping of the phone woke me up. It was a text message from M. :-D

Summer Morning

2009-07-09T10:23:00.001-05:00

It's a cool cool summer morning. Every cool morning is cool in Texas, especially in the summertime. But today... :-D

The air is pleasantly cool and clean.
The sun is peeping up over the horizon. That is, the house across the street...cool horizon, huh? But, for better or for worse, it's my horizon...
My windows are open wide, and there is a cool breeze blowing in!
The birds are still happily chirping out there. Later in the day comes only silence.
Today, unbelievably, I have been a grandmother for ten years! Happy Birthday, BB1!
I get to stay home today. That is a cherished rarity. Could only be better if the phone would stop ringing.
No updates on MJ's funeral yet this morning! That's a biggie.
Temperature-wise, this morning was so cool, my Man put on a jacket when he went off to work at 5:30. I know it isn't going to last, but for right now...can't beat it. Well, I take that back, because
I hear the phone beeping now. It's a text message from M, off in the wilds of Camp Buckner, with the latest land nav report.

Can't get any better now. This morning is maxed out. Cool on so many levels!

The Comeback Tour!

2009-07-07T20:55:00.000-05:00

CBS Evening News and Katic Couric (and probably all the rest of them, but this is the one I saw), Be ashamed!

The CBS Evening News led off with Katie Couric, live at the Staples Center in Los Angeles, hours after Michael Jackson's funeral had come and gone. What could there possibly be to say? I can't think of a thing, but then 'nothing to say' has never stopped the new breed of "journalist" from saying it.

Twenty minutes into the 30-minute broadcast, they finally moved past the funeral on to President Obama. First things first, he offered his solemn presidential 2 cents' worth on Michael Jackson, and then, almost as an afterthought, he went on to comment on the current threat posed by Kim Jong-il: There is nothing to fear from North Korea. They are not going to do anything nuclear, because if they do, they know the international community will frown on it.

Whew! What a relief! It's good to know that is all settled. No more worries about being nuked in our sleep. But I'm glad I don't live in Hawaii.

And then back to the Things that Matter: Katie Couric with the post-game analysis and commentary on the Event of the Century.

My observations:

MJ's family was out in full force, which is as it should be. But was it necessary for them to be decked out in ridiculous MJ fashion, complete with glittery gloves (one each) and dark glasses in a place that was already dark?
One of his celebrity entertainer friends got up to remark on MJ's diaphanous presence, shining blessings down on this idolatrous gathering, from his perch high up on a crescent moon. Well, I admit, the point of a crescent moon would not be too strange a place to find Michael Jackson.
Then there were the religious figures, the caricatures of godliness, one of whom declared to Michael Jackson's purported children: "Your daddy was not strange. Strange things happened to your daddy, but there was nothing strange about him." HUH?! Strange things may have happened to MJ, but being strange and having strange things happen are not mutually exclusive, and I guaran-dang-tee, Michael Jackson was STRANGE.
And can the politicians ever be far behind? One of them carried on at length, praising MJ's tireless efforts on behalf of the black man, while making the point that the color of one's skin doesn't matter. Well, we all know that race doesn't matter. So why do the lefties keep differentiating among the races? It's almost as if they don't believe their own words. And why did MJ spend half of his life trying to be white and the other half trying to be a woman? Just wondering...

On a related note, has anyone heard about the condition of the economy lately? Particularly the economy in California? I'm not sure where Los Angeles stacks up relative to California in general, but the state is currently paying its bills with IOU's, and now the City of the Angels has been saddled with the $3.8 million bill for this ostentation. I understand the city presently has its hand out via a website, where one may make donations to cover the cost of this extravaganza. Add California to the list of Places I'm Glad I Don't Live.

So whaddya know. Michael Jackson had his Comeback Tour after all. Is there anything beyond obscene? If there is, clue me in. And sign this up at the top of the list.

And The Heat Goes On...

2009-06-26T23:40:00.000-05:00

107 today, the 11th day of 100+ temps. Since we "average" 21 days a year of 100-degree days, I'm hoping that this means we are getting them all out of the way right up front, but I'm not holding my breath on that one.

Good news for the weekend, though: Temperatures are going down. Should be no more than 101 by Sunday.

This is getting boring, isn't it.

Summermore!

2009-06-24T22:41:00.000-05:00

I learned a few things today:

The last time it came close to this hot was on this date in 1943, when the record-breaking temperature of the day was 104. Today it was 106 degrees, a new tongue-hanging-out record. A dubious distinction indeed.
According to the local weatherman, in this neck of the woods we have, on average, 21 days of 100-degree temperatures. In a whole year. So far this year we have had nine such days already. And summer is only four days old... AGH! This can't be good.

So far, this is shaping up to be A Summer To Remember, a summer on steroids. All I know is it's a darn good thing I have decided not to care about the summer heat anymore.

Happy Father's Day!

2009-06-21T16:17:00.000-05:00

First call of the day bright and early from D in Kansas.
Church with C and family.
Cookout lunch and backyard swimming and Wii games with C's family and S's family.
Baseball game with S and Gi and the Blue-Eyed Boy.
Phone call from rain-drenched M, standing at the foot of Cell Phone Hill at Buckner.

And that is everyone heard from and accounted for. What else can a dad want? Happy Father's Day!

Happy Summer!

2009-06-21T14:57:00.000-05:00

Not. It is Summer in Texas. With a vengeance. Actually, it has been summer for days already, it just hasn't been official summer yet. Well, it is now, and it is already 100+ degrees with humidity to match, and there's nothing quite like a hot breeze blowing in through the open window. I know a lot of people love their fun in the sun, but I am not one of them. To be honest, I have never understood anything fun about baking and sweating and burning to a crisp...? I just don't get it.

Shortly after I moved to Texas waaaay back during the last century, it was one Africa-hot summertime. My mom and I were "downtown" in SmallTown, Texas and had wandered into the "variety store" where we overheard part of a conversation between two little old ladies. One of them said to the other, "Hasn't it been a nice, cool summer." My mom and I looked at each other, eyes incredulous and mouths gasping open. Nice? COOOOL????? Had they seen the thermometer at the bank? The one that registered 112 degrees at 6 PM? Had they been outside? Were we even on the same planet? "Hasn't it been a nice, cool summer" has become a family joke over the years ~ The hotter it gets, the more it is invoked, complete with the rolling of eyes and the shaking of heads.

So now here we are, hotter than Phoenix, and I have a True Confession: As much as I ha-a-a-te to admit it, after aaalllllll this time of actively despising the good ol' summertime...I'm not saying I like it, but...so what. So what that it's 100 degrees by mid-morning. So what that I am out here with the sun pounding on my head. So what that I am melting into a puddle, or that there is sweat pouring down between my eyes and running down inside my clothes. So what that the heat of summer shimmers up off the road in waves, and the pavement is so hot it is actually oozing. So what that you can bake cookies in the trunk of your car, or put a pot of rice and water out in the sun and it will be cooked by lunchtime. So what that you can get a third-degree burn from the steering wheel or the seat belt buckle when you get in your car. So what....

So it's summertime in Texas, that's what, and I'm starting to worry about myself, because after 30+ years, I have just decided not to care anymore. I can't afford the effort or the energy. Hmmmm....Maybe those little old ladies were on to something...??? Whatever...

By the way, Mom, wish you were here. We sure are having a nice, cool summer.

Another Good Day

2009-06-05T21:26:00.000-05:00

I was all set for a night of tossing and turning, but surprisingly enough, I slept soundly last night after propping my foot up on a pillow. My ankle hurt quite alot, enough for even me to consider the ER, but the specter of BB1's recent marathon in that pestilential hellhole reinforced my natural inclination to allow my fearfully-and-wonderfully-made body the opportunity to heal itself. So I had gone to bed last night, barely entertaining the possibility that I might make a trip to the ER this morning, and I was ready to get ready when my Man got up dark and early to head to work. Imagine my everlasting amazement when I got out of bed and did not crash to the floor on my bad ankle!

It was still sore and painful, and I couldn't really walk, but, no swelling or bruising, and compared to crawling around last night, it was a miraculous recovery indeed. I was positively giddy that we had elected to stay home, saving ourselves probably $500 and getting a restful night in the bargain.

Today I am profoundly excited about being able to get around all by myself. I don't remember ever feeling pain like I felt yesterday, and I have never been so invalidated.

"Would you get me a drink?" "Would you climb up in the closet and dig out the Epsom salts?" "Would you reach my nightgown off the hook?" "Would you warm up that leftover soup for dinner?" "Would you lock the door, close the window, answer the phone, turn on the light, bring my book, fill in the blank?" It disturbs me mightily to be waited on at all, never mind so completely.

I am a good patient, if you consider my outward behavior. I demand nothing, and I ask, ever apologetically, only what I absolutely cannot manage on my own. I have certainly waited on endless multitudes in my day, so why does it bother me so much to be on the other end? I have never understood people who enjoy being the center of every attention, but I believe there's something here on a deeper level. True confession time: as much as I hate to say it, I think there is an issue of pride at work. In my case, anyway. There is something humbling about being at the mercy of someone else...something God is still having to try to teach me. Poor Guy.

So, am I ready to take the lesson...? I want to. I would hope so. My head gets it. But, alas, I know me. My spirit is basically rebellious and independent. Rebellion and independence...Good servants. Bad masters.

I still can't actually walk. There's a whole lotta limping and hobbling going on, but I am ever so thankful that today I can do whatever I want/need, even if it takes me a little bit longer. It is, as they say today, "all good." It really is!

TOOOOOO MUCH "INFORMATION"!!!!

2009-06-04T18:33:00.000-05:00

Ok, so that's what I get for watching tv. Only I wasn't really watching it. I was hanging out in another room, within earshot of the offending commercial, held captive by a never-have-I-felt-so-much-pain-EVER ankle, injured when I stepped in a hole this afternoon.

It seemed perfectly ok at the time; I even walked on it back into the house to start the arnica protocol, and then went on to finish what I had been doing, after which I sat myself down with an ice pack and a book and elevated my foot. Only to my sad surprise, my ankle not only hasn't gotten any better, six hours later it is actively worse.

First it got ~~harder~~ impossible to walk, and then it progressed to no standing; at this point forget flexing, extending, rotating. In fact, forget even leaving it alone. There is no comfort for it in any position. I'm almost considering a trip to the ER, but I feel quite certain there will be no driving on that foot, especially not in a car with a standard transmission. Besides, I can suffer endlessly in my own home, just like I can in an ER, but for free and without the chance of getting SARS or swine flu or a staph infection or who-knows-what-other-ailment lurking about amongst the halt and the lame of a hospital "emergency" room.

So anyway. I was minding my own business in one room, not really paying attention to the murmuring pitter-patter of the television coming from the other room, when suddenly I heard a woman's voice shout, "Am I in MENOPAUSE? You bet I am!!!" Whooooaa!!!! And then, of all things, she started singing the praises of JACK IN THE BOX!!! You know, the hamburger joint.

"When I'm having hot flashes...." she began, and I can't really say what came next, because she pretty much lost me after that. Actually, Jack in the Box pretty much lost me after that one. Not that I go there with any degree of regularity whatsoever....Ok, ok, to be honest, on the survey I would have to check the "less often than once a year" box, but still. Now I'm going to have to check the "less often than less often than once a year" box.

I'm thinking this little episode basically documents what I have been increasingly afraid of the last few years, and getting worse all the time: There are no limits to indecency anymore, and no limits on where you might witness it. I would like, just once in awhile, to go someplace where I am not assaulted by somebody's perverse notions of open-minded self-expression.

