It's tough to write when there's nothing doing in your brain. I'm not hosting any active resentments; those always prompt a torrent of words. Still working at Daisy Quean. Still married to MySpouse. So no excitement to do with job-hunting or spouse-hunting. Health is good, mental health in moderately good shape.
So I must be experiencing contentment.
I've heard that half of being grateful for what you've got is acknowledging what you've got. Perhaps part of gratitude at our age should be for what we don't have...children living at home, a load of laundry forgotten in the washer for three days, concern for other folks' opinions, a rodent's whisker for what people think of us. (Oops, rodent's whiskers will be in the next decade of our lives.) I'm thinking that gratitude leads to contentment, correct me if I'm wrong.
Anyway, I'm enjoying the lack of excitement, drama, negative emotions, and uncertainty.
The only cloud on my horizon is that I'm out of reading material; I'm reading something that I've read before. Monday that little cloud will be gone: I'll return books to the library and get different ones. And pay my overdue fines.
Yes, I could be content.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Tame Jungle
I have a palm tree. My husband bought it for me at Sam's Club about a week after Christmas. I call it my 'Christmas tree'.
At this point I have to express my astonishment at the buyer for Sam's Club ordering a pallet of palm trees during the first week of January in Iowa. I mean, it's cold here at that time of year. Hardly a hospitable environment for polar bears let alone palm trees. Maybe the buyer thought it would lessen the post-holiday letdown that some folks experience.
I was expecting the palm trees to be in very poor condition. Instead they looked quite healthy; evenly colored and producing new growth of fronds. I told MySpouse that I wanted one, today, while they were still healthy. Also, to get my money's worth from a plant purchase: 5-foot tall plant for $8.00 plus tax. An unusual purchase, to say the least.
Palm tree was purchased and we took some pains to wrap it up and protect it from the cold outside. Put it in the truck and wrapped it with a sleeping bag that was in the truck bed. Hustled right home and took it to the upstairs bathroom.
I found out last winter that the back porch is not a proper environment for large tropical plants. The soil in the pots gets too cold and roots start to rot. The upstairs bathroom is large enough to accommodate about three big plants and several smaller ones. Plenty of warmth and humidity and moderate light.
My 'Christmas tree' spent the summer outdoors in a spot that is shady all summer long. No direct sun until late afternoon. A good location for it since most houseplants are understory plants in their native environments. It has rewarded me with the growth of four new fronds.
I'm glad that it seems to be pacing itself and not growing as rampantly as a trumpet vine.
Getting on to mid-September, frost warnings on the weather site that we subscribe to, it's time to bring my tame jungle indoors. First the plants will be on the back porch for a couple weeks and then I'll take some of them to the upstairs bathroom. We'll all survive the winter in good condition, barring disasters.
With the plants in the upstairs bathroom I won't have to look at the horrible wallpaper that's in there.
At this point I have to express my astonishment at the buyer for Sam's Club ordering a pallet of palm trees during the first week of January in Iowa. I mean, it's cold here at that time of year. Hardly a hospitable environment for polar bears let alone palm trees. Maybe the buyer thought it would lessen the post-holiday letdown that some folks experience.
I was expecting the palm trees to be in very poor condition. Instead they looked quite healthy; evenly colored and producing new growth of fronds. I told MySpouse that I wanted one, today, while they were still healthy. Also, to get my money's worth from a plant purchase: 5-foot tall plant for $8.00 plus tax. An unusual purchase, to say the least.
Palm tree was purchased and we took some pains to wrap it up and protect it from the cold outside. Put it in the truck and wrapped it with a sleeping bag that was in the truck bed. Hustled right home and took it to the upstairs bathroom.
I found out last winter that the back porch is not a proper environment for large tropical plants. The soil in the pots gets too cold and roots start to rot. The upstairs bathroom is large enough to accommodate about three big plants and several smaller ones. Plenty of warmth and humidity and moderate light.
My 'Christmas tree' spent the summer outdoors in a spot that is shady all summer long. No direct sun until late afternoon. A good location for it since most houseplants are understory plants in their native environments. It has rewarded me with the growth of four new fronds.
I'm glad that it seems to be pacing itself and not growing as rampantly as a trumpet vine.
Getting on to mid-September, frost warnings on the weather site that we subscribe to, it's time to bring my tame jungle indoors. First the plants will be on the back porch for a couple weeks and then I'll take some of them to the upstairs bathroom. We'll all survive the winter in good condition, barring disasters.
With the plants in the upstairs bathroom I won't have to look at the horrible wallpaper that's in there.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Something New
I think I've finally attained the state of life that I've been seeking for years: dull and boring. I'm content to let other people experience excitement, drama, and adventure. Even so, there's a bit of backwash from other people's lives into mine...dead birds, loose dogs, stupid teens, and psychotic employers.
One of the things I've worked at for years is my penchant for being dramatic. I've worked at damping it down, that is. Still, it's as automatic as breathing for me, and so, difficult to monitor. With practice I've gotten better at muffling it; enough so to almost pass as a normie.
Years of attending AA meetings and some counseling on occasion have shown me that creating drama is an activity motivated by fear. Drama is a desire to attract attention; attracting attention is a way to deal with feeling insecure; 'insecurity' is just a longer name for fear. Fear is sneaky about how it manifests itself in one's life, but most often it is an activity with negative connotations. Promiscuity, hypochondria, and addictions are some of the common manifestations of fear.
Yes, we need to be somewhat fearful. I'm not willing to give up my freedom and my life to the first brigand that comes along. I do want to live with less fear in my life. I want to take fewer actions motivated by fear. Often I find myself trying to define where the boundary is between trust and gullibility. There is, I hope, a middle ground between the altruistic clouds and the paranoiac swamps.
My life is dull and boring on the surface. But here where I live is some small adventure in the search for the Land of Less Fear.
One of the things I've worked at for years is my penchant for being dramatic. I've worked at damping it down, that is. Still, it's as automatic as breathing for me, and so, difficult to monitor. With practice I've gotten better at muffling it; enough so to almost pass as a normie.
Years of attending AA meetings and some counseling on occasion have shown me that creating drama is an activity motivated by fear. Drama is a desire to attract attention; attracting attention is a way to deal with feeling insecure; 'insecurity' is just a longer name for fear. Fear is sneaky about how it manifests itself in one's life, but most often it is an activity with negative connotations. Promiscuity, hypochondria, and addictions are some of the common manifestations of fear.
Yes, we need to be somewhat fearful. I'm not willing to give up my freedom and my life to the first brigand that comes along. I do want to live with less fear in my life. I want to take fewer actions motivated by fear. Often I find myself trying to define where the boundary is between trust and gullibility. There is, I hope, a middle ground between the altruistic clouds and the paranoiac swamps.
My life is dull and boring on the surface. But here where I live is some small adventure in the search for the Land of Less Fear.
Rain on the Brain
Topic, schmopic....I'm going to go sit by the fire in the backyard and be entertained by my dogs.
My butt's going to sleep sitting here. C ya later.
My butt's going to sleep sitting here. C ya later.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
The Cockatiel's Corpse
When this request was first put to me, I thought "These people are absolutely whacked."
Certainly it was out of the ordinary.
"Can we bury our dead cockatiel in your yard? "
Whacked, I tell you. Seems so at first glance.
Extenuating circumstances exist: these folks have birds and cats and live in an apartment house. Where might they bury a beloved pet when they live in an apartment house?
One of the perks of making mortgage payments is that we do have a place to bury small pets that have died. Three kittens, a cat, and an opossum inhabit our 'Pet Sematary' . And now, a cockatiel. While it seemed an odd request (okay, it is odd); to let them bury their bird in our yard was actually a great kindness.
It cost me little to be kind to them. Five minutes to find a spade and dig a small hole. Five minutes more to share their grief at the loss of a pet. As a pet owner I realize that I am responsible for the life of a pet and at the end of a pet's years, responsible for their death.
Like many responsibilities, it is uneasily borne.
Certainly it was out of the ordinary.
"Can we bury our dead cockatiel in your yard? "
Whacked, I tell you. Seems so at first glance.
Extenuating circumstances exist: these folks have birds and cats and live in an apartment house. Where might they bury a beloved pet when they live in an apartment house?
One of the perks of making mortgage payments is that we do have a place to bury small pets that have died. Three kittens, a cat, and an opossum inhabit our 'Pet Sematary' . And now, a cockatiel. While it seemed an odd request (okay, it is odd); to let them bury their bird in our yard was actually a great kindness.
It cost me little to be kind to them. Five minutes to find a spade and dig a small hole. Five minutes more to share their grief at the loss of a pet. As a pet owner I realize that I am responsible for the life of a pet and at the end of a pet's years, responsible for their death.