In fact, as I'm writing this, I hear that the tv has moved on to a "sitcom" in which a group of men and women are talking about, what else, menopause. Sigh. Excuse me while I ~~run~~ crawl in and turn off the tv. I'm thinking I probably should have turned it off when I left the room, but I'm a hands-on watcher when it comes to tv, and I didn't think I had the endurance to hobble all the way across the room to turn it off in person. So now, well, here I go again. Like I said, that's what I get for watching tv.

Menopause...Jack in the Box...What can the connection possibly be???

Today

2009-05-22T07:25:00.000-05:00

M has been home for a week today. Well, sorta. Last night, and the night before, he spent at C's, so it was like the old folks' home here once again. Well, it would have been had not M's friend, Ko, dropped in with Oreo cookies and Blue Bell ice cream. The night before that he spent at Ko's, and tonight S is on the schedule.

A short trip to visit Little Granny in the nursing home in Kerrville is on the agenda today. I may or may not go with him, depending on if he gets a better offer. I will be perfectly happy to go with him. And I will be perfectly happy to stay home.

D and the little girls will be here from Kansas this weekend, just to be sure they get a glimpse of M before he is off to Israel on his first step into the world of International Travel; Monday the plan is for a mini family reunion/group birthday party. There just isn't enough M to go around, and we have to share.

Now the early morning sun is coming up. The windows are open, the birds are singing, and my Man is off to work. Summer is coming on, with the same dreadful anticipation as always, but right now...it's the perfect springtime day in central Texas.

Kinds of People

2009-05-20T18:15:00.000-05:00

There are two kinds of people: those who say to God, "Thy will be done," and those to whom God says, "All right, then, have it your way." ~C. S. Lewis

I hope someday to be one of the former; I have certainly had more than enough opportunity, but I fear I am probably still too much one of the latter. A myriad of situations and circumstances have surfaced around here lately, a great many of them not at all to my liking, and what to do?

One thing I can always do, and sometimes the only thing I can do, is to pray. Prayer calls on the Lord, the only One ultimately, Who can do anything about, well...anything. It might be my most under-rated resource, calling on trust and faith to take the place of worrying. That is hard. But there is only so much I can do, and I suppose that it would behoove me to stick to that and leave the worrying to God. But often that is hard, too.

So...Which one am I? I wish I knew...

Updates

2009-05-16T16:22:00.000-05:00

I got a new can opener for Mothers' Day. Leave the perfect gift to C!
M is safe at home in his own little bed. Let the sleeping begin.
Swine flu continues to be the biggest non-event of the year so far.
My sister directed me to $ Tree for good old-fashioned 60- and 75-watt light bulbs, priced at 4 for $1. They are probably the exploding kind, but I won't know for sure until I use one; un/fortunately, most of my lamps and light fixtures are currently manned by the "new, improved" variety of light bulbs, so I should have an opening any day now. But how, oh, how, can I dispose of the used bulbs?

Surprise!

2009-05-14T15:57:00.001-05:00

Yesterday the Unknown Caller phoned. I am always just a little bit afraid of answering, but since M's # shows up that way, and chances to talk to him are few and far between, I am always afraid not to answer as well. You never know what you're going to get...always a surprise, but not always a good surprise. Well, this time it was...in the voice of Cadet A at West Point. That in and of itself is surprise enough. But even moreso...!

M was granted grad leave! Several months ago, when he realized accepting the opportunity-of-a-lifetime, too-good-to-turn-down, all-expenses-paid trip to Israel would mean little to no leave at home this summer, he applied for grad leave. Having heard nothing since, we reasonably concluded that it was denied and went to Plan B: four days between Graduation and Israel. So, yesterday, at the very last minute, he got the good word: Grad leave approved! This means not only that he is authorized to miss marching in the Graduation Day parade, but he gets to come home for almost two whole weeks. This, as the currently hot saying goes, is huge, calling for a huge change of plans all around, but we're up for it.

All M had to do, after his final TEE ("final" in civilian) was finished this morning, was get his typhoid shot for Israel, pack up and move out of his room, sell his books back to the bookstore, change his airline ticket, and arrange a ride to the train. If he seriously put himself in turbo, he could have made the 5 o'clock plane tonight, but that allowed only for everything to go smoothly, and things don't generally happen that perfectly in our world. In any case, this way he gets to go to a show on Broadway with his friends tonight and then sleep a few hours at the Soldiers', Sailors', Coast Guard & Airmen's Club, Inc for only $25, unless, of course he checks out early. He plans on catching the 3 a.m. bus to the airport for his 7:30-ish flight, so I'm pretty sure that qualifies. That puts the cost down to $10 for the night, and if he notifies them ahead of time, well then it goes down to $5. One more cadet perk, and you just can't beat that!

All I had to do around here is cram into one day what I had planned to do in the next almost-two weeks. Dust, vac, tidy M's room, put fresh sheets on the bed, and the same in the guest room for D and the Princess and the Gingerbread Cookie, who will be here for a week in honor of M. M and a couple of the little kidlets have birthdays in this time frame, so there is that to plan for, not to mention, speaking of HUGE, daily rations for a big boy who is tired of dining hall food. And speaking of even more HUGE....I have been re-arranging some furniture the last couple of days, and one room in particular is a disaster, but oh, well.

If we have learned anything from this year, we have learned that in order to get along with West Point, you have to be two things:

Extremely structured. Things are planned to the nanosecond more than a year ahead of time, and you better be ready to hurry up and wait; and
Extremely flexible. It's all about the last minute, and you better be ready to jump at every eleventh hour opportunity.

The last I heard from M was a text message: "We're on the train." M is on his way home! Me, I am on my way to bed. Gotta be ready for that drive to the airport and back tomorrow.

Welcome home, M!

Welcome to the Neighborhood

2009-05-09T11:15:00.000-05:00

I used to think Copperas Cove was the most highly regulated city in the country, but I couldn't be more wrong. That dubious distinction actually belongs to Killeen (the ironically motto-ed "City Without Limits") where C and De recently moved. They were ever so excited to be in their own house, after ten weeks at the in-laws', but it wasn't long before the snake showed up in Paradise.

Barely two or tree days after the move, as C was busily sorting out the kitchen, she happened to look out the front window to see a man at the curb taking pictures of her house. Dropping what she was doing, she went to the door, only to see the man taking off in a city truck, so, still in her slippers, she sprinted off after him with the Other Princess hot on her heels. Fortunately, he was compelled to stop at the sign at the corner, giving her the advantage to catch up with him.

"Why are you taking pictures of my house?"

"Umm.... which house are you in?"

"Duh, the only one you took pictures of..." Gotcha!

It turned out that this was one of Killeen's code enforcement officers, and he was there to take pictures of all the codes that were being violated:

Thou shalt not have boxes on your front porch. Never mind that they are all flattened and clearly labeled with the name of the locksmith who had been by earlier and asked to have them, promising to pick them up that night.
Thou shalt not have a trailer full of boxes and other miscellaneous moving detritus on the grass. It's a rodent hazard. Never mind that the only rodents that had been encountered came from the facility where their stuff had been stored for the past three months (Maybe this diligent public servant could find time in his busy schedule to check them out?). And when asked how moving the trailer to the driveway, as he strongly suggested, would be a deterrent to rodents, he neatly sidestepped the question and deftly changed the subject.
Thou shalt not have bags of trash out here by the dumpster. Never mind that, courtesy of the last occupant, the dumpster was already FULL when they moved in, and if the city is so worried about the volume of trash, why don't they pick it up more than once a week? Could some of these code officers maybe go on garbage detail?
Thou shalt not park you car so that the tail end of it hangs a foot over the sidewalk. Never mind that it is your car parked in your driveway.
And on. And on.

C: Do you think it looks like we might be in the middle of moving in here?

Code Enforcement ~~Zealot~~ Officer: You never know. This is a military town and you would not believe how some people live.

C: So. Given the transient nature of the military, don't you think you oughta know what moving looks like? And what, exactly are you implying about the military?

And, given the overwhelming majority of military population in the area, I cannot imagine a civil servant making an offensive remark like that.

The man went on to explain that he was one of five code enforcement officers in Killeen, public "servants" whose job it is to drive around seeking whom they may harass. Given the dreadful state of the economy, are we sure Killeen can afford to keep these guys on the payroll? Perhaps the city could do everyone a favor and get rid of some of the dead weight, but until they do: Movers beware!

Commenting that she was unaware of the local codes, C was informed that she should have looked on the internet for the complete Rules of Engagement. Oh, well that solves everything, doesn't it? Like that is her top priority. Like she has plenty of time to sit and do battle with a sometime-functioning internet, leaving the children to run wild and make their own little living, while the unpacking chores pile up and proliferate. If the city's Code of Conduct is so all-fired important, why doesn't the city furnish copies to realtors and property managers?

Moving has to rate way up at the top of the list of stressors in modern life, so thanks, Killeen, for piling on a little bit more. C's final comment: Had we known, we would have never moved here, and we will never consider buying a house here.

Welcome to Nazi ~~Germany~~ Texas.

The End of an Era

2009-05-08T19:29:00.000-05:00

Provided, of course, that they pass, the plebes at West Point had their last class as plebes today. Tomorrow begin the TEE's, "Term End Exams" by the Army's fondness for acronyms, commonly known in the civilian world as "finals." And just like that, M and his classmates will be through 1/4 of their career as West Point cadets.

Impossible! Well, it sure seems that way. It is the tritest and tiredest of cliches to say that time flies, but, as cliches are wont to be, oh, how true. Actually, if there were something faster than flying, that is what time would do...At least from my point of view. M suggests that the year went a lot faster for me than it did for him. ;-)

I've been remembering and reminiscing with myself about this time last year. The countdown chain, which once draped around three sides of the room and ended in a puddle of colored paper links on the floor in the corner, was down to barely stretching along one wall, and we were frantically trying to keep up.

Admission papers, medical forms, shot records, parking passes, reporting instructions, bus schedules, packing lists, hotel reservations, plane tickets, rental car information, google maps, snacks for the airplane, a ride to the airport.... Did I forget anything? Maybe not, because everything went smoothly. Well, there were a few quirks and glitches along the way, but overall the trip was uneventful, and when it was over, we were all present and accounted for.

I remember, and thank God for, the hot and heavy e-traffic on the candidate-net where the newbie parents were huddled together in a fog, and friendly moderators had the answer to every question. Now we are seasoned veterans of a year of plebe-net, where a whole day can actually go by without an emergency or even an inquiry or comment.

So now it's someone else's turn. Right now, there are approximately 1,300 cadet candidates all over the country stressing out about things that we are now taking in stride. And if there are that many cadet candidates out there, there are twice that many parents ~ and more, in this age of step families when pairents no longer necessarily come in pairs ~ freaking out about turning their children over to Uncle Sam and their own personal Trail of Tears that will follow.

By this time, all of us, plebes and parents, have come to terms with some of the basic changes in our lives. We have become resigned to the fact that USMA now has first claim on them. Our plebes remain our kidlets, but we have been relieved of responsibility and authority. Oddly, I have a bittersweet feeling about the whole thing.

The bitter part is easy: no more M coming home every night; he will still come to visit, but the time of him actually living at home is getting shorter and shorter. Already his shouldabeen three-week leave of this summer has been abbreviated to four days, and we wouldn't even have that if not for the kindness and generosity of an airline employee who graciously offered M a buddy pass for the trip home.