Like many responsibilities, it is uneasily borne.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Stupid Teens
It's true. We've encountered a nest of stupid teenagers. Usually I'm willing to live and let live, but these kids' permit has expired.
This episode begins with a couple of teen boys in their first apartment. Teen boys, with other teen boys hanging out at their place. I have nothing against boys, per se; after all, I married one. But teen boys are quite something else.
One thing teen boys are good at is attracting teen girls. Unfortunately neither the boys nor the girls have the intelligence that God gave a green worm. These boys are too stupid to successfully steal a bicycle(a post for another day). The girls are given to making crank calls on their cell phones. Like the silly girl who called last nite...after we were in bed asleep...and had to be vicious with our answering machine.
These young people think they invented the word 'F***' (rhymes with duck). We know that's not true. Al Gore invented it shortly after he invented the Internet. The kids also think they invented sex, drugs, booze, and loud music... Oops; I believe my generation gets credit for that.
These teens haven't invented anything. Not even being a pain in the ass
This episode begins with a couple of teen boys in their first apartment. Teen boys, with other teen boys hanging out at their place. I have nothing against boys, per se; after all, I married one. But teen boys are quite something else.
One thing teen boys are good at is attracting teen girls. Unfortunately neither the boys nor the girls have the intelligence that God gave a green worm. These boys are too stupid to successfully steal a bicycle(a post for another day). The girls are given to making crank calls on their cell phones. Like the silly girl who called last nite...after we were in bed asleep...and had to be vicious with our answering machine.
These young people think they invented the word 'F***' (rhymes with duck). We know that's not true. Al Gore invented it shortly after he invented the Internet. The kids also think they invented sex, drugs, booze, and loud music... Oops; I believe my generation gets credit for that.
These teens haven't invented anything. Not even being a pain in the ass
Thursday, July 19, 2007
The Continuing Adventures of Daisy Fleabane
Daisy Fleabane sounds like the innocent heroine of an English murder mystery.
Daisy Fleabane is actually a member of the Aster family of plants. Erigeron strigosus or Erigeron annuus; look similar, grow under similar conditions. Like many plants that grow very well Daisy Fleabane is considered a weed. Me being kind of a casual gardener, when Daisy Fleabane showed up in one of my plantings I left her there to grow up and be pretty.
I've never tried using this plant for it's supposed 'flea-bane' properties. When it comes up in my plantings I'm inclined to leave it in place. Daisy fleabane attains the height of the taller asters,
2.5 - 3 feet, with the slender graceful stems of the taller asters, but without the least hint of clunkiness to the white blooms. I find it pleasant to see a plant whose blooms are in proportion to its leaves and stems.
About two years ago I had occasion to attend a funeral. There's not a lot of laughter at funerals generally, so I just smiled to myself and chuckled inside. In one of the flower arrangements the local florist had used daisy fleabane as filler instead of baby's-breath. I was amazed that there was someone else who appreciated the attributes of daisy fleabane besides myself. A bit of lightness in a dark day, as it were.
Daisy Fleabane is actually a member of the Aster family of plants. Erigeron strigosus or Erigeron annuus; look similar, grow under similar conditions. Like many plants that grow very well Daisy Fleabane is considered a weed. Me being kind of a casual gardener, when Daisy Fleabane showed up in one of my plantings I left her there to grow up and be pretty.
I've never tried using this plant for it's supposed 'flea-bane' properties. When it comes up in my plantings I'm inclined to leave it in place. Daisy fleabane attains the height of the taller asters,
2.5 - 3 feet, with the slender graceful stems of the taller asters, but without the least hint of clunkiness to the white blooms. I find it pleasant to see a plant whose blooms are in proportion to its leaves and stems.
About two years ago I had occasion to attend a funeral. There's not a lot of laughter at funerals generally, so I just smiled to myself and chuckled inside. In one of the flower arrangements the local florist had used daisy fleabane as filler instead of baby's-breath. I was amazed that there was someone else who appreciated the attributes of daisy fleabane besides myself. A bit of lightness in a dark day, as it were.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Something About Rain
I would like to talk about something besides the weather. Or, rather, not talk about it in every post.
But today it's the topic that concerns me. A great deal of business in Iowa is based in agriculture and agriculture worships the weather. MySpouse and I are the children of farmers; we follow the weather fairly closely via the Internet. At this time most of Iowa is doing all right for precipitation.
It's a bit on the dry side here, tho; lawns are beginning to brown, the soil is cracking in places. I'm watering daily; all of the plants that are in pots and some that are in the ground. I've watched on the radar as storms get near our area and then split and go around. Frustrating, but until I'm elected President of the Universe I'll have to live with it.
Watering plants daily, sometimes twice a day if I have time. Watching the water flowing from the hose and anticipating the amount of the water bill. Knowing from my experience with horticulture that watering will keep the plants alive but it's not the same as rain. Eating shredded wheat will keep a human alive (I think), but it's not the same as chili dogs.
We've had rain, of course. It has come at about two-week intervals. Often enough to keep the crops growing, but long enough between rains to incite people to pray. I know I have been.
Praying, leaving the car windows down, leaving clothing on the clothesline...doing my part to coax some precipitation to this area.
But today it's the topic that concerns me. A great deal of business in Iowa is based in agriculture and agriculture worships the weather. MySpouse and I are the children of farmers; we follow the weather fairly closely via the Internet. At this time most of Iowa is doing all right for precipitation.
It's a bit on the dry side here, tho; lawns are beginning to brown, the soil is cracking in places. I'm watering daily; all of the plants that are in pots and some that are in the ground. I've watched on the radar as storms get near our area and then split and go around. Frustrating, but until I'm elected President of the Universe I'll have to live with it.
Watering plants daily, sometimes twice a day if I have time. Watching the water flowing from the hose and anticipating the amount of the water bill. Knowing from my experience with horticulture that watering will keep the plants alive but it's not the same as rain. Eating shredded wheat will keep a human alive (I think), but it's not the same as chili dogs.
We've had rain, of course. It has come at about two-week intervals. Often enough to keep the crops growing, but long enough between rains to incite people to pray. I know I have been.
Praying, leaving the car windows down, leaving clothing on the clothesline...doing my part to coax some precipitation to this area.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Sad Songs, Mad Songs
I'm thinking of starting a different blog. I've written mostly humorous pieces for Spook Stuff. I've written about some things in my life that were painful. I haven't written about fear and anger. I thought perhaps I would start another blog to deal with those emotions.
Observation and experience tell me that very few human actions are motivated by love or altruism. Actions motivated by fear and anger are far more frequent than actions motivated by more 'positive' emotions. How many actions in a day are motivated by fear? By anger?
Food for thought; perhaps a whole days' worth.
I would like very much to lessen the amount of fear and anger in my life. Not that there is a huge amount of 'negative' emotions now, but rather, room for improvement.
Alcoholics Anonymous teaches its adherents that anger and resentment are luxuries that an alcoholic cannot afford to indulge in. I have found this to be true for myself. Resentments are particularly deadly for me; a tremendous amount of thought goes into them, using up precious resources like brain cells and friends. Sorry, but friends don't want to listen to ranting.
The truth is that I'm harboring a resentment. Have been for a couple of months. When I was younger I thought that killing a person was the most desirable form of punishment for people that were objects of resentment. I can't say that age has mellowed me any, but killing has been replaced by suffering. I came to realize that killing is quick, but suffering can last a lifetime.
Who should know that better than me?
Anyway, the topic of negative emotions is on my mind. I'm trying to improve my life, I'd like to move on and leave the negative crap behind without killing anyone. Acknowledging all the emotions is the best way to deal with them. Hiding them only leads to blow-ups later, usually at the worst time possible.
I realize that no one's life will be entirely free of negative emotions. I just want less negative stuff in my life and more positive stuff. This actually sounds hopeful, considering how pissed I was when I sat down to write.
Observation and experience tell me that very few human actions are motivated by love or altruism. Actions motivated by fear and anger are far more frequent than actions motivated by more 'positive' emotions. How many actions in a day are motivated by fear? By anger?
Food for thought; perhaps a whole days' worth.
I would like very much to lessen the amount of fear and anger in my life. Not that there is a huge amount of 'negative' emotions now, but rather, room for improvement.
Alcoholics Anonymous teaches its adherents that anger and resentment are luxuries that an alcoholic cannot afford to indulge in. I have found this to be true for myself. Resentments are particularly deadly for me; a tremendous amount of thought goes into them, using up precious resources like brain cells and friends. Sorry, but friends don't want to listen to ranting.
The truth is that I'm harboring a resentment. Have been for a couple of months. When I was younger I thought that killing a person was the most desirable form of punishment for people that were objects of resentment. I can't say that age has mellowed me any, but killing has been replaced by suffering. I came to realize that killing is quick, but suffering can last a lifetime.