The sweet part is harder. What is there that's sweet about the end of our family life? Well...mainly that it is as it should be. No matter that we might not like or want it, there is rightness in kidlets growing up and leaving home. This past year, we have all learned a lot about ourselves and about each other. And of course, memories.

After next week, M and the Class of 2012 will be rising yuks, going on to bigger things, and the misery of Beast Barracks will fall to the hapless candidates of 2013. So here's a toast to the end of plebedom, with a hope and a prayer for the new yuks. ;-) Only 36 months to go!

What a difference a year makes.

It's Slingtime!

2009-05-05T18:58:00.000-05:00

...as the Blue-Eyed Boy would say.

You know it's springtime outside when:

the world is turning green;
the grass goes from freshly mowed to ankle-deep overnight;
the birds are chirping and twittering incessantly (outside the window, fortunately, at my house; but in other houses the chirps come from inside the chimney);
dense fog at dawn; raging, roaring, rolling thunderstorms in the morning; a steaming sauna by mid-afternoon;
sweat happens :-(

You know it's springtime inside when:

the table is served with fresh green food;
the refrigerator and the pantry get a cleanout in the same week;
the windows stay open day and night;
the closets go from flannel and long sleeves to shorts and t-shirts;
the two-shower day is making a comeback.

Definitely Sling!

OINK!

2009-04-29T13:36:00.001-05:00

PANDEMIC! The Swine Flu is upon us. Or is it? Not so sure, since we have now been instructed to call it the H1N1 virus, or something like that. Apparently "Swine Flu" is giving pigs a bad name. Well, whatever...a virus is a virus is a virus.

Ok. So to believe the media hype, the ~~Swine Flu~~ H1N1 is pandemic. Imagine...a Global Epidemic. That means everywhere. But, according to the same media, as of last night there were six people hospitalized with H1N1 in the entire country. Six? Pandemic? How many people are hospitalized in this country with TB or pneumonia or AIDS or HIV or who knows what other host of infectious diseases? I bet it's a whole lot more than six, and I don't hear any outcry going on about those.

So one person has died in this country with the virus. I feel bad for that family, I really do, and I don't want to trivialize it in any way. So what about the 36,000 that die from the regular flu every year? They don't call that a pandemic. Does one death from Swine Flu = Pandemic? If it does, then every infectious disease in this world is in a state of pandemiconium.

My Man always says if you really want to get to the root, just follow the $ trail. Hmmm...Well, let's see, Obama has graciously doled out $15 bil to the pharmaceutical industry. Of course the media stands to gain revenue from the ratings, and when it comes to ratings in this Age of Excess, the more sensational/spectacular/scandalous the better. So there are two possibilities.

The ludicrous inconsistencies coming from higher up are creating panic, but perhaps that is by design, allowing that giving the beleaguered public something new to worry about will take its mind off of its current economic and other woes. Besides, who knows what kind of wheeling and dealing might be taking place in the back room while all eyes are focused on the Virus...After all, why waste a perfectly good crisis?

Consider:

We have a pandemic for Pete's sake, and yet the borders remain wide open, come one come all, and bring your latest diseases with you.
Outdoor sporting events have been canceled, but ~~child warehouses~~ child care centers and most schools remain open. A quick check with the Public Health people would reveal that outdoor events aren't really problematic. Closed spaces, where little people cough and spit and sneeze on each other and breathe recycled air, are, however, a different story.
They say we have plenty of flu medicine available, but they tell people there's no need to stock up.

Well, WHICH IS IT???? If it's truly pandemic, then let's get serious and give it its due. Lets shut the borders and close public places and quarantine the infected, and inconvenience be hanged. If it's merely the newest strain of flu showing up for the year, as happens every flu season, then could the media just stop whipping up hysteria? And if the Powers That Be really don't know, then could they find out and take some appropriate, rational action instead of all the knee-jerking they are doing?

Personally, I am depending on the time-tested methods of avoiding illness: wash hands often, don't eat/drink after anyone else, cover coughs/sneezes, wash hands often, stay home when sick, eat good, healthy foods, get plenty of rest, drink plenty of water, wash hands often. And if I feel the need to medicate I am well-stocked with Vitamin C, elderberry, echinacea, and GSE.

And on that note, Will the Real Story please stand up?

52 WHATTS?!!

2009-04-28T16:33:00.000-05:00

I bought some light bulbs today.

In place of the high-$, energy-saving, long-living neon light bulbs currently in vogue, I opted for the old-fashioned ones. I'm not exactly against the currently fashionable "green" revolution, it's just that I've already tried those new-fangled light bulbs. They certainly are high-$, costing many times what a regular light bulb costs, and it seems reasonable that they save energy, being that they are only a fraction as bright. But they do not last the promised five years. They don't even last as long as the dependable old low-tech standbys. So as my current supply of these modern marvels dwindles, thank goodness, I am replacing them with the old kind. At least that is my desire.

But I made a sad discovery this afternoon: It appears that while I was getting up to speed with the realm of techno-lighting, something disturbing was happening in the world of the humble incandescent light bulb. My first clue of incandescence's imminent ixtinction was in the "Lighting" department at MoreMart which is no longer overflowing with every variety of incandescent light bulb. Nope. It is now overloaded with over-priced high-tech light bulbs of every sort: sunlight ones, daylight ones, blue light ones, coil shapes, spirals, U-shapes, long ones, short ones. I have tried them all, and guess what none of them measures up to the good old plain vanilla light bulb.

After a thorough search, I was thrilled to stumble across a section of incandescent bulbs, but it was very small, and as I searched for the 60-watts I got my second shock: the 60-watt is no longer. In its place we now have the new, improved...52-watt light bulb. 52? And then I noticed the formerly-known-as-75-watt bulb is now...67 watts.

Lighting. The next economic battle the consumer is bound to lose. It's the 21st Century incarnation of the shell game that I remember from the 1970's. In that version, the standard 5-lb sack of sugar was quietly down-sized 20% while the price increased 20%. Gotta make up that 20% somewhere, you know.

So I wonder. What comes next? What will be the next battleground? It could be anything at all, but good, bad, or indifferent, you can be absolutely certain of one thing: whatever it may be, you will pay. So hang on to your wallet. If you can. It's a conspiracy.

Notes From the Chimney Sweep

2009-04-20T21:06:00.000-05:00

The song doesn't say, does it? But in case you have ever wondered what happened to that crazed Mississippi squirrel that brought on the revival in that sleepy little town of Pascagoula, wonder no more. I think I may have cleared up that little mystery.

Spring is often a busy season for a chimney sweep, but not for the reasons one might expect. Gone are the winter requests to cure a smoking fireplace or to inspect or rebuild a chimney after a fire, and we get a few calls from those organized souls who want to get a jump on next fall’s heating season by cleaning their chimneys ahead of time, but a lot of our spring calls come from people who have discovered animals and/or their nests in the chimney: usually an assortment of birds or squirrels, less frequently a raccoon, or perhaps a possum. At least on one occasion, we were called by a homeowner whose house was suddenly infested with flies; and then there was the time this chimney sweep was called upon to ascertain that the stench in one house was caused, not by a dead animal in the chimney as surmised by the owner, but by a package of fish rotting on the coffee table in the living room. Really. The chimney sweep seems to be the go-to guy when people just don’t know where to go, and, as I say, spring ends up being fairly busy.

So when the phone rang a few days ago I wasn’t entirely surprised to hear, “I saw you on the computer. I know you get birds and things out of chimneys, but I have something much worse than a bird!” followed by a tale of woe, poured out, if you can imagine, in a frantic voice with a serious Southern d-r-a-w-l.

This poor young woman’s house reeked so badly with the odor of something dead and decaying that they could barely stand to stay in it, and after looking everywhere they could possibly think of to look, they concluded that a squirrel had died in the chimney, a not at all unheard-of event in the world of chimneys and fireplaces. She had called to see if we, or anyone we knew, could take care of such a problem for her, going on to tell me that she had called the “wildlife people” who had someone that took care of such things, but, alas, they were unable to locate him.

Even in her misery, she was so very polite, as Southern belles are wont to be, and I found myself wanting to help her. Almost. Such a job is always distasteful, to say the least. I started to ask where she was located, but before I could get the question out, she asked me if the job could be done for free… That made me laugh and I told her that there would certainly be a charge. If anyone could be found to do it.

And then, “Are you in Alabama?” Alabama? Uh…no. She explained that our area code was only one number off from an area code that she knew of in Alabama, so she thought maybe we were there, close enough to come to her rescue in…. Pascagoula, Mississippi.

Relief! I no longer felt bad for not figuring out how to help her. Being in central Texas ~ the part she missed when she found us on the computer ~ I couldn’t if I wanted to. So, I wished her well, expressing hope that she would find someone to take care of that for her. And in that lovely, lively, eager Southern voice she assured me, “Oh, I will! Even if I have to pay them!”

Ah…

Well, in any event…one Squirrel of Mississippi Revival fame: Found! And now you know...the rest of the story.

"The Computer is Down"

2009-04-17T11:35:00.001-05:00

. . . and now that I have a wee bit of time to indulge my blogging mode, I am cut off at the pass by an uncooperative internet at home. TWO WEEKS so far, with no more hope than a faint possible light at the end of the tunnel, which of course could be a train, or maybe just something in my eye. Thank God and the government for the public library. . .

Shiver Me Timbers!

2009-04-12T11:05:00.000-05:00

Just think. . .2009. . .The civilized age of high-tech marvels, medical miracles, instant worldwide communications, higher education, general enlightenment, pirates. . . Pirates. . .?

As a child, M fell heir to an outgrown Halloween pirate costume. The costume was really nothing more than a pair of black below-the-knee-length pants with a tattered edge, worn with a raggedy white t-shirt. To dress it up a bit, I offered a favored hoop earring and a red bandana. Being prior to the age of earring-wearing males, we attached the hoop to the bandana, thus giving the effect minus the agony. When his birthday came around, I took myself off to the pharmacy where I bought him a black eye patch to complete the rogue look. Accessorized with imagination. . . he was ready for adventure!

In those day, M lived his characters. We had been through eras of baseball players, frontiersmen, astronauts, astronomers, pirates, and even Navy SEALS, among others. His pirate period included teaming up with his dad to build a stunning papier-mache pirate ship, The Jolliest Roger; he also ventured into the world of pirate cuisine, cooking a meal of ship's biscuits, oh my. . . definitely best left for when one might be absolutely perishing from hunger with no other possibilities in sight.

Pirates from the past. . . Adventurers on the High Seas. Hunters of treasure. Chasers of dreams. Swashbuckling figures clothed in mystery and legend and romance. The dream of any small boy equipped with imagination and a little creativity.

Fast forward to 2009. Of all things incredible, piracy is making a comeback. You'd think, wouldn't you, that in this touchy-feely age of non-violence and tolerance, we might have outgrown this uncivilized, barbaric sort of behavior? Nope. It seems that all political correctness has really accomplished is to disarm the law-abiding victims, thus giving even more power to the criminals. After all, we wouldn't want to offend anyone, would we, and we certainly don't want to be intolerant of a pirate.

The latest in the modern pirate saga began just a few days ago, off the coast of Africa (think "shores of Tripoli"). The first attack on an American ship in over 200 years was carried out by a band of reprobates from Somalia, an anarchic country where piracy is apparently a mainstay of the economy. In the spirit of "international cooperation," our ship was unarmed, on its own out there upon the Seven Seas, with nothing more than a fire hose between it and any assilants that might come around. Hardly a match against these particular pirates who happened along well-armed with a variety of machine guns, in noisy motorboats, probably stinking of oil and gasoline. Looked at through modern-day eyes, piracy has most assuredly seen better days.

In the valiant tradition of true and honorable captaincy, Captain Richard Phillips offered himself hostage to these thugs, who promptly carted him off in a lifeboat where they planned to hold him for ransom. They obviously underestimated the United States Navy, who came quickly to the rescue, isolating the maverick lifeboat from reinforcements; and late-breaking reports indicate that Captain Phillips is today a free man, courtesy of the Navy SEALS, that elite team of real-life, all-American heroes who go through the world's toughest training only to do a job which few even know exists.

After parachuting down in the dark, the military snipers patiently watched for their chance, and with the Commander's "fire-when-ready" ok in place, they opened up on the renegades, killing all but the one who had gone off to the Bainbridge to negotiate (That one is now in American military custody, and will no doubt be treated to a civilized trial where he will be represented by the finest legal counsel the American taxpayer can provide. . . another rant for another time.). Sharpshooters, YES! Three shots, three pirates.

Yep. . . Piracy may have lost its luster, but the United States Navy just makes me proud! And the Navy SEALS. . .? You gotta love those guys!

Back to Business

2009-04-09T00:42:00.000-05:00

The world conspires to keep me running ragged with NOTHING to show for it. My life has been deadline-driven for the last...how long...with the next/last one coming right up: TEA Party Day. Am I ready? I am not. The dining room is overrun with piles of papers and receipts and calendars, planners, work orders, and proposals. I am feverishly trying to sort it all out before the taxman cometh. Hmmm...exactly one week to go, and things don't look promising.

I miss writing, but my brain is too full to think. All sorts of things are running around in it. So many that I can barely sort them out. So I don't. Instead, I escape. You know what they say ~ When the going gets tough, the tough get going. Well, I'm going as fast as I can! Not that it's getting me anywhere.

Facebook is always good for an easy escape. Lots of fun and not much thinking required. AGH! How I look down on those lessers forever in escape mode. Now I am one of them. :-/ Well...what goes around comes around, and the time has come.

It's officially late and getting later by the minute. It might even be tomorrow.

So. Back to business? I hope so, soon. Right after garden club, a tax day TEA party, politics as usual, Dave Ramsey's Town Hall for Hope, helping C and De move their household, the annual Cherokee fish fry... Yep, by next month I should be able to start minding my own business. Unless, of course, someone/thing else is lying in wait.

Stay tuned.

The Tax Poem

2009-03-10T19:01:00.000-05:00

by Anon

Tax his land,
Tax his bed,
Tax the table
At which he's fed.

Tax his tractor,
Tax his mule,
Teach him taxes
Are the rule.

Tax his work,
Tax his pay,
He works for peanuts
Anyway!

Tax his cow,
Tax his goat,
Tax his pants,
Tax his coat.

Tax his ties,
Tax his shirt,
Tax his work,
Tax his dirt.

Tax his tobacco,
Tax his drink,
Tax him if he
Tries to think.

Tax his cigars,
Tax his beers,
If he cries
Tax his tears.

Tax his car,
Tax his gas,
Find other ways
To tax his ass.

Tax all he has
Then let him know
That you won't be done
Till he has no dough.

When he screams and hollers,
Then tax him some more,
Tax him till
He's good and sore.

Then tax his coffin,
Tax his grave,
Tax the sod in
Which he's laid.

Put these words
Upon his tomb,
'Taxes drove me
To my doom...'

When he's gone,
Do not relax,
Its time to apply
The inheritance tax.

Accounts Receivable Tax Building Permit Tax CDL license Tax Cigarette Tax Corporate Income Tax Dog License Tax Excise Taxes Federal Income Tax Federal Unemployment Tax (FUTA) Fishing License Tax Food License Tax Fuel Permit Tax Gasoline Ta x (44.75 cents per gallon) Gross Receipts Tax Hunting License Tax Inheritance Tax Inventory Tax IRS Interest Charges IRS Penalties (tax on top of tax) Liquor Tax Luxury Taxes Marriage License Tax Medicare Tax Personal Property Tax Property Tax Real Estate Tax Service Charge Tax Social Security Tax Road Usage Tax Sales Tax Recreational Vehicle Tax School Tax State Income Tax State Unemployment Tax (SUTA) Telephone Federal Excise Tax Telephone Federal Universal Service Fee Tax Telephone Federal, State and Local Surcharge Taxes Telephone Minimum Usage Surcharge Tax Telephone Recurring and Non-recurring Charges Tax Telephone State and Local Tax Telephone Usage Charge Tax Utility Taxes Vehicle License Registration Tax Vehicle Sales Tax Watercraft Registration Tax Well Permit Tax Workers Compensation Tax

STILL THINK THIS IS FUNNY?

Not one of these taxes existed 100 years ago, and our nation was the most prosperous in the world. We had absolutely no national debt, had the largest middleclass in the world, and Mom stayed home to raise the kids.

Daylight "Saving" Time

2009-03-09T23:10:00.000-05:00

I must be missing something. Does it take less energy to light up a dark morning than it does to light up a dark evening? My neighbor goes to work at 7a.m. She used to come out of the house, hop into her car, and take off. But now that Daylight Saving Time has kicked in, she can't find her way to her car in the dark. So, now she turns on her porch light before she comes out of the house, hops into her car, and takes off. Leaving her porch light to burn all day long. Isn't it wonderful, the energy savings one can realize this time of year...

The Economy

2009-02-27T20:01:00.000-06:00

The main topic of every newscast. But is it dying? Or is it booming? I guess it's sorta according to who you ask. For instance, this evening the CBS Nightly News ran a report on a survey they put together. All they did was to go around and poll people at several public places including a church, a job fair, and a car race.

Everyone had an opinion, ranging from "this too shall pass," not surprisingly at a church, all the way to my *favorite*: "A recession?! This is more like a DEPRESSION!" Strangely, this came from guess who, a person in the crowd at the car race. Well, I am not a professional economist or anything, but it seems to my uneducated mind, that a person who can afford to go to a car race must have at least some discretionary income. I know I haven't been to any car races lately.

So, here is my own little survey. Check these out, and make up your own mind. Is this a recession? Or is it a depression? Or, could it be, as it has ever been ~ the best of times, the worst of times...???

Now if you look here, you might conclude that, yeah, this is a recession. But so what? Let the good times roll!
If you can't quite afford the car races, this might interest you.
E-life being what it is, I'm not sure how we're going to get along without this one.
And on the home front, I'm happy to report that business is booming.

Whatever you conclude, there's no need to worry. Everything is going to be fine. Or is it? To quote the lovely Iron Lady, "The problem with socialism is that you eventually run out of other people's money."

Tire and Other Troubles

2009-02-24T19:17:00.000-06:00

Cars are expensive pets. Expensive, high-maintenance pets, and no shortage of moving parts and things to break down. This weekend we had two incidents.

The Other Trouble came first, after the "free" $25-a-ticket nacho dinner at the Home and Garden Show, but that's a whole 'nother story. The thing is, a light on the dashboard came on. I'm not sure, but I think it was a picture of a battery. We were on the freeway, with no place to pull over, so I handed the car manual to my Man, who was in the back seat with the Blue-Eyed Boy, and he tried to diagnose us on the run. Those car manuals are chock-full of all sorts of information, just not the information we need. Trying to find anything in there is basically an exercise in futility.

While he thumbed through the book, I drove. It was getting darker by the mile, outside and in, with our dash lights and our headlights fading away, but we were out there in the middle of nowhere, so we kept going on the hope that we would get home before we conked out. But just two or three miles from home we heard some scary sounds from under the van, followed by some scary jolts, and that was that.

Most of the roads in Texas have a shoulder where you can pull over, but this particular stretch of highway has been under construction for the last four years, and the side of the road is lined with orange barrels where the shoulder should be. So ~ taught in my early driving days by my dad, I can parallel park with the best of them ~ I pulled over in between two of the barrels.

A phone call to Geico brought assurance that the wrecker would be there within 45 minutes. Time, and dark enough, to take a nap, only it turned out that we had stopped just before an entrance ramp. We already knew there would be traffic whizzing by on our left side. What we were not prepared for were the cars and every other assortment of vehicles on our right side speeding up to join the freeway. Every time one of these came by we were given a good shake, reminding us that we were just inches away from disaster, so we could never quite relax and enjoy our predicament.

The Tire Trouble came about just a day or two later when we were outside watching the kids play. BB1, who was hiding behind Nellie, suddenly asked, "What's wrong with this tire?" Earlier that day the Blue-Eyed Boy had asked the same question. They clearly knew something I did not. My Man came over to inspect it, and whaddya know, there was a big screw sticking out of the tire, calling for a trip to MoreMart.

Good news/bad news. The good news: "Pull right up!" I cannot remember one other time in my relationship with MoreMart that I have been first in line (Remember when they had "You're always next in line" signs at the checkouts? Definitely another rant for another time.). The bad news: "The screw is too close to the side and we can't fix it. You need a new tire. Only $90." We normally get our tires at MoreMart, and we normally have road hazard, but these tires were bought by D and Da in Temple before M fell heir to Nellie.

So those nice MoreMart employees replaced the mortally wounded tire with the little pretend spare tire and a caution not to exceed 50 mph all the 30-mile way to Temple, but by then it was too late to creep anywhere but home. I arrived with my dialing finger ready and got right to work calling E Tires in Temple and discovered, quite by surprise, that we had to go no farther than Killeen, which was more than far enough on that non-tire.

The next afternoon we headed off to get our new tire. That was one long 10-mile trip ~ driving in the slow lane, hugging the non-shoulder, eating the dust of every last vehicle speeding past us on the road, and when we finally got there, unlike at MoreMart, we found quite a line ahead of us. But only two hours later, it was our turn. Thanks to road hazard at E Tires, we got a brand-new tire for just under $10, and we hit the road toward home.

So that is one little glitch taken care of, and at least I should be lucky that we have cars to spare, because the van, meanwhile, sits at the curb where the wrecker so expertly parked it on his very first try. Its turn is coming up, and this is just a guess on my part, but I'm thinking $10 isn't going to fix this one.

When you're a kid, the scariest noises may come from under the bed. But when you're an adult, the scariest noises come from under the car.

Profound Statements

2009-02-22T19:28:00.000-06:00

1. In my many years I have come to a conclusion that one useless man is a shame, two is a law firm and three or more is a congress.

-- John Adams

2. If you don't read the newspaper you are uninformed, if you do read the newspaper you are misinformed.

-- Mark Twain

3. Suppose you were an idiot. And suppose you were a member of Congress. But then I repeat myself.

-- Mark Twain

4. I contend that for a nation to try to tax itself into prosperity is like a man standing in a bucket and trying to lift himself up by the handle ..

-- Winston Churchill

5. A government which robs Peter to pay Paul can always depend on the support of Paul.

-- George Bernard Shaw

6. A liberal is someone who feels a great debt to his fellow man, which debt he proposes to pay off with your money.

-- G. Gordon Liddy

7. Democracy must be something more than two wolves and a sheep voting on what to have for dinner.

-- James Bovard, Civil Libertarian (1994)

8. Foreign aid might be defined as a transfer of money from poor people in rich countries to rich people in poor countries.

-- Douglas Casey, Classmate of Bill Clinton at Georgetown University

9. Giving money and power to government is like giving whiskey and car keys to teenage boys.

-- P.J. O'Rourke, Civil Libertarian

10. Government is the great fiction, through which everybody endeavors to live at the expense of everybody else.

-- Frederic Bastiat, French Economist (1801-1850)

11. Government's view of the economy could be summed up in a few short phrases: If it moves, tax it. If it keeps moving, regulate it. And if it stops moving, subsidize it.