Who should know that better than me?
Anyway, the topic of negative emotions is on my mind. I'm trying to improve my life, I'd like to move on and leave the negative crap behind without killing anyone. Acknowledging all the emotions is the best way to deal with them. Hiding them only leads to blow-ups later, usually at the worst time possible.
I realize that no one's life will be entirely free of negative emotions. I just want less negative stuff in my life and more positive stuff. This actually sounds hopeful, considering how pissed I was when I sat down to write.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Buying a Battery
In a financial turn-around, I had more bucks than MySpouse. So I got to buy the new battery for his pickup. A month ago I bought a power washer. I'm really enjoying my trips to the masculine side of shopping. Of course, any shopping is good shopping.
I'm glad that all the truck needed was a new battery. I was afraid there might have been a more serious problem with the electrical system. Translation: a more expensive fix. As it was, the new battery was $70.00.
I understand the basic systems that make vehicles go. I'm just not interested in making them go myself. Lots of other people have mechanical talent; I don't.
I can make myself feel really guilty about my lack of interest in automobiles and their propulsion systems. I have to remind myself that different people have different talents. The person who can tell what model of car just drove by may not know the difference between a tomato plant and nightshade.
I'm glad that all the truck needed was a new battery. I was afraid there might have been a more serious problem with the electrical system. Translation: a more expensive fix. As it was, the new battery was $70.00.
I understand the basic systems that make vehicles go. I'm just not interested in making them go myself. Lots of other people have mechanical talent; I don't.
I can make myself feel really guilty about my lack of interest in automobiles and their propulsion systems. I have to remind myself that different people have different talents. The person who can tell what model of car just drove by may not know the difference between a tomato plant and nightshade.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Hair of the Politician You Voted For
Politician's hair; this is a subject that deeply distresses MySpouse. MySpouse is a registered Republican. He said this just yesterday which is why I retained it. Most times I don't recall which political party he is affiliated with altho he's always calm about my asking every four years.
People get killed doing political stuff. I prefer to avoid politics; if it's not dangerous, it's boring.
Since I'm not a clown in the circus of politics, there's something I've noticed: the dude with the hair gets picked. I shared this observation with MySpouse and he got a little upset. If it was women doing the choosing, I would understand. You never see bald guys in "Playgirl" or Avon brochures.
But it's not women. It's a bunch of silverbacks in the Good Ol' Boys club doing the choosing. I think it's hilarious, personally. Must be their latent homosexuality expressing itself.
Joking aside, I think that the various media that we entertain and inform ourselves with is somewhat responsible. Electing a politician in this era has a lot to do with who's photogenic, who's got the sound bite, the catchy quip, the cool slogan...the hair. None of those things would matter without the media to promote them.
We could elect someone for their performance in a political office, for the dignity of their name(see post for 6/26/07), for their morals and values...instead of the wave in their hair.
People get killed doing political stuff. I prefer to avoid politics; if it's not dangerous, it's boring.
Since I'm not a clown in the circus of politics, there's something I've noticed: the dude with the hair gets picked. I shared this observation with MySpouse and he got a little upset. If it was women doing the choosing, I would understand. You never see bald guys in "Playgirl" or Avon brochures.
But it's not women. It's a bunch of silverbacks in the Good Ol' Boys club doing the choosing. I think it's hilarious, personally. Must be their latent homosexuality expressing itself.
Joking aside, I think that the various media that we entertain and inform ourselves with is somewhat responsible. Electing a politician in this era has a lot to do with who's photogenic, who's got the sound bite, the catchy quip, the cool slogan...the hair. None of those things would matter without the media to promote them.
We could elect someone for their performance in a political office, for the dignity of their name(see post for 6/26/07), for their morals and values...instead of the wave in their hair.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Who 'Mitt' You Be?
Politics are not my forte. I can converse about almost anything with almost anyone, but sports, politics, and religion are topics I usually avoid. People get killed for having opinions about sports, politics, and religion.
I should be safe here tho. What concerns me is not the politics but the politician's name.
I've searched my soul, folks, and I find that I just can't take a man called 'Mitt' seriously. I don't care if he has good hair(post about this hair thing). The hair is overshadowed by the name for me. Mitt...one vowel away from 'mutt'.
His given name was Willard Mitt Romney. I'd rather have a President named Willard Romney, actually. There's a bit of dignity to 'Willard'. Mitt sounds like something you'd call a miniature poodle puppy. Anyone in America can grow up and become President; parents should keep this in mind when naming children.
A blog is all about having opinions, of course. My opinion is that I will not vote for "A Man Named Mitt". Nothing to do with politics so much as to do with sanity.
I should be safe here tho. What concerns me is not the politics but the politician's name.
I've searched my soul, folks, and I find that I just can't take a man called 'Mitt' seriously. I don't care if he has good hair(post about this hair thing). The hair is overshadowed by the name for me. Mitt...one vowel away from 'mutt'.
His given name was Willard Mitt Romney. I'd rather have a President named Willard Romney, actually. There's a bit of dignity to 'Willard'. Mitt sounds like something you'd call a miniature poodle puppy. Anyone in America can grow up and become President; parents should keep this in mind when naming children.
A blog is all about having opinions, of course. My opinion is that I will not vote for "A Man Named Mitt". Nothing to do with politics so much as to do with sanity.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Nothing Against Monday
This is a Monday morning. Nothing special about it. A day of work, a day of routine; indeed, it has already begun in the way in which it will probably continue.
My day starts with dogs, of course. The routine is to get out of bed, potty, stand at the top of the stairs while the dogs run eagerly to the bottom of the stairs, warn Jackson not to piss in my house, limp slowly down the stairs, and let the dogs out. After a couple of minutes of 'out' they are ready to come in and have treats. Then back outside to be fed. While pups are eating, I make coffee. I spend some time outside with the dogs, usually poking up the fire in the backyard.
When I return to the house I have coffee and play a couple of computer games. Then play a couple games of Scrabble online. Do some work around the house or yard. Let the dogs in and out. Since I want to be at work at 11:00 AM most days, I bathe no later than 10:00 AM. Sit around in my towel for half an hour playing Scrabble again. Dress, eat a can of soup, go to work.
I admit it is a slow and lazy routine. I consider myself lucky to indulge in the luxury of leisure. It wasn't always like this...
Ten years ago I was busting my ass to support myself and my teen daughter. I had a paper route in the morning, an 8-hour a day job in a factory, and a paper route in the afternoon. I put in a 14-hour day five days a week, at least. If the factory had overtime, I worked it. Working 14 hours a day was better than being on welfare(aka Department of Human Services...DHS...I loathe them and what they do.).
I did this for two years. No car; the ex-husband got to keep the one vehicle that was functional. I did have a friend that I could call on if we truly had an emergency. I walked 6 to 8 miles a day, seven days a week. As you may gather, there was little leisure in that routine.
The morning newspaper that I delivered went out every day of the week, 52 weeks a year. No holidays off; I delivered a paper on Christmas Day, Easter Sunday, and of course, every Monday for three years. Delivering the newspaper is what made every day just a day.
The first year that I carried the paper I was married to Hubby#2. While I delivered a paper every day, he conceived a grand antipathy toward Monday(s). I used to sing bits of the Boomtown Rats' "I Don't Like Mondays" while I delivered papers. I laughed at the man and his silliness; a distaste coupled with alcohol became an obsession that took up a lot of space in his head.
The day he asked me to call his boss and say he wouldn't be in to work was the last conversation we had about his dislike of Mondays. I asked him if he was ill and he said 'No.'
"I just don't like Mondays." Wow; deja vu all over again.
I asked another question: "What difference does it make? If you don't go in today, Monday, then Tuesday will be the start of the week. Will you begin to not 'like' Tuesday, too?"
"I don't know." he replied sullenly.
I could see he was already beginning to pout cuz I'd poked a hole in the balloon of his obsession. He was so caught up in his life that he never noticed what my life had become. So much for marriage... That difference in perception of Monday(s) was only one of many differences that brought that marriage to an end.
Now, for me, days are just days.
My day starts with dogs, of course. The routine is to get out of bed, potty, stand at the top of the stairs while the dogs run eagerly to the bottom of the stairs, warn Jackson not to piss in my house, limp slowly down the stairs, and let the dogs out. After a couple of minutes of 'out' they are ready to come in and have treats. Then back outside to be fed. While pups are eating, I make coffee. I spend some time outside with the dogs, usually poking up the fire in the backyard.
When I return to the house I have coffee and play a couple of computer games. Then play a couple games of Scrabble online. Do some work around the house or yard. Let the dogs in and out. Since I want to be at work at 11:00 AM most days, I bathe no later than 10:00 AM. Sit around in my towel for half an hour playing Scrabble again. Dress, eat a can of soup, go to work.
I admit it is a slow and lazy routine. I consider myself lucky to indulge in the luxury of leisure. It wasn't always like this...
Ten years ago I was busting my ass to support myself and my teen daughter. I had a paper route in the morning, an 8-hour a day job in a factory, and a paper route in the afternoon. I put in a 14-hour day five days a week, at least. If the factory had overtime, I worked it. Working 14 hours a day was better than being on welfare(aka Department of Human Services...DHS...I loathe them and what they do.).
I did this for two years. No car; the ex-husband got to keep the one vehicle that was functional. I did have a friend that I could call on if we truly had an emergency. I walked 6 to 8 miles a day, seven days a week. As you may gather, there was little leisure in that routine.
The morning newspaper that I delivered went out every day of the week, 52 weeks a year. No holidays off; I delivered a paper on Christmas Day, Easter Sunday, and of course, every Monday for three years. Delivering the newspaper is what made every day just a day.
The first year that I carried the paper I was married to Hubby#2. While I delivered a paper every day, he conceived a grand antipathy toward Monday(s). I used to sing bits of the Boomtown Rats' "I Don't Like Mondays" while I delivered papers. I laughed at the man and his silliness; a distaste coupled with alcohol became an obsession that took up a lot of space in his head.
The day he asked me to call his boss and say he wouldn't be in to work was the last conversation we had about his dislike of Mondays. I asked him if he was ill and he said 'No.'
"I just don't like Mondays." Wow; deja vu all over again.
I asked another question: "What difference does it make? If you don't go in today, Monday, then Tuesday will be the start of the week. Will you begin to not 'like' Tuesday, too?"
"I don't know." he replied sullenly.
I could see he was already beginning to pout cuz I'd poked a hole in the balloon of his obsession. He was so caught up in his life that he never noticed what my life had become. So much for marriage... That difference in perception of Monday(s) was only one of many differences that brought that marriage to an end.
Now, for me, days are just days.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Uniform Shirts
I knew from when my daughter worked at Arby's that fast-food places are chintzy with their uniforms. My daughter had one uniform shirt that she washed frequently, if not daily. After a month it was so soaked with grease that it could have been used to wipe down car engines.
Now it's me who has a uniform shirt. I wash it four times a week. Lucky me, I know more about doing laundry than Little Miss so my shirt is not a grease rag. Yet.
It just feels very strange to be washing and wearing one item of clothing four times a week. Being addicted to clothing, I have mostly treated it with respect. My pattern has been to wear and wash an item of clothing no more often than once a week. Times when I found myself with only three pairs of pants that fit meant I needed to shop for more. But still, not wearing the same pair of pants four times a week.
No matter how I struggled financially over the years I never had to wear an item of clothing so frequently. Maybe I should have; I might not have struggled financially.
Now it's me who has a uniform shirt. I wash it four times a week. Lucky me, I know more about doing laundry than Little Miss so my shirt is not a grease rag. Yet.
It just feels very strange to be washing and wearing one item of clothing four times a week. Being addicted to clothing, I have mostly treated it with respect. My pattern has been to wear and wash an item of clothing no more often than once a week. Times when I found myself with only three pairs of pants that fit meant I needed to shop for more. But still, not wearing the same pair of pants four times a week.
No matter how I struggled financially over the years I never had to wear an item of clothing so frequently. Maybe I should have; I might not have struggled financially.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Coffee and Survival
Woke up with a headache this morning. I hate when that happens... thankfully it doesn't happen often. The thought of coffee made my stomach go "Bleeeaaaggghh." When I sat down to write my brain overruled my stomach and said "We must have coffee to create."
How wonderful to be able to make coffee in about five minutes. It's good to have electricity, water from the tap, paper filters, plastic items. I've made campfire coffee, and frankly I prefer what comes out of my drip coffeemaker.
Of course, coffee reminds me of disaster preparedness; my 'disaster kits' are in Folger's coffee plastic canisters. Just the right size for a can of soup, bottle of water, couple of granola bars, and some peppermint candy. I've made food kits, shelter kits, personal hygiene kits, and one entertainment kit. I'm no dyed-in-the-wool 'survivalist'. But I do think it wise to prepare to live for three days without electricity and fresh water. This is on my mind as Iowa enters into the season of storms.
Here in Iowa the scenarios of disaster are limited. Tornadoes in the summer, ice storms, snow in the winter. Flooding like central Iowa had in 1993. Least likely, terrorism at the Animal Disease research facility in nearby Ames, Iowa.
I haven't forgotten my conversations with Jean, a refugee from New Orleans. It hasn't been quite two years since Hurricane Katrina made landfall. What Jean had to say about the devastation of New Orleans and her life remains with me. Could I survive a loss like that?
I just don't know. Sorry, dear Jean, but I hope I never have to find out.
How wonderful to be able to make coffee in about five minutes. It's good to have electricity, water from the tap, paper filters, plastic items. I've made campfire coffee, and frankly I prefer what comes out of my drip coffeemaker.
Of course, coffee reminds me of disaster preparedness; my 'disaster kits' are in Folger's coffee plastic canisters. Just the right size for a can of soup, bottle of water, couple of granola bars, and some peppermint candy. I've made food kits, shelter kits, personal hygiene kits, and one entertainment kit. I'm no dyed-in-the-wool 'survivalist'. But I do think it wise to prepare to live for three days without electricity and fresh water. This is on my mind as Iowa enters into the season of storms.
Here in Iowa the scenarios of disaster are limited. Tornadoes in the summer, ice storms, snow in the winter. Flooding like central Iowa had in 1993. Least likely, terrorism at the Animal Disease research facility in nearby Ames, Iowa.
I haven't forgotten my conversations with Jean, a refugee from New Orleans. It hasn't been quite two years since Hurricane Katrina made landfall. What Jean had to say about the devastation of New Orleans and her life remains with me. Could I survive a loss like that?
I just don't know. Sorry, dear Jean, but I hope I never have to find out.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Limited Commitments
One of the first things I learned when I went to substance abuse treatment was not to beat up on myself. One of the ways to think more positively of yourself is to say "No."
And mean it.
Over-commitment, the bane of my existence... I learned that making too many commitments is a way that people sabotage what could be a good life. You feel like you're not doing enough, that you should do good deeds, so you take on a commitment or three. You're really too busy to fulfill the commitment or three, it doesn't get done, you feel guilty. You don't let yourself feel good about what you have been able to do becuz there are so many things that you haven't done.
You feel like you're not doing enough...
It's a cyclic, self-defeating thing, this over-commitment. If there is the least bit of doubt in your mind as to whether you can do something, say no. Stick to it. Complete the commitments you've recently made and then make no more. It's okay to say no. There are probably more important things in your life than baking 200 cupcakes.
When you're back to basics - job, kids, house, family, leisure, then take a look at where you want to devote the time that you (may) have. You'll find that when you say no and refuse a commitment that there is a bit of guilt. But that bit of guilt is negligible compared to the satisfaction of doing well in other areas of your life.
You'll be amazed at how good you can feel when you're not setting yourself up for failure. You've learned to treat yourself better, to avoid something negative and to enjoy something positive.
And mean it.
Over-commitment, the bane of my existence... I learned that making too many commitments is a way that people sabotage what could be a good life. You feel like you're not doing enough, that you should do good deeds, so you take on a commitment or three. You're really too busy to fulfill the commitment or three, it doesn't get done, you feel guilty. You don't let yourself feel good about what you have been able to do becuz there are so many things that you haven't done.
You feel like you're not doing enough...
It's a cyclic, self-defeating thing, this over-commitment. If there is the least bit of doubt in your mind as to whether you can do something, say no. Stick to it. Complete the commitments you've recently made and then make no more. It's okay to say no. There are probably more important things in your life than baking 200 cupcakes.
When you're back to basics - job, kids, house, family, leisure, then take a look at where you want to devote the time that you (may) have. You'll find that when you say no and refuse a commitment that there is a bit of guilt. But that bit of guilt is negligible compared to the satisfaction of doing well in other areas of your life.
You'll be amazed at how good you can feel when you're not setting yourself up for failure. You've learned to treat yourself better, to avoid something negative and to enjoy something positive.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Learning New Skills
Hooray! I finally made an ice cream cone that didn't look like a cone with a vanilla toad squatting on top of it. Don, the manager, was almost as excited as me. I've learned to use a commercial fryer. It's not nearly as terrifying as I thought it would be.
This new job is turning out to be a lot more hours than I thought it would be. Of course, I keep volunteering for all the unclaimed hours on the schedule...
Daisy Quean is a seasonal type of thing; busy in the summer, much slower in the fall and winter months. I endeared myself to the manager by telling him that fewer hours when business is slow is okay with me. Why would I want to go thru the hassle of going to work in the wintertime?