-- Ronald Reagan (1986)

12. I don't make jokes. I just watch the government and report the facts.

-- Will Rogers

13. If you think health care is expensive now, wait until you see what it costs when it's free!

-- P.J. O'Rourke

14. In general, the art of government consists of taking as much money as possible from one party of the citizens to give to the other.

-- Voltaire (1764)

15. Just because you do not take an interest in politics doesn't mean politics won't take an interest in you!

-- Pericles (430 B.C.)

16. No man's life, liberty, or property is safe while the legislature is in session.

-- Mark Twain (1866)

17. Talk is cheap...except when Congress does it.

-- Anonymous

18. The government is like a baby's alimentary canal, with a happy appetite at one end and no responsibility at the other.

-- Ronald Reagan

19. The inherent vice of capitalism is the unequal sharing of the blessings. The inherent blessing of socialism is the equal sharing of misery.

-- Winston Churchill

20. The only difference between a tax man and a taxidermist is that the taxidermist leaves the skin.

-- Mark Twain

21. The ultimate result of shielding men from the effects of folly is to fill the world with fools.

-- Herbert Spencer, English Philosopher (1820-1903)

22. There is no distinctly native American criminal class...save Congress.

-- Mark Twain

23. What this country needs are more unemployed politicians.

-- Edward Langley, Artist (1928-1995)

24. A government big enough to give you everything you want, is strong enough to take everything you have.

-- Thomas Jefferson

Tax Time

2009-02-20T00:26:00.000-06:00

HAVE FUN AND GET YOUR TAXES DONE!!! "Liberty Tax" extends this absurd invitation to every driver on the main streets of Killeen and Copperas Cove and a number of other cities by way of the Statue of Liberty and/or Uncle Sam, of all people, standing by the side of the road jumping up and down and waving their ridiculous signs around. Does anybody catch the irony?

I confess, my first reaction upon seeing those ludicrous characters, was to laugh out loud, but it only took a moment for the feeling of hilarity to change to a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. The attention-getting costumes are comical, to be sure, but they underscore a tragedy in our delusional public consciousness (or more accurately, our lack thereof): As a general public, rather than being outraged by the onerous tax burden to which we are subjected daily, we allow ourselves to be amused and distracted and deceived, and voluntarily enslaved, because, after all, we're having "FUN"!

"HAVE FUN AND GET YOUR TAXES DONE" urges the sign. Huh?! I must have missed something. I can't imagine what's going on in that office, because nothing about having my $ snatched away before I even touch it strikes me as fun. Perhaps some of the fun of April 15th would evaporate if our own money made its way through our own hands, and then we were compelled to pay our taxes by writing a big, fat check once a year. That little exercise oughta raise some public consciousness. But meanwhile, we are just willing suckers who are too ignorant and apathetic to know or care. Sounds appealing, doesn't it?

WAKE UP!!!!! Take a backward look. Recognize what has been lost. There's no lesson like history, but too many of us are too brain dead to learn it.

...Liberty Tax? An oxymoron if I ever heard one.

Happy Heart Day!

2009-02-14T20:31:00.000-06:00

It is A Day in My Life day again.

My Man went off to work dark and early this morning like he does every Saturday, and I went back to bed, like I usually don't, and I actually went back to sleep for a couple of hours.

I love Saturday mornings at home alone, having plenty of time to avoid whatever it is I don't really want to do. Today, as it is so often, it was the paper piles, the bane of my life. Here a pile, there a pile, everywhere a pile...

I did manage to get myself dressed and had dinner almost all ready in the crockpot before the phone rang. It was my friend De who had found a homeless person by the side of the road last night. She was calling to see if I could meet them at the Little House, our church's pantry/clothing room. It was a chilly morning, but they had gotten out of the truck and were sitting outside at the picnic table when I got there. We went in and quickly found a few things for her to wear. Not so easy was rounding up something for her to eat: food had to be non-perishable, single-serving, and no cooking required.

We spent quite a bit of time talking with her. At times she was perfectly rational, other times...not so much. The encounter left us with a bit of an Alice-in-Wonderland feeling, and in the end she told us she would rather go live on the street than spend any more time talking to us, so De loaded her up with her *new* stuff and took her back where she got her. We can't fix her, but at least we know we did what we could, and she is a little bit better off tonight than she was yesterday.

I did a couple of errands, and then I spent the rest of the afternoon at home. I made some phone calls and took another run at the paperwork, which springs eternal around here. Every now and then I had to run outside and hold something for my Man who was working on a display stand for the Central Texas Home and Garden show next weekend.

Later on I had a moment of hope that I might see D on the webcam, but that was short-lived. It's a bit too advanced for my techno-grade, so here's my plan: tonight I will shut down the computer, and hope that it has time to heal by the time I turn it on again.

My Man and I used to have a standing date to watch the British comedies on Saturday nights, but over the the last year or two, with one thing and another, that lovely habit has gradually fallen out of favor. So tonight, in honor of Valentine's Day, it is being resurrected. That oughta be enough heartfelt fun for anybody!

Friendly Fun by Fone and Facebook

2009-02-10T11:07:00.001-06:00

Yesterday was a friend-friendly day.

My first surprise came when the phone rang. I am always a little apprehensive about answering the phone because, even in the age of caller ID there are unwelcome surprises. But, we have a business at home, so I almost always answer, because you never know when it's going to be your next client. This time the ID said "ST OF CALIFORNIA CON," certainly no one I recognize, and other than my mom, nothing California appeals to me. But, oddly enough, for a mostly local business, we get calls from all over the country, so, hesitant or not, I answered.

I was greeted by a deep voice saying, "Is this the A residence?" Followed by, "Is this M, also known as L?"

"Y-e-s-s-s-s...?"

And then, "This is DD." Oh, my, what a surprise!!! DD and I are friends of a rather unusual sort. We met probably some 40 years ago or so, when his parents hired me to babysit for him and his younger brother JD. I believe their father and my father had some sort of work connection.

DD was a fun kid to hang out with, and his parents were very nice to work for. JD...well, he was a bit more challenging than DD, but very likable, and now, having raised some challenging grand/sons of my own, I have a whole new appreciation for JD and boys like him ;-)

DD and I have stayed in touch over the years, mostly with letters and Xmas cards, and once with a visit when his traveling job sent him to the town where we lived. Over the years life has gotten faster and furious-er, and the letters have dwindled to only Xmas cards.

It turns out that DD now does some sort of research for the State of California, which is how he happened to come across my boy on the internet, prompting him to call me. We didn't talk long, but it was long enough. Long enough to re-establish a connection of good memories of good times.

My other surprise was WW on Facebook. WW and I are a much more likely pair. We became friends about 20 years ago when my family moved to Houston and joined the WW-led homeschool support group, our hands-down, no-contest favorite homeschool group in our entire homeschooling career. As homeschooling moms we had a lot of common interests, and our children became friends as well.

We, too, have kept in touch over the years with sporadic letters, and through our children, and like everyone who has lasted longer than a few days in this life, we have each been through some hard things and some difficulties, but here we are...alive-and-well survivors on Facebook!

Techno-tard that I am, I have to give high-tech its due. And I'm going to need to adjust my attitude to love it...EEK!...because that, it seems, is where my friends live.

Why the Pope Wears Red Shoes

2009-02-09T08:58:00.000-06:00

I've always been curious as to why the pope wears those ridiculous-looking bright red shoes. Awhile back during a Bible study, the pope and the Catholic church came up, and that got me to thinking about it again. After class I inquired of the teacher, a man exceedingly knowledgeable about world religions. He shrugged, said he had no idea, but if I found out to let him know. He finds ideas for sermons in the most unlikely places and thought there might be something there.

So I have been doing some research. Among other things, I discovered a world of information about the pope's entire wardrobe, including the cassock (a fancy lace-trimmed dress), the chasuble (a poncho), the cope (a cape/cloak), the mitre (a KKK-looking headdress), the rochet (a tunic), the mozetta (a short cape), and the camauro (a Santa-looking hat). But to stick to my topic, the ruby-red slippers, this is what I discovered:

They are a statement of his desire to demonstrate continuity with the symbols and history of the Catholic church.
They are a reminder of the years he served as a cardinal.
They are an optional papal tradition.
They symbolize the blood of martyrdom.
They identify him with the Holy Spirit.
Red represents power.
They represent his ultimate sovereignty, without being subjected to any temporal authority.
"Because he wants to go to Kansas."

I believe the last one is a bit tongue-in-cheek, but there it is. So in case you ever wondered...

P.S. They are rumored to be made by Prada, from the finest Moroccan leather, at a cost of $640 a pair. But I am happy to report that the pope gets his free.

Snap Peas on Sunday

2009-02-08T19:19:00.001-06:00

It's potluck Sunday again! My favorite place to try out new recipes. My favorite place to cook recipes too big for our little two-person family. And my favorite place to make things my Man doesn't like to eat. Today was a day for the latter. Onion Pie, and from my dearly loved friend of Good Cookie fame, Sugar Snap Peas:

3 slices of bacon in 1/2" pieces
1 small onion, chopped
1 lb sugar snap peas
1/2 c. water

Cook bacon until crisp, remove from pan. Cook onion 3 minutes, or until just tender. Add peas and water to the pan. Cover and cook 5 minutes. Uncover and allow liquid to cook away. Add bacon back to pan and remove from heat.

Simple, and another YUM-YES!

A Juneuary Day, Sausage and Vegetable Linguini, and Good Cookies

2009-01-29T16:26:00.000-06:00

I love those few-and-far-between stay-at-home days. They are oh-so-rare in the busy running of a life with no margin...!

We have been in winter's icy hand the last week or so...well, the Texas version, anyway...but today it took a break and we had a perfect spring day. June in January. It was a bit windy, no big deal for this Azore-raised girl, and a generally lovely day, even if one's tastes run to autumn.

D is here, along with the little girls, which always makes the most mundane the most exciting, as in "By myself it I would manage to get this done in 30 minutes, but with your help I can do it in three hours!" Cooking for instance. We did a lot of it today, crockpots, stovetop, and oven, all of which kept the kitchen nice and warm. A little too warm at times for this Juneuary day.
~~~~~~~
For lunch we had one of our all-time favorites, Sausage and Vegetable Linguini:

l lb. sausage, sliced
5 bell peppers, cut into strips
1 3-oz can of black olives, sliced
1 small bag of frozen peas
4-5 carrots, peeled and sliced
1 8-oz pkg linguini
1 c. Italian salad dressing
pinch of garlic
pinch of oregano

Cook pasta in one pot. In another pan saute sausage and veggies. Mix everything together. Serve hot or cold.

That's how the recipe reads. As usual, we change whatever we want. Fewer bell peppers, leave out the peas, more olives, spaghetti instead of linguini (are they really any different?!), whatever looks right that day.

Plain and simple, and GOOD! Eat it now, eat it later, hot, cold, part of a meal, or all by itself...YUM-YES!!!
~~~~~
And a recipe from my sorely missed bff Jo, Good Cookies:

2 chocolate cake mixes
1 brownie mix
3 eggs
3/4 c. oil
3/4 c. water
lots of options: chocolate chips, peppermint chips, crushed peppermint candy...

Mix everything together. This will be STIFF! You may want to get the he-man in your life to stir it up for you. Drop on the cookie sheet and bake at 350 till done (you're on your own for how long). You can refrigerate or freeze some of the dough for later, or, if you are cooking for the Army, as we were today, go ahead and cook the whole thing.