I am working toward the goal of new brakes for my car. I hope to achieve that by the end of June.
I'm still feeling like adapting to a new schedule is taking me forever to accomplish. Besides the housework that needs doing, there are things that I want to do. Like posting to my blog daily.
This new job is turning out to be a lot more hours than I thought it would be. Of course, I keep volunteering for all the unclaimed hours on the schedule...
Daisy Quean is a seasonal type of thing; busy in the summer, much slower in the fall and winter months. I endeared myself to the manager by telling him that fewer hours when business is slow is okay with me. Why would I want to go thru the hassle of going to work in the wintertime?
I am working toward the goal of new brakes for my car. I hope to achieve that by the end of June.
I'm still feeling like adapting to a new schedule is taking me forever to accomplish. Besides the housework that needs doing, there are things that I want to do. Like posting to my blog daily.
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Ice Cream and Old Lace
Every job has a different set of occupational hazards. I realize as I sit here writing that I brought one of them home from the new job.
I have spatters of ice cream on my reading glasses. Dried soft-serve ice cream; it'll take a bit of soaking in hot water to loosen it up.
I have spatters of ice cream on my reading glasses. Dried soft-serve ice cream; it'll take a bit of soaking in hot water to loosen it up.
Scheduling Life
I am adapting to a different schedule. I must be getting old cuz it seems like it's taking a long time. I'm trying to find an hour in which to do some housework. All I want is 15 minutes to vacuum, 15 minutes to wash dishes, 15 minutes to fold laundry, and 15 minutes to de-clutter.
I want this hour of housework to occur before I go to work. After work my feet hurt so damn bad that I can barely stand up, let alone do housework.
I like the hours with the new job: 11:00 AM to 5:00 PM.
Civilized hours...anything after 10:00 AM, is my definition. That way I have time to drink coffee, feed dogs, bathe, dress, read e-mails, and play a couple games of Scrabble online. I didn't mind rushing the pre-work process when I was younger; 15 or 20 minutes was plenty of time. Now I want a couple hours before I go to work.
I want this hour of housework to occur before I go to work. After work my feet hurt so damn bad that I can barely stand up, let alone do housework.
I like the hours with the new job: 11:00 AM to 5:00 PM.
Civilized hours...anything after 10:00 AM, is my definition. That way I have time to drink coffee, feed dogs, bathe, dress, read e-mails, and play a couple games of Scrabble online. I didn't mind rushing the pre-work process when I was younger; 15 or 20 minutes was plenty of time. Now I want a couple hours before I go to work.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Time, Money, Transportation
Time, money, and transportation... three things I can't ever seem to have at the same time. It's been like this for decades and it is beginning to irk me.
I simply cannot manage to have those three things all at one time. Any combination of two of them is allowed, but never all three at once.
Now, for instance. We finally could afford to get my car fixed. That solves the problem of transportation. A month ago I started a paper route, and two weeks ago got a part-time job at the local Daisy Quean. That solves the problem of money. The job at Daisy Quean and the paper route don't leave me with a lot of TIME, however.
I simply cannot manage to have those three things all at one time. Any combination of two of them is allowed, but never all three at once.
Now, for instance. We finally could afford to get my car fixed. That solves the problem of transportation. A month ago I started a paper route, and two weeks ago got a part-time job at the local Daisy Quean. That solves the problem of money. The job at Daisy Quean and the paper route don't leave me with a lot of TIME, however.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Compare and Contrast
This is about now as compared to ten years ago.
Now I have a job where I'm working six hours a day and I come home exhausted from it.
Ten years ago I had one full-time job and two part-time jobs and came home exhausted from them.
Now I walk to and from work, about a mile round-trip.
Ten years ago I walked to and from work, about a two mile round-trip. My full-time job was preceded by a two-mile walk on a morning paper route and followed by a four-mile walk on an afternoon paper route. The morning paper was seven days a week, the afternoon paper six days a week.
Now I'm overweight by about 40 pounds.
Ten years ago I was gaining weight even though I walked 8 miles most days. The weight gain wasn't becuz I was starting up walking; I'd been doing the four-mile route for three years. I believe it was a shift in my metabolism due to pre-menopause.
Now I'm recovering from three years of various injuries to my knees, ankles, and hips.
Ten years ago I would get up and walk away from a twisted ankle that resulted in a fall.
Now I know what a 'sedentary lifestyle' is.
Ten years ago I wasn't sure that I was 'active'.
Enough of compare/contrast. I've been writing mostly about physical ?symptoms?. I haven't written about the emotional storms that affected me. Ten years ago I was much stronger emotionally and spiritually than I am now. I am recovering my strength in those areas also.
1997 was a hell of a year. Accent on the 'hell' part.
*My son was sentenced to 50 years in prison.
*Lost my job of 17 years due to a plant closing.
*Started junior college fall of '97.
*My father died in December.
My son's imprisonment at 19 years of age was devastating to me. Followed six months later by the death of my beloved father... more than I could handle.
In April of 1998 my kids' paternal grandfather died; a man I'd known since I was 5 years old. In January of 1999 my stepfather died, 13 months after my father passed away. I was nowhere near recovering from my dad's death after a year. When my stepdad died I still felt as if it were yesterday that my dad had died.
On the advice of a trusted counselor I began taking Prozac. That was interesting, to say the least. I know that other anti-depressants have been developed since then and some are way more effective than Prozac. Safer, too. But Prozac did what I needed at the time, which was to give me some distance from the emotional pain.
My friend Pudgy was concerned about the changes Prozac made in my personality.
He said "I don't know who this person is in your body."
I replied "This is the person I need to be. Cuz this person doesn't hurt so much." He had been thru all the trauma and grief with me, my dear friend, and understood.
He told me "I like Janice. I'm sorry that she hurts so much." I said "Me, too." So we turned a tear-jerker into a bit of sarcasm and knew that all would be well.
I do not know how I managed to continue to go to school or do anything else. Certainly I felt paralyzed by grief. I guess years of doing what had to be done got me thru that time. While I did take Prozac for six months, thru all that time of grief and emotional pain I did not drink alcohol.
Now I have a job where I'm working six hours a day and I come home exhausted from it.
Ten years ago I had one full-time job and two part-time jobs and came home exhausted from them.
Now I walk to and from work, about a mile round-trip.
Ten years ago I walked to and from work, about a two mile round-trip. My full-time job was preceded by a two-mile walk on a morning paper route and followed by a four-mile walk on an afternoon paper route. The morning paper was seven days a week, the afternoon paper six days a week.
Now I'm overweight by about 40 pounds.
Ten years ago I was gaining weight even though I walked 8 miles most days. The weight gain wasn't becuz I was starting up walking; I'd been doing the four-mile route for three years. I believe it was a shift in my metabolism due to pre-menopause.
Now I'm recovering from three years of various injuries to my knees, ankles, and hips.
Ten years ago I would get up and walk away from a twisted ankle that resulted in a fall.
Now I know what a 'sedentary lifestyle' is.
Ten years ago I wasn't sure that I was 'active'.
Enough of compare/contrast. I've been writing mostly about physical ?symptoms?. I haven't written about the emotional storms that affected me. Ten years ago I was much stronger emotionally and spiritually than I am now. I am recovering my strength in those areas also.
1997 was a hell of a year. Accent on the 'hell' part.
*My son was sentenced to 50 years in prison.
*Lost my job of 17 years due to a plant closing.
*Started junior college fall of '97.
*My father died in December.
My son's imprisonment at 19 years of age was devastating to me. Followed six months later by the death of my beloved father... more than I could handle.
In April of 1998 my kids' paternal grandfather died; a man I'd known since I was 5 years old. In January of 1999 my stepfather died, 13 months after my father passed away. I was nowhere near recovering from my dad's death after a year. When my stepdad died I still felt as if it were yesterday that my dad had died.
On the advice of a trusted counselor I began taking Prozac. That was interesting, to say the least. I know that other anti-depressants have been developed since then and some are way more effective than Prozac. Safer, too. But Prozac did what I needed at the time, which was to give me some distance from the emotional pain.
My friend Pudgy was concerned about the changes Prozac made in my personality.
He said "I don't know who this person is in your body."
I replied "This is the person I need to be. Cuz this person doesn't hurt so much." He had been thru all the trauma and grief with me, my dear friend, and understood.
He told me "I like Janice. I'm sorry that she hurts so much." I said "Me, too." So we turned a tear-jerker into a bit of sarcasm and knew that all would be well.
I do not know how I managed to continue to go to school or do anything else. Certainly I felt paralyzed by grief. I guess years of doing what had to be done got me thru that time. While I did take Prozac for six months, thru all that time of grief and emotional pain I did not drink alcohol.
Friday, April 20, 2007
One Cat
Pets can be almost as exciting as children. A mixture of pets guarantees a bit of excitement.
I've written about dogs previously, but we do have one cat. Go-Go is the cat's name and she is about six years old. She is a unique cat, in my experience, being an indoor/outdoor cat. Most of the spring and summer she will spend outdoors. She's got a cat village on the north side of the house among the ferns. I know it's truly winter when she wants to come into the house.
Coming into the house used to be a chancy thing for her; way too many dogs in here. A year ago in January we had four dogs. April of 2006 we had our beloved Lily euthanized; she had a cancer that had invaded her spine. June of 2006 our sweet Meekaleek was euthanized; she had a tumor on her liver. Thus our dog population was dramatically, and sadly, reduced.
Our Princessa, Lily, barely tolerated other dogs, let alone other species. As the alpha dog goes, so go the lesser dogs. With two dogs however, Go-Go is willing to take her chances. Some back-up from the humans helps, of course. In the past six months she's gotten reacquainted with the inside of the house. Enough so to have evolved a routine of sitting on MySpouse's lap while he reads his daily blogs.
Although we feed her, she continues to hunt. The Saturday before Easter she had a headless baby rabbit in front of the porch door. I said to MySpouse "Everybody bites the head off the bunny first." I was glad I hadn't eaten yet. When we returned from shopping the rabbit corpse was gone, thankfully.
Mostly Go-Go hunts and catches birds. A lot of starlings, I think. MySpouse says they are extremely stupid birds and dislikes them intensely. I've never encountered any brightly colored plumage in her leavings; no evidence of bluejays, cardinals, or flickers being the meal of the day.
This morning I saw her trotting down the walkway with a bundle of dull feathers in her mouth and promptly forgot what I'd seen. I came in from the backyard intending to pass thru the house to the front yard and do a flower walk. When I opened the front door the dogs burst out onto the porch, Go-Go jumped onto the chest freezer, and the bird flew into the house.
The bird bumbled about in the living room, then found it's way into the kitchen.
I put the dogs out in the backyard. Brought Go-Go into the kitchen and said "Find your prey and get it out of here." Then I took a cup of coffee to the backyard and said to the dogs "Deja vu, kids; I think we've done this before." I stayed outdoors long enough to drink my coffee, about 15 minutes.
Hopefully that was long enough for Go-Go to find her bird. Now all I have to do is figure out where in the house she may have taken the bird and put it outdoors. Before I bathe and get ready for work...
I've written about dogs previously, but we do have one cat. Go-Go is the cat's name and she is about six years old. She is a unique cat, in my experience, being an indoor/outdoor cat. Most of the spring and summer she will spend outdoors. She's got a cat village on the north side of the house among the ferns. I know it's truly winter when she wants to come into the house.
Coming into the house used to be a chancy thing for her; way too many dogs in here. A year ago in January we had four dogs. April of 2006 we had our beloved Lily euthanized; she had a cancer that had invaded her spine. June of 2006 our sweet Meekaleek was euthanized; she had a tumor on her liver. Thus our dog population was dramatically, and sadly, reduced.
Our Princessa, Lily, barely tolerated other dogs, let alone other species. As the alpha dog goes, so go the lesser dogs. With two dogs however, Go-Go is willing to take her chances. Some back-up from the humans helps, of course. In the past six months she's gotten reacquainted with the inside of the house. Enough so to have evolved a routine of sitting on MySpouse's lap while he reads his daily blogs.
Although we feed her, she continues to hunt. The Saturday before Easter she had a headless baby rabbit in front of the porch door. I said to MySpouse "Everybody bites the head off the bunny first." I was glad I hadn't eaten yet. When we returned from shopping the rabbit corpse was gone, thankfully.
Mostly Go-Go hunts and catches birds. A lot of starlings, I think. MySpouse says they are extremely stupid birds and dislikes them intensely. I've never encountered any brightly colored plumage in her leavings; no evidence of bluejays, cardinals, or flickers being the meal of the day.
This morning I saw her trotting down the walkway with a bundle of dull feathers in her mouth and promptly forgot what I'd seen. I came in from the backyard intending to pass thru the house to the front yard and do a flower walk. When I opened the front door the dogs burst out onto the porch, Go-Go jumped onto the chest freezer, and the bird flew into the house.
The bird bumbled about in the living room, then found it's way into the kitchen.
I put the dogs out in the backyard. Brought Go-Go into the kitchen and said "Find your prey and get it out of here." Then I took a cup of coffee to the backyard and said to the dogs "Deja vu, kids; I think we've done this before." I stayed outdoors long enough to drink my coffee, about 15 minutes.
Hopefully that was long enough for Go-Go to find her bird. Now all I have to do is figure out where in the house she may have taken the bird and put it outdoors. Before I bathe and get ready for work...
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Car Dogs Don't Make House Payments
It's wonderful to be married. Really.
It's wonderful to be married to someone that I have things in common with. Like sarcasm.
Was a long day for both of us. Ending with a trip to an auto salvage yard where a transmission will be installed in my car. I proposed that we eat at the Oriental buffet cuz I knew we were both too tired to cook at home.
Most often MySpouse strikes people as being very quiet. He is quiet with people he doesn't know well. I'm outgoing, outspoken; the social bumblebee of the two of us...opposites attract, let us not forget. We make a good couple, he and I.
We took a little detour on the way home so he could see in daylight where the city had cut down some trees. Admired the Canadian geese down along the creek. I wondered aloud if they're the same geese that were there last year when I was walking Meekaleek near the creek. I got to see the fuzzy goslings gather around their mama when we startled them with our presence last spring. I recall being surprised that Meekaleek, the inveterate water dog, didn't wade into the creek after them.
We talked a bit, stopped at that spot, then continued on to our home. Pulled into the driveway and I waited until MySpouse shut the truck off to point out a bird in the maple tree and ask "Does that look like a blue jay to you?"
He squinted up into the tree and replied "Yeah, I think I see a crest on it's head."
He rolled down his window to open the truck door on his side and I groaned.
"What? You in a hurry or something?"
"Oh, no, no hurry here." he replied, "I'm perfectly happy to sit in the truck in the driveway of our home."
"My feet hurt too much to move. Let's just sit here for a couple of minutes." I whined.
"Okay", he agreed.
"And by the way, thanks for running all over the county for me today. I'm so glad that you're such a good husband. I'm so glad you're my husband." I told him. I was tired enough to be a bit mushy.
"Well, I'm lucky to have such a good wife."
I retorted "Of course you're lucky. You've got a great wife. Pretty, smart, got a job or two, likes dogs...you are one lucky guy."
As I recited the list he nodded his head and said 'uh-huh, uh-huh'. I looked over at him as he continued to nod and say 'uh-huh' and saw a familiar rhythm to his nodding. I asked suspiciously, "Are you imitating a car dog?"
He replied "Nooooooo. Car dogs don't make house payments. I'm just agreeing with my lovely wife."
Yeah, we're married.
It's wonderful to be married to someone that I have things in common with. Like sarcasm.
Was a long day for both of us. Ending with a trip to an auto salvage yard where a transmission will be installed in my car. I proposed that we eat at the Oriental buffet cuz I knew we were both too tired to cook at home.
Most often MySpouse strikes people as being very quiet. He is quiet with people he doesn't know well. I'm outgoing, outspoken; the social bumblebee of the two of us...opposites attract, let us not forget. We make a good couple, he and I.
We took a little detour on the way home so he could see in daylight where the city had cut down some trees. Admired the Canadian geese down along the creek. I wondered aloud if they're the same geese that were there last year when I was walking Meekaleek near the creek. I got to see the fuzzy goslings gather around their mama when we startled them with our presence last spring. I recall being surprised that Meekaleek, the inveterate water dog, didn't wade into the creek after them.
We talked a bit, stopped at that spot, then continued on to our home. Pulled into the driveway and I waited until MySpouse shut the truck off to point out a bird in the maple tree and ask "Does that look like a blue jay to you?"
He squinted up into the tree and replied "Yeah, I think I see a crest on it's head."
He rolled down his window to open the truck door on his side and I groaned.
"What? You in a hurry or something?"
"Oh, no, no hurry here." he replied, "I'm perfectly happy to sit in the truck in the driveway of our home."
"My feet hurt too much to move. Let's just sit here for a couple of minutes." I whined.
"Okay", he agreed.
"And by the way, thanks for running all over the county for me today. I'm so glad that you're such a good husband. I'm so glad you're my husband." I told him. I was tired enough to be a bit mushy.
"Well, I'm lucky to have such a good wife."
I retorted "Of course you're lucky. You've got a great wife. Pretty, smart, got a job or two, likes dogs...you are one lucky guy."