This isn't exactly a healthy recipe, but it makes a TON, and they are tasty, if you don't eat too many. You will have enough to pack up a box for the cadets at West Point, take to the neighbors, share with a friend, and still have some left for the little girls to smear all over their faces (and possibly other places). Nothing shabby about that!

More Messiah

2009-01-23T15:01:00.000-06:00

Some random, in-no-particular-order thoughts on America's new Messiah:

Where, exactly, does this paragon of excellence come from? Kenya, Kansas, Hawaii, Indonesia, Columbia? For having a poor, single mother, 18 years old at his birth, he appears to have been quite the world traveler.
And where, exactly, was he really born? There's no birth certificate to prove he is even eligible to be president of the United States, and so far, nobody with any authority has had the fortitude to challenge him to produce it.
This one-of-us, everyday-guy, man-of-the-people has slave owners in his family tree! When it is ultimately decreed that the poor white never-owned-a-slave sods of today's America owe restitution to the born-free blacks of today, which side will Obama line up on?
Goodbye to the polite punctuality we have come to expect from President Bush. Hello to the keep-everybody-waiting, who-cares-about-your-time rudeness and inconsideration of President Obama.
And on another rude note: The new Commander-in-Chief paid not a moment of attention to the troops passing before him for review. He was too busy talking to the man behind him in the comfort of his heated review stand, and too bad about those poor suckers braving the elements outside.
Why do we care how much foreigners like Obama? Did they vote for him or something?
Barack Hussein Obama decided to use his middle name "as an olive branch to the Muslims." Huh? How about extending an olive branch to the half of the American population that didn't elect him?
It certainly eases my mind, in these turbulent economic times, to have a president so mindful of the financial struggles of the American public that he limits himself to in excess of $160 MILLION for a one-day event.
And not only that. With the country on the edge of a deep, dark recession, ethics and morality aside, he has managed to find the $$$$ to resume funding to the anti-life UN Population Fund.
Obama is going to git 'er done. And he's not going to waste any time. Just a couple of days in, and the Executive Order is out: Close Guantanamo. The question that hasn't even been asked, let alone answered, is: What exactly is going to happen to the inmates? Oh, no worries. Give them a free pass to America and hire an ACLU lawyer for each and every one, courtesy of the beleaguered American taxpayer. Ok, that problem's solved.
But even for Obama's staunchest (ex?)fans, all in Washington is not quite rosy. Gosh, I hate their luck!
So, we're not sure of where he came from, or who he really is, but at 1/4 black, 1/4 Arab, and 1/2 white, welcome to America's first "black" president...well, at least black-ish.

Inaugural Parade

2009-01-20T21:30:00.000-06:00

I am disappointed that M was marching in Obama's parade today, but I am thrilled that he was marching in the President's parade. In true West Point tradition, the cadets were thoroughly drilled and practiced, sub-freezing temperatures and any other problems be hanged, so I pretty much gave the activities of my day over to tv-watching, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Corps of Cadets. It was a colossal waste of a day. Well, except for collecting some fodder for this blog. ;-)

After slogging through endless pre-inaugural and inaugural and post-inaugural hoopla, we were more than ready for the parade, which, "due to circumstances beyond our control," was an hour and a half late in starting. We did not know that the West Point Corps of Cadets would be at the very front of the parade, though we knew they would be close to the front, and we mistakenly perceived this as an advantage. We could not have been wrong-er.

Obama's arrival was "fashionably late," while the parade outside languished in the freezing weather. By the time it actually started, a goodly portion of the parade goers had simply given up and gone home, and rumor has it that some of the participants in the parade were suffering from hypothermia by then. All this while Obama, the man of the people, took his leisure getting settled into his front-row seat in his climate-controlled reviewing stand.

Well, ok, we ourselves can't really complain. Other than the wasted time, we were comfortable enough in front of our tv set in our own living room, ready for "America's parade," as it was described by the press. America's Parade? Cool! Bring it on!

Due to Obama's lateness in arriving in the reviewing stand, the parade had already begun to file past when he got there, and he completely missed the first set of flags that went by. We were able to catch a glimpse of the very tips of the flag poles looking over Obama's shoulder through the window, and then the camera showed a head-on shot of the approaching Army band followed by West Point. We were all set for a good parade.

Only a funny thing happened on the way to America's Parade. Instead of showing us the parade, we were shown one shot after another of Obama watching the parade. Or, more accurately, of Obama not watching the parade. The new Commander-in-Chief was far too busy glad-handing the people around him to be able to review his troops passing before him, with the first military unit not to get his attention being none other than the Corps of Cadets of West Point, traditionally the very first unit to march under arms for a new president.

The press did treat us to one very short glimpse of the cadets, mistakenly announced as "The United States Military." M had told us where he would be standing, so we knew where to look: second from the right, as they marched forward, with Obama not reviewing them on the left. Hmmm...M on the right, Obama on the left...Yes, that would be right...or "accurate," I guess I should say ;-) Well, it was good that we knew where to find him, because all we got was a nanosecond of a look before we were back watching Obama (not) watching.

And that was the parade. I hope that it isn't an omen of things to come to the military from the hand of their new Commander-in-Chief. Now we can only pray.

And so, good, bad, or ugly, I'm off to remove the "NObama" sticker from the back of my van...

Coronation Day

2009-01-20T21:14:00.001-06:00

Today's the day the whole world has been waiting for! It is time for the advent of America's new Messiah. Er... President. It's the day that Barack Hussein Obama, elected by a shameless, sycophantic media, steps out of the fictional "Office of the President-Elect" into history, into a day, according to said media, of epic importance, more significant apparently, than any other presidential inauguration. Ever.

This same media is absolutely mesmerized by America's first "black" president. It is infatuated with him, far beyond the hand-holding stage. Twitterpated, as Bambi would say. Boot-licking, fawning, and swooning to a point past embarrassment, as evidenced by some of the commentary today:

I lost count of how many times I heard the phrase "history being made." Newsflash: History is made every Inauguration Day.
According to Katie Couric, the darling of CBS News, "It's impossible to be too hyperbolic about the importance of this inauguration."
And Bob Schieffer's comments on the festivities: "Washington has never seen anything like this before." What? Washington has never seen a president inaugurated?!
"This president is so inspiring, young children all over the country have stars in their eyes?" Fascinating. I myself have never known any young child to have such definite political leanings.
"At last, a president that represents all the people." Huh? I don't recall voting for him, and he and I have such severely opposing views on so many basic issues, he can't possibly represent me.

Why is it that Mr. Obama was courted and interviewed and treated to press conferences long before he was ever inaugurated? And how is it that for the last several weeks, the media took to calling then-President Bush "Mr. Bush," while referring to then-Mr. Obama as "President Obama"?

All I know for sure is that for better or for worse, or for indifferent, we're on. Don't worry, we'll have the press and the media to keep us up to date on the events of the day, but if we want to know the truth, I'm quite certain it would behoove us to stay awake and pay attention.

A New Year Day

2009-01-14T21:01:00.001-06:00

It's a New Year, and here we go again. The first month is halfway over already, and time is going just as fast as ever. Next thing you know it's going to be New Year again, but for now it is *still* 2009.

I got my Man off to work this morning, and that left me home alone for most of the day, a rarity around here the last few months.

It was cool this morning, though not too cool to go for a walk in the park with my friend, but the rest of the day turned out cold (well, cold-ish) and clammy. The kind of day that is perfect for sitting in front of the fireplace, only we don't have one. How is it that the chimney sweep doesn't have a fireplace...???

After my walk I did all the everyday things: phone calls, paperwork, errands, paperwork, tidying up, and did I mention paperwork? The bane of my life....

Late in the day we had a visit from C and De and the kidlets, who were passing through town. De was offered a job in the next town over and will almost surely take it, so big changes coming up in that quarter. We all went out to dinner (Does Taco Bell qualify as a *dinner*-worthy establishment?), and then we parted company.

On another front, this afternoon we heard from M that he has been assigned his spot in the Inaugural Parade: 2nd from the right in the 2nd row, so we will know exactly where to look for him, and I can't wait! My Man is taking the day off from work so he won't miss a thing.

Tonight we went to the Bible study where we have been studying Luke for the last oh-so-long. When we study something, we study it thoroughly ;-)

Afterwards there was a phone call from M! I see him pretty much daily on IM and text messages, but we don't get to talk often, so it was the perfect ending to a perfectly ordinary day.

A Whiff of Winter

2009-01-06T16:32:00.000-06:00

Well, at least what passes for winter in Texas.

This morning was our second day in a row to wake up to cold, clammy air and rainy, grey drizzle alternating with rainy, grey rain, and thin, cold sunshine sparkling through the ice-clad branches of the trees. Even the dumpsters sported rows of icicles, and car mirrors and windshields were spread with sheets of lacy ice. Whatever it may feel like, new ice (and new snow when you can get it) makes everything beautiful...lovely and appealing, but, alas, treacherous. Hmmmm.... sorta like sin, come to think of it.

But, unlike sin, winter doesn't stick around for long. At least not in this part of the world. We may have had one full day of winter yesterday~according to Rusty, the 30-something high yesterday occurred at 3am~and this morning may have called for hats and gloves, but this afternoon hats are dismissed and jackets are abandoned. The wild wind may not have quite succeeded in blowing us off the road, but it thoroughly swept every wisp of cloud from the overcast sky leaving only blue behind. Not the rich blue blue of autumn or the bright promising blue of spring, but still, clear watery blue.

M, up in the wilds of New York, laughs when we say *cold.* Well, what might you expect from someone who is watching new snow falling on a Hudson River half frozen over. Now that's Winter. What we have here is just an imitation. A Windy Wisp of Winter.

The Last Day

2009-01-03T15:24:00.000-06:00

Well, just a couple of hours in the car in the dark, not really a day at all, at least not on this end.

M and I left the house today at 4:20. AM. to catch the first flight of his trip, leaving at 7. He didn't actually have to be back at West Point until tomorrow, but as much as we would have enjoyed one more day with him, it was going to cost $500 to change his ticket, and as it develops, even outside of the $ factor, there are some definite advantages to giving yourself some margin. It definitely cuts down on the stress when

you just commented on the great traveling conditions: good weather, good road, bare minimum of traffic, and suddenly you have to slam on the brakes when you come upon a sea of red lights on the road in front of you, and a whole herd of 18-wheelers and assorted other vehicles bring you to a complete standstill, with the only movement on the scene coming from one emergency vehicle after another screeching its way to somewhere down the road ahead of you, and you end up creating your own ramp to escape the interstate. Adventure driving at its finest. Just as you pull up to the feeder road, two more ambulances whiz by barely giving you time to stop, and then as you cruise down the access road toward the stoplight, you get a look at the cause of all the commotion: a dead 18-wheeler flat on its back, bellowing smoke into the night, sprawled across all southbound lanes of the interstate, attended by a host of ambulances, police cars, and fire trucks. And then just for good measure, the stop light holds you up for a good half hour. Ok, maybe not that long, but at least long enough to convince you to "run" the light. Or when

you make it the airport with still enough time to make your flight (unlike the hapless wannabe passengers at the kiosk next to you who are firmly informed by the friendly computer that "It is too late to check in for your flight."), but then you run into an ignorant, overly-zealous security guard whose disdain for the military is blatantly obvious, causing him to direct you into a safe little glass cubicle where he abandons you until he gets good and ready to make an example of you to the airport at large, waving his little magic wand up and down your body, and then patting you vigorously up the front and down the back, making sure you stay put by holding your shoes hostage, and letting you go with barely enough time to make the "last call" for your flight, thus ensuring that you will not have time to file a complaint against him. And then

you make it back to West Point a day ahead of your roommates, allowing you to choose your bed and your desk, register your phone, set up your computer, grab a laundry cart (uncontested) so you can move all of your stuff in one trip, no hurries, no worries; and the next day when the rest of the corps, suffering delayed flights and missed connections and other travel perils comes dragging in, you have a nice, leisurely day on your agenda, while theirs is overloaded with anxiety and stress, and they still have to move in and unpack.