As I recited the list he nodded his head and said 'uh-huh, uh-huh'. I looked over at him as he continued to nod and say 'uh-huh' and saw a familiar rhythm to his nodding. I asked suspiciously, "Are you imitating a car dog?"
He replied "Nooooooo. Car dogs don't make house payments. I'm just agreeing with my lovely wife."
Yeah, we're married.
Employment Anew
I will start my new job at 9:30 AM. I'm always a bit nervous at first, but not nearly so much as I used to be. I found an antidote to new-job nervousness several years ago. A change in attitude can make a world of difference. Instead of thinking 'New Job' , I started thinking of it as 'New Skills'.
To date, I have learned:
+ to iron shirts properly.
+ to water plants
+ to judge the age of picked sweet corn
+ to operate a slicer
+ to hang clothing properly
+ the importance of signage to a business
+ to make change properly (a lost art)
Today I'm looking forward to an orientation and paperwork and my first experience making ice cream cones. I expect to end the day sticky but happy.
Some things never change.
To date, I have learned:
+ to iron shirts properly.
+ to water plants
+ to judge the age of picked sweet corn
+ to operate a slicer
+ to hang clothing properly
+ the importance of signage to a business
+ to make change properly (a lost art)
Today I'm looking forward to an orientation and paperwork and my first experience making ice cream cones. I expect to end the day sticky but happy.
Some things never change.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Job Hunting: The Sequel
"The future's uncertain and the end is always near..."
That's a great line in a Doors' song but it's not what anyone wants to hear from an employer.
It prompted me to begin job hunting again. Apparently I'm getting better at stalking the elusive job; this time it only took three days.
Saying 'Goodbye' to a person I'd come to admire and respect, a fellow employee at the restaurant, I stopped into the local Daisy Quean to get an ice cream cake for the goodbye gathering. It was slack time in the afternoon, about 2:00 PM. The manager of Daisy Quean had time to chat so I told him what I knew about the restaurant across the street. At the end of our visiting he told me they were needing help, would I want to fill out an application?
He gave me an application on Saturday. I filled it out Monday morning and then walked to Daisy Quean to return it to him. Returning the application segued into an interview. All I could say about quitting the restaurant is that there's a reason rats desert a sinking ship. An interview turned into hiring. I start Thursday morning at 9:30 AM.
It's a big deal to me, having a job I can walk to. Transportation has been an issue for a couple of years and I'm ready to address it. We're going to replace the transmission in my car this next week. I hope that will get me another year's use of the car. Getting another vehicle is my goal financially.
I'll try to remember that when I'm looking at beads, books, and clothing.
That's a great line in a Doors' song but it's not what anyone wants to hear from an employer.
It prompted me to begin job hunting again. Apparently I'm getting better at stalking the elusive job; this time it only took three days.
Saying 'Goodbye' to a person I'd come to admire and respect, a fellow employee at the restaurant, I stopped into the local Daisy Quean to get an ice cream cake for the goodbye gathering. It was slack time in the afternoon, about 2:00 PM. The manager of Daisy Quean had time to chat so I told him what I knew about the restaurant across the street. At the end of our visiting he told me they were needing help, would I want to fill out an application?
He gave me an application on Saturday. I filled it out Monday morning and then walked to Daisy Quean to return it to him. Returning the application segued into an interview. All I could say about quitting the restaurant is that there's a reason rats desert a sinking ship. An interview turned into hiring. I start Thursday morning at 9:30 AM.
It's a big deal to me, having a job I can walk to. Transportation has been an issue for a couple of years and I'm ready to address it. We're going to replace the transmission in my car this next week. I hope that will get me another year's use of the car. Getting another vehicle is my goal financially.
I'll try to remember that when I'm looking at beads, books, and clothing.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Write Now
I was actually home when my son called. He's been calling at intervals for three weeks, trying to catch me home. With two part-time jobs my schedule was very erratic; difficult to say when I'd be available to take a call. He was able to catch MySpouse Monday evening and get some idea of what my schedule was running to. So Wednesday morning I was here to answer the phone and talk to my son.
It's not that we have exciting news to share with each other. My life is settled and semi-boring, his life is the same. Considering that he's in prison you would expect that. The thrill of a phone call from him is that we get to talk to each other.
I've written about my kids a bit. I've had issues with them, as most parents do with their children. Although we've had our differences, we do love each other. I don't always approve of their life choices but the point is that it is their life, not mine. When I was their age I'm sure I was still driving my mama nuts.
That was my mother's curse when we were teenagers: "I hope you have six kids just like you."
It's good that I had only two children. I have one child just like me.
Talking to my son, I told him about starting up a blog, that being most of the excitement in my life now. Prison is mostly about boring inmates to distraction; nothing about rehabilitation to it.
He asked that I post his address so that someone will write to him.
Here is my son's address:
Raymond N. Hinders
#1107975
Anamosa State Penitentiary
406 North High Street
P. O. Box 10
Anamosa, IA
52206-0010
Thank you in advance to anyone who writes to him.
It's not that we have exciting news to share with each other. My life is settled and semi-boring, his life is the same. Considering that he's in prison you would expect that. The thrill of a phone call from him is that we get to talk to each other.
I've written about my kids a bit. I've had issues with them, as most parents do with their children. Although we've had our differences, we do love each other. I don't always approve of their life choices but the point is that it is their life, not mine. When I was their age I'm sure I was still driving my mama nuts.
That was my mother's curse when we were teenagers: "I hope you have six kids just like you."
It's good that I had only two children. I have one child just like me.
Talking to my son, I told him about starting up a blog, that being most of the excitement in my life now. Prison is mostly about boring inmates to distraction; nothing about rehabilitation to it.
He asked that I post his address so that someone will write to him.
Here is my son's address:
Raymond N. Hinders
#1107975
Anamosa State Penitentiary
406 North High Street
P. O. Box 10
Anamosa, IA
52206-0010
Thank you in advance to anyone who writes to him.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Yes, I Inhaled
It's good that I'm not a politician. I can be honest about smoking marijuana. I did inhale, altho it took me a long time to learn how since I'd never smoked cigarettes. In my early to mid-20's I used half-a-dozen different drugs. None of them to the point of excess or abuse, except for alcohol.
When my kids were old enough to be talked to about drug use I had first-hand experience with the effects. I did drugs for the same reason that most people do: peer pressure. Many of the people that were my age were using drugs and I was curious. Some of the people I was acquainted with then were addicted to various drugs; observing them gave me knowledge to pass along to my kids.
Talking to my kids about drugs didn't stop them from using drugs, any more than talking to kids about sex keeps them from having sex. I did think it was important to let my kids know that experimenting with drugs wouldn't make monsters of them.
Talking to my kids about drugs didn't keep them from becoming addicted to drugs. My daughter smokes cigarettes. My son is in prison for acts he committed while under the influence of alcohol and crank.
I always feel some responsibility for my son's imprisonment. I didn't get sober until 1993 when my son was 15 years old. I believe his attitudes were less malleable, that my sobriety didn't make an impression on him. My daughter would have been 12 years old when I quit drinking and my sobriety did make an impression on her. I feel that if I had been a stronger influence on my son he wouldn't be in prison. Isn't guilt a wonderful thing?
Twenty years ago teenagers were far less likely to be taking prescription drugs than they are today. Kids today are pretty casual about swapping their prescription drugs with friends.
I wonder what they will say to their children about drug use?
When my kids were old enough to be talked to about drug use I had first-hand experience with the effects. I did drugs for the same reason that most people do: peer pressure. Many of the people that were my age were using drugs and I was curious. Some of the people I was acquainted with then were addicted to various drugs; observing them gave me knowledge to pass along to my kids.
Talking to my kids about drugs didn't stop them from using drugs, any more than talking to kids about sex keeps them from having sex. I did think it was important to let my kids know that experimenting with drugs wouldn't make monsters of them.
Talking to my kids about drugs didn't keep them from becoming addicted to drugs. My daughter smokes cigarettes. My son is in prison for acts he committed while under the influence of alcohol and crank.
I always feel some responsibility for my son's imprisonment. I didn't get sober until 1993 when my son was 15 years old. I believe his attitudes were less malleable, that my sobriety didn't make an impression on him. My daughter would have been 12 years old when I quit drinking and my sobriety did make an impression on her. I feel that if I had been a stronger influence on my son he wouldn't be in prison. Isn't guilt a wonderful thing?
Twenty years ago teenagers were far less likely to be taking prescription drugs than they are today. Kids today are pretty casual about swapping their prescription drugs with friends.
I wonder what they will say to their children about drug use?
Monday, April 9, 2007
Smoke Stuff
I got this way without drugs.
I don't have the handy excuse that smoking six tons of weed would give me. I was always a lightweight when it came to smoking pot. Two hits was plenty for me. When I was in my early 20's I smoked pot regularly for a couple years. Averaging two hits once a week over the course of two years. Never had the money or the desire to indulge in more than that.
I remember the last time I smoked dope. It was at a keg party that was being given for my daughter's high school graduation. I hadn't had any alcohol for 7 years and my daughter was very shocked to see me take a hit on the pipe being passed around. Two hits...same old lightweight.
She came over to me with her eyes as big as saucers, absolutely amazed. " Mom? " she queried. Guess she wasn't sure if an alien impostor would answer her. I looked up at her and said "What? Did you think I didn't know how?"
"But you don't drink." I replied "No, but I used to. And I only smoke dope every seven years."
Teenagers can be so gullible.
I told this story at an AA meeting and someone said to me "Sounds like a 'slip'; you should get a white chip." I didn't think it was a slip and I didn't take a white chip over it. I didn't smoke the dope for the same reasons that I drank. Two hits of weed weren't going to turn me into a dope fiend or lead me to drink again. I drank cuz I was utterly miserable emotionally.
I just felt happy and comfortable...that was before I had the smoke. At my parents' rural home, my daughter graduating high school, all of my five siblings adults; just a kind of peaceful interlude. It's very difficult to get six siblings together when they're in their 20's and 30's. Like a lunar eclipse, it wouldn't happen again soon. Two of my siblings drank beer only, one of them drank beer and smoked weed, three of us smoked weed only.
That was that. I haven't smoked pot since then; I haven't needed to forsake years of abstinence from alcohol. It didn't change my life. It didn't get me a walk-on part in "Reefer Madness". And my daughter doesn't remember the occasion cuz she got soused on keg beer.
I don't have the handy excuse that smoking six tons of weed would give me. I was always a lightweight when it came to smoking pot. Two hits was plenty for me. When I was in my early 20's I smoked pot regularly for a couple years. Averaging two hits once a week over the course of two years. Never had the money or the desire to indulge in more than that.
I remember the last time I smoked dope. It was at a keg party that was being given for my daughter's high school graduation. I hadn't had any alcohol for 7 years and my daughter was very shocked to see me take a hit on the pipe being passed around. Two hits...same old lightweight.
She came over to me with her eyes as big as saucers, absolutely amazed. " Mom? " she queried. Guess she wasn't sure if an alien impostor would answer her. I looked up at her and said "What? Did you think I didn't know how?"
"But you don't drink." I replied "No, but I used to. And I only smoke dope every seven years."
Teenagers can be so gullible.
I told this story at an AA meeting and someone said to me "Sounds like a 'slip'; you should get a white chip." I didn't think it was a slip and I didn't take a white chip over it. I didn't smoke the dope for the same reasons that I drank. Two hits of weed weren't going to turn me into a dope fiend or lead me to drink again. I drank cuz I was utterly miserable emotionally.
I just felt happy and comfortable...that was before I had the smoke. At my parents' rural home, my daughter graduating high school, all of my five siblings adults; just a kind of peaceful interlude. It's very difficult to get six siblings together when they're in their 20's and 30's. Like a lunar eclipse, it wouldn't happen again soon. Two of my siblings drank beer only, one of them drank beer and smoked weed, three of us smoked weed only.
That was that. I haven't smoked pot since then; I haven't needed to forsake years of abstinence from alcohol. It didn't change my life. It didn't get me a walk-on part in "Reefer Madness". And my daughter doesn't remember the occasion cuz she got soused on keg beer.
Saturday, April 7, 2007
Pony-Tail Holders
Pony-tail holders...where do they go? The same place that socks disappear to, perhaps.
Our house has that same problem with socks that every one else has: they vanish from the dryer. Since my husband and I don't mingle our laundry I know that our missing socks have not slipped away to 'mate' under the couch. Nothing so sordid as that.
I suspect either extra-terrestrial aliens or a government conspiracy. Could be both; the evidence isn't conclusive. I'm betting that somewhere in the desert in New Mexico there is a mountain of socks. Actually, two mountains...one for whites, one for colors. That's your government at work, folks.
However, I believe the aliens are responsible for the disappearance of the pony-tail holders. I believe these aliens are disguising themselves as those four-footed canes that elderly people use instead of a walker. Be on the lookout for a four-footed cane wearing a snotwad of pony-tail holders on its slender body. Male aliens go for bright colors, females tend to wear pastels. And no white after Labor Day; they have adopted some Earth customs.
Perhaps a day will come when scientists will solve the puzzling dilemma of the disappearing pony-tail holders. The day may come too, when our government stops taking socks from innocent citizens and reveals what the socks are really used for.
Our house has that same problem with socks that every one else has: they vanish from the dryer. Since my husband and I don't mingle our laundry I know that our missing socks have not slipped away to 'mate' under the couch. Nothing so sordid as that.
I suspect either extra-terrestrial aliens or a government conspiracy. Could be both; the evidence isn't conclusive. I'm betting that somewhere in the desert in New Mexico there is a mountain of socks. Actually, two mountains...one for whites, one for colors. That's your government at work, folks.
However, I believe the aliens are responsible for the disappearance of the pony-tail holders. I believe these aliens are disguising themselves as those four-footed canes that elderly people use instead of a walker. Be on the lookout for a four-footed cane wearing a snotwad of pony-tail holders on its slender body. Male aliens go for bright colors, females tend to wear pastels. And no white after Labor Day; they have adopted some Earth customs.
Perhaps a day will come when scientists will solve the puzzling dilemma of the disappearing pony-tail holders. The day may come too, when our government stops taking socks from innocent citizens and reveals what the socks are really used for.
Desperately Seeking Boredom
When I started this blog I thought I'd be able to write enough to fill pages and pages. I'm finding that writing daily is a daunting task. Bummer. I'm also finding that my life is pretty boring and for that I'm grateful.
I've worked hard to make my life boring.
I quit drinking booze; when I stopped drinking, I stopped getting arrested. Funny how that worked, huh? Divorced a man who drank heavily; he was very exciting. Except he never got arrested. He peed in some interesting places, though. Dresser drawers, kitchen sink, floorboards of his truck... very interesting.
Shortly after I quit drinking I resolved to be less dramatic. Alcoholics Anonymous showed me that being 'dramatic' was a way to get attention; getting attention is a way to manipulate people. AA prefers that you not manipulate people. They call it "managing and controlling", and they can show you how silly it is to try to manage anything but yourself.
So when I felt that swelling of righteous anger I asked myself "What is my goal here?" If I were honest with myself and the goal was merely to inflate my ego with false indignation then I needed to let go of that. After practicing at letting go of the righteous anger I could feel the dishonesty of it. I became a lot pickier about what required anger as a solution.
My kids are grown and gone from home. There's an end to a whole lot of fun stuff.
I'm amazed at how teens perceive adults as having freedom. We all know that's crap.
Yea, verily, adults are free to freeze their asses off if they don't pay the light bill. Adults are free to sleep under bridges if they don't pay the rent or mortgage payments. Adults are free to starve if they don't earn wages to buy food. Adults are free to walk if they don't own a car.
So yes, if you perceive that as freedom, by all means pursue it.
Then of course, there's the kid who scares the crap out of you by pursuing the freedom of not working. Rent an apartment, have a baby, marry a loser; do anything but work. Hang out with people who are getting disability or food stamps or other guv'mint handouts. Don't look at the cage that those people are in. It's tiny, trust me. Don't listen to your parents when they tell you that getting disability is not a lifetime achievement.
Hey, I let her live. About six months ago she discovered her latent work ethic. She's still married to the loser, but one thing at a time, eh?
I no longer own a business. That had it's share of boredom, but the burden of anxiety was huge. It's a relief to work for someone else and let them make the decisions for their business. There were parts of owning a retail business that I enjoyed very much but those were out-weighed by the churning fear of not succeeding. Thinking about it now is enough to make my stomach knot up.
Simplifying your life is popular these days. I guess that's what I've done, albeit unwittingly. Really, I was searching desperately for boredom.
I've worked hard to make my life boring.
I quit drinking booze; when I stopped drinking, I stopped getting arrested. Funny how that worked, huh? Divorced a man who drank heavily; he was very exciting. Except he never got arrested. He peed in some interesting places, though. Dresser drawers, kitchen sink, floorboards of his truck... very interesting.
Shortly after I quit drinking I resolved to be less dramatic. Alcoholics Anonymous showed me that being 'dramatic' was a way to get attention; getting attention is a way to manipulate people. AA prefers that you not manipulate people. They call it "managing and controlling", and they can show you how silly it is to try to manage anything but yourself.
So when I felt that swelling of righteous anger I asked myself "What is my goal here?" If I were honest with myself