What a difference a day makes....

Happy New Year! x2

2009-01-01T22:53:00.000-06:00

New Year's Eve found us on our way to visit Little Granny at the nursing home in Kerrville. We don't get there often enough, and we wanted to be sure and make the trip while M was here.

As we walked up to the front door, we noticed a van unloading: speakers, amplifiers, guitars, microphones, they had it all, right down to the three men, dressed all in black, relieved only by a white bandanna tied around the throat. Black felt cowboy hats, black Western shirts, black pants, and black...I had sorta expected black cowboy boots, but nope...canvas, tennie-style shoes (black, of course)...?!

We went around them into the lobby and immediately noticed people were beginning to gather. Some were seated in chairs placed around every edge of the room, others were being wheeled in, still others were shuffling along in their walkers. Whaddya know, it's PARTY TIME!! And we are just in time!!!

We collected Little Granny from her room, and settling in on one of the couches, we observed the remaining party preparations. As "The Sounds of Yester-Year" set up their stage, one of them commented, "I hope we get out of here early. I want to have some champagne tonight," and over in the dining room, aides were busily arranging fancy cookies on plates and pouring champagne ("With?" or "Without?") into fancy glasses.

I was tired, and it was the perfect time for a nap. Not a real nap of course, mostly just "resting my eyes." Anyway, how much sleep could I get with the Princess continually poking and pinching me while the sounds of the Lonesome Whippoorwhil and the Chattanooga Choo Choo were blazing away just inches from my right ear...? As I said, it wasn't a real nap, although I confess I was unaware of the aide standing in front of me until she very pointedly shouted, "Cookie?" at me. And she did mean "a" cookie, so I took care to choose only the very best...which, after it was too late to trade, turned out to be some sort of fruitcake cookie... Yum-no.

Well, that pretty well finished my pseudonap. While the Men in Black carried on valiantly with their repertoire, an aide passed out party hats and horns and tiaras and noise makers, after which came an announcement:

"We are going to count down the New Year! At 3 o'clock!"

Well, I supposed it would be the New Year somewhere in the world, even if not in Kerrville, Texas, and it looked like the members of the band were going to get their wish to go home early. I couldn't help noticing, though, that when the aide offered them champagne, they chose theirs "with." Hmmm.... champagne now, champagne later. New Year's x2 for the Men in Black.

Fifteen minutes later it was 3 o'clock, and right on time, the countdown began. Upon reaching "0", the Sounds of Yester-Year began their twangy rendition of "Old Lang Syne," something I hadn't ever heard before, and as for the noise makers and the horn blowers, let me just say that was one lively party! A whole lot livelier than our next one nine hours later... Party now, party later. New Year's x2 for us.

Shortly after the countdown we took off for a short visit with Aunt Fiona and her new husband. We still had a long trip ahead of us, but no hurries, after all... we had all year in front of us.

Happy New Year! Happy New Year!

Xcitement at Xmas

2008-12-26T16:10:00.001-06:00

...waaaay too much of it, and not the right kind.

Like every Xmas past, this one started innocently enough ~ up dark and early to a full house of noisy, xcited kidlets. At least it sounded like a full house, but a closer xamination revealed only two: the Princess and the Gingerbread Cookie. We had the dark part right, though, and the first round of Santa Claus took place by the illumination of twinkling Xmas tree lights.

Presents opened, trash cleaned up, ham in the oven, and here comes Part II: C, De, the Other Princess, and, reminiscent of Dr. Seuss's Thing 1 and Thing 2, our own BB1, BB2, and BB3. Ok, now it really is a full house, and so far so good.

After another bout of presents, the bulk of the kidlets went outside to play "football" with Uncle M. The ones that didn't go outside wanted to, and therein began the problem. D closed the door to prevent the escape of the Other Princess and the Gingerbread Cookie into the wild world of the front yard unescorted, and they began to sob with abandon, in the way I often want to, but, alas, am not afforded the luxury. While GC ran into the kitchen to pout and cry, the loud protests of OP were suddenly silenced when she lost her breath.

OP has been diagnosed with one of those acronymic conditions: "RAS," a seizure sort of a disorder. It isn't seizures so much in a neurological sense, but more a case of passing out when she loses her breath. According to the pedi-neuro, who has examined her extensively, this extremely common disorder which affects one out of four children is not life-threatening, but it is scary.

C, as always on the alert, tried to head her off at the pass. She yelled at De, who came running in from the football game, but their best efforts failed, and OP passed out. De tried to call 911, but true to form, our up-to-the-minute 3rd-world class telephone service had no dial tone, so 911 was summoned by cell phone while C continued trying to resuscitate her patient. I asked C what 911 normally did when they came, but she did not know; OP normally wakes up before they get there. This time she did not.

So when 911 showed up they placed OP in the ambulance, and while they worked on her they interviewed C, suddenly interrupting their medical questioning to ask, "Are you S's sister?" But never mind that. They could not wake OP up, so they took off with C and De aboard to meet the helicopter at the high school parking lot two blocks away.

D and my Man drove to the high school to meet them while I did the duty that never ends: KP. The food was ready to put on the table, but thoughts of dinner no longer figured on anyone's radar, so I put the food away to be considered at a later time.

C was allowed to accompany OP on the helicopter, and De came home with D and my Man. He rounded up the BB's and M and they took off for the hospital, 30 minutes away. D and I finished putting the food away, and then the rest of us saddled up to follow.

When we got to the hospital, we were met by S and Gi, who was on duty in the ER that day. She gave us the report: OP is awake and she is stable and they are waiting for the doctor. The doctor, when she finally showed up, was very cute and personable, but...she looked like a teenager! ACK! I'm not sure she was old enough to have a driver's license, but she seemed to know what she was doing and dismissed OP after a brief consult with the parents.

By this time it was late afternoon, and everyone was starving. C and her bunch headed for the in-laws, only a few hours late, and the rest of us came home to eat our Xmas dinner leftovers. (Are they still leftovers if they were never used the first time?). C and all showed up here again after dinner at the in-laws, loaded up their Xmas goodies, and went home. M went home with them, and the rest of us settled in for a long winter's nap.

OP turned two in November, and according to the pedi-neuro, RAS is typically outgrown by the age of three. So. Here's hoping to only one more year to go...

Safe At Home!

2008-12-20T10:35:00.001-06:00

We got our boy home last night! Just barely. Thanks to his early TEE's, he was one step ahead of the evil blizzard that crippled travel in the Northeast, and hours ahead of his classmates, all of whom managed to make it out of West Point, only to become stranded at various area airports and other places.

Amazingly enough, even with all the snow and the scare and the delay, M's plane arrived in Austin ten minutes ahead of schedule. We, however, were lagging an hour late picking him up, due to the omnipresent traffic factor of life in the city. (How in the world do people manage to live with this sort of thing on an every day basis? Another rant for another time...)

I felt really bad about that, but as it turned out, there was no need to, because even though he was early, his suitcase was a no-show, and he spent the extra hour in the baggage claim office where he was next in line when we finally arrived at the airport. When we saw him through the office window, the Blue-Eyed Boy exclaimed, "Uncle M looks sharp, doesn't he?" And indeed he did! Out of the mouths of babes....

The baggage man said his suitcase was on the next plane, due into Austin in a couple of hours. They do not deliver stranded baggage as far away as we live, so would we like to wait, or would we like to pick it up later? We would like to do neither, thank you. Fortunately, M, seasoned traveler that he is, politely inquired if they could fly it to Killeen, and whaddya know, they could. Via Dallas. But that well-kept secret is not an option that is volunteered; as is so often the case, it pays to know the right ?'s. So. Providing the luggage actually was on that plane, and providing there was enough room for it on the next two planes, we should hear sometime today that it is waiting for us to pick it up at the airport.

Luckily, the suitcase doesn't contain anything immediately necessary. Just Christmas presents from West Point. Clotheswise, he brought none, but it happens that we have a closet full of clothes just his size, so no worries on that score ;-)

We had plans to go buy a Christmas tree this morning, but at almost noon, M is still sleeping away, and he may sleep the rest of the day away for all I know or care. He apparently has had very little sleep the last few days, so I will not be waking him up today. As for the Christmas tree, my Man will bring one home with him from work shortly.

Tonight we have plans for a Christmas carol party at a friend's house. I will feel compelled to wake him up by then, if he hasn't managed on his own, but meanwhile, M is safe at home, asleep in his own little bed ;-)

M-M-M-Menu!

2008-12-18T09:05:00.000-06:00

M is coming home! And he has his menu requests in. It is, surprisingly, a long list. And whatever M wants, M will have.

If someone had asked me, I would have assured him (or her!) that M does not really like my food. Actually, I would have said that about all of my kidlets. And my grandkidlets. And my Man. There's nothing quite like years of rebellion and refusal at the dinner table to put one on the defensive, but, to give credit where credit is due, or in this case not to give credit where none is due, I am not at all what one would call a "chef", though to go by the evidence, I have been at least "adequate."

So imagine my astonishment when I got a list of 21 favorite dishes he wants to have while he is home! He will be here barely two weeks, so I'm not sure we will have time to eat all that food, but we will give it our best shot.

Later, when reading the list to D, I had my second surprise when she seconded the sentiment! Now that all of my kidlets have left the best part of my life behind, I have ample occasion to wonder if they were doing any more than just passing through on their way to the future? Did any of it really "take"? Frequently I would have to say not, but then just as frequently I am astounded to find that they really were listening after all... which I guess is why one should keep on keeping on, even in the face of all seeming aridity and disenchantment. The unfathomable mysteries of life, and parenthood, are endless....

Well, M will be here tomorrow, followed by D a day or two later, so I suppose I should go and awaken the pantry and the kitchen out of their slumber. Cooking three (or at least two) meals every day will seem like a marathon after our recent empty-nested style of cooking only once every day or two.

D has asked that we not start eating until she arrives.

Wicked Winter Weather Woes

2008-12-16T13:26:00.000-06:00

YES! "Seasonal" weather! Winter is reaching its icy fingers down deep in the the Heart of Texas, and we are freeeeeeeezing. Really.

It is down in the 30's, and even downer into the 20's this morning. The cars are frosted, the road is ice-coated, and the wind is Azore-worthy. Accidents on area highways abound, from fender-benders to rollovers, and the police plead for everyone to stay home unless they have to be out.

Now that I think about it, I believe we have passed seasonal and ventured over into beyond. In fact, I notice the weather news is replete with reports of record cold and snowfall, ice storms, and power outages all over the country, and the season has barely started. It won't even be officially winter until next week....?!! What is up with that? Oh, wait, wait. I know!

It's gotta be that treacherous global warming!

Alas

2008-12-15T22:55:00.001-06:00

"We've had bad luck with our kids - they've all grown up." -Christopher Morley

And so it is.

I Corinthians 13 Christmas

2008-12-14T22:48:00.000-06:00

If I decorate my house perfectly with plaid bows, strands of twinkling lights and shiny balls, but do not show love to my family, I'm just another decorator.

If I slave away in the kitchen, baking dozens of Christmas cookies, preparing gourmet meals and arranging a beautifully adorned table at mealtime, but do not show love to my family. I'm just another cook.

If I work at the soup kitchen, carol in the nursing home, and give all that I have to charity, but do not show love to my family, it profits me nothing.

If I trim the spruce with shimmering angels and crocheted snowflakes, attend a myriad of holiday parties and sing in the choir's cantata, but do not focus on Christ, I have missed the point.

Love stops the cooking to hug the child.

Love sets aside the decorating to kiss the husband.

Love is kind, through harried and tired.

Love doesn't envy another's home that has coordinated Christmas china and table linens.

Love doesn't yell at the kids to get out of the way.

Love doesn't give only to those who are able to give in return, but rejoices in giving to those who can't.

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never fails. Video games will break, pearl necklaces will be lost, golf clubs will rust... but giving the gift of love will endure.

~Author Unknown~

A December Day

2008-12-14T20:34:00.000-06:00

Sundays follow a sort of pattern around here. Generally pretty monotonous, but... thanks to my upbringing in the 50's and 60's, when the objective of parenting was training children, rather than entertaining them, I am pretty good at it ;-)

Since it is just my Man and I, Sunday mornings are no longer the frantic exercises they once were. Nowadays we get up and ready and then have time to do what we want until it is time to go to church.

The Blue-Eyed Boy spent the night with us last night, but his mom picked him up dark and early, just after 7:00am, so we barely noticed his presence this morning.

We left early, in order to have time to run off the bulletin before Bible study started. We have some new two-sided bulletin covers, the copying of which we had mastered, we thought, but we ended up doing a fierce battle with them and the machine before our eventual triumph, so it was good that we were there early. Our preacher is the best, and this morning his study and sermon were up to his usual standard.

Afterward we decided to try out a new Mexican restaurant for lunch. In the words of a friend who went with us, the place was "too upscale for a Mexican restaurant to last," specifically too clean and too light/bright. ;-/ The menu was very like the one at another place we occasionally go, only a bit spendier, and I ordered a chicken chimichanga, which was served with rice and beans. If you overlook that there was nothing green on that plate, the food was good enough, but too much to finish, and I hate wasting food!

Most of the afternoon was spent with the luxury of a three-hour nap. I have found that the most satisfying pleasures of life are the simplest: a shower, a good stretch, and, yes, a nap. By the time I woke up it was late afternoon, and we were off for the evening assembly.

We ordinarily go out and eat with friends on Sunday night, but tonight we were still full of chimichanga and things, so we skipped dinner and came home to our empty nest. Tonight we are getting things ready for a full day of appointments tomorrow, including a filming date with Emily, who is doing a segment on chimney sweeping.

At the end of the day, I am thankful for my family and my church and my friends, and I am excited that my Man has been blessed with a fine, though probably only temporary, helper. All simple things, all the best.

A Bloggy Woggy

2008-12-13T00:23:00.001-06:00

It's the Season of Sweeping, there's no time to think,
There's no time to write; I can't play, eat, or drink.
There's phone calls and schedules and things to remember,
There's clients and Xmas to fill up December.
There's shopping and cleaning, and chimneys on fire
At homes where they thought that our price was too higher.

I'm worn out and ragged, it's getting old fast!
I don't know how long I'll be able to last.
I'm tired and tireder; the pace is too quick;
I lack the endurance of good old Saint Nick.

Just us and we're tired. We're waiting to see
If we can hang on, just till February?
Only two months to go till the chimneys cool down
And then, then at last, we can go out of town.

What's that, a vacation?! Can that really be?
We'll visit our boy at W. P!
It's Plebe/Parent Weekend, and we'll spend some time
With our boy, where he stays, on the taxpayer's dime.

And then we'll come home, all rested and new,
And next thing you know, the next year will be through.
We'll be back in the trenches, just sweeping away,
Madly awaiting our next chance to play.

So there ya go, girlfriend, all I can do:
Your own bloggy woggy. I wrote it for you!

The Season of Sweeping

2008-12-11T15:12:00.000-06:00

It's the Season of Sweeping, and I don't have time to live!

Thanksgiving

2008-11-27T15:11:00.001-06:00

The usual Thanksgiving drill at our house is lots of grand/kidlets, and the aromas of turkey and dressing and rolls and pies wafting throughout the house before anyone ever gets up. Well, almost anyone. I seem pretty much always to be up, at least according to BB1: "Poke stays up late and gets up early."

But today, for the first time, we had none of that.

C and hers are at the in-laws' this year. I always wanted my kids to marry orphans, but I had not imagined that orphans would be in such short supply, and so far that hasn't happened. We have one more chance, and meanwhile we share. This year it is "their turn."

S and Gi are hard at work. The perils of life as a police officer married to an ER nurse.

D and the little girls have gone off to Kansas. Enough said.

M made out like a bandit. He took off after school yesterday to visit the aunt of one of his classmates (Is that what they call them?) somewhere in the vicinity of West Point; today he and a bunch of other strays are invited for Thanksgiving at Major Minor's; and Saturday there will be one more dinner, at the home of the chem prof.

So my Man and I had Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant for the first time in our 34 Thanksgivings together. When we go to Ryan's, which isn't often, I generally sample everything that looks remotely interesting, but, today notwithstanding, Thanksgiving is for tradition, so I decided to stick to traditional Thanksgiving foods: turkey, ham, dressing, sweet potatoes, pumpkin and pecan pies, and the like. It was an interesting change, but to be perfectly honest, our turkey and our pies are waaaaay better than Ryan's, and I don't think we will be repeating this experience. Now we are back at home, with no leftover turkey and no mid-afternoon pies ;-( No, we definitely will not do the restaurant dinner again.

My Man sat down to watch the football game and is now happily asleep on the couch, accompanied by Miracle on 34th Street, while I am looking out the window, thankful for the perfectly drizzly, perfectly grey, perfectly chilly Thanksgiving Day.

This year things are a bit different, a bit less comfortable than they have always been, but we always have something to be thankful for. The Scripture is replete with examples of gratitude and admonitions to be grateful, even when things don't look quite as we think they should, all summed up in I Thessalonians 5:18~"in everything give thanks..."

Now there's something to think about. And it's humbling to realize that there are worse things than being home alone for Thanksgiving.

One of Us

2008-11-21T18:42:00.000-06:00

So. Obama hasn't moved into the White House yet, but he's gearing up. And he's already made one important decision.

Unlike Jimmy Carter, an ineffectual but sincere (Dem, to give credit where credit is due) president from the last century who sent his daughter to public school while living in the White House, Obama has selected none other than the elite Sidwell Friends School, of Chelsea Clinton fame, for his little darlings.

Not that I blame him. It's just that, well, you know, we elected him because he's a regular, everyday guy. One of us. A champion of the downtrodden and the blue collar worker and all that. He's all about that equality stuff. Community. Sharing the wealth. That sort of thing. Yep, he's all about it. Until it comes to his family. All of a sudden we're not quite so equal anymore.

But I understand. Really. I wouldn't want my children in public school in Washington, D.C., either. No parent wants their children's personal security guards to be outnumbered. Or outgunned. Fortunately, unlike all those poor sods who elected him, he has the wherewithal to do something about it.

Welcome to the New USSA

2008-11-21T15:55:00.000-06:00

Obama is now recycling the Clintonoids as his "new" cabinet. How's that for Hope and Change?

Wah, Wah, Waaaaahhh...!

2008-11-20T19:49:00.000-06:00

Disgraceful. I am less than even the slightest fan of NObama, but I do find this somewhat, uh ... "inappropriate." There is, however, the matter of *free speech* which the Dems invoke endlessly to legitimize a multitude of the most egregious of transgressions. Their transgressions, that is. More of that one-way business... It never seems to matter whom they offend, but woe betide the miserable cur who offends their delicate sensibilities.

Tonight on the news there was a good deal of hand-wringing going on amid loud lamentations over the anti-Obama posters in MacGregor: "Oh, my gosh, Obama hasn't even been inaugurated, and already he is the target of such hatred and criticism, and it is making the people and businesses of MacGregor look bad, and what has he done to deserve such animosity, and ..."

Now here is what disturbs me:

When Obama was elected, "At last, we have a president that represents all the people" was heard throughout the land (Huh?! I don't recall voting for him, and he certainly doesn't represent me.), followed by "It's time for everyone to set differences aside and support the new president." Hmmm....

The sycophantic media then proceeded to fawn over Obama in the most shameful fashion. He was courted by the press. He was featured prominently on television, radio, and in the newspapers. His every word was quoted as though from the mouth of the president himself. His ideas and opinions were sought after as if he actually had some authority. An alien dropping in from another world would have, altogether reasonably, assumed Obama to be the president. The media was, and is, doing its utmost to influence the mindless public in favor of its darling.

But now, all of a sudden, here is at least one private citizen who clearly isn't in love with Obama. And what does the media have to say about that? "Wah, wah, wah, it isn't fair, he isn't even the president yet, why does everyone hate him so much, what has he done to deserve this treatment, etc, etc...."

So here is my question: If Obama is worthy of pre-presidency laud and glory and honor, then why is he off limits for pre-presidency criticism? The answer, of course, is that the Dems are the masters of the Double-Standard. And it is that simple.

As I say, I find the posters tasteless. I would never display them myself, but, America being the bastion of free speech that it is, this guy is squarely within his rights to display his own posters in his own windows.

And yes, I agree. We should all come together and the Reps should support the new president. Perhaps in the same spirit in which the Dems have supported the current one....?

Brain Overflow

2008-11-19T13:22:00.000-06:00

If they scheme with you, they will scheme against you.
Forget what's right. People only care about what is convenient at the time, or whatever gets something for them.
I love America. I love that America was conceived by godly men.
I still believe in the "Silent Majority."
Lose the "get out the vote" mentality. If people aren't motivated enough to inform themselves and vote on their own, they don't deserve to vote. And they certainly don't deserve the right to mess up my life, because:
Airheads are easily enticed by lies and false promises, and:
Forget the heck out of tomorrow; shallow minds can't even see past the moment.
Colleges in general are bastions of liberal non-thinking.
TANSTAAFL.
It is the "young voters" the media is always catering to that are out of touch with reality, especially the ones of today who have grown up in lala land with the idea that life should be "fair." As if it could.
The governments are ordained by God, not necessarily for our comfort.
And how is it that the ignorant are so cocksure about everything, while the intelligent are full of doubts?

Faith keeps a close eye on the facts, and it is time to put our faith to practice.

Good Mourning, America

2008-11-17T03:56:00.000-06:00

A week or two ago we had the choice of voting for socialism or capitalism. Socialism won. Now socialism is a wonderful theory, the problem being that it does not translate well into practice, though of course there are worse things than socialism: communism for instance, or fascism, or possibly anarchy.

The thing that disturbs me...well, one of the things that disturbs me, is that there are many, many happily oblivious socialistic countries out there, where all these short-sighted, welfare- and entitlement-minded miscreants could have moved to live happily ever after, but there was only ever one America.

Why is it that you don't see Americans, or anyone else for that matter, beating a path to any other country's door? No, people the world over want nothing the way they want to come to America.

A year or two ago, M had the pleasure of meeting several Frenchmen who had come over for an American history re-enacting event, an intriguing proposition in and of itself. They were professional, educated men in their 30's, and they carried on a good deal of thoughtful, intelligent conversation about politics and history and current events. At some point in the discussion, M asked them what they, as Frenchmen, thought about America. Their profound and simple answer:

"In our hearts we are all Americans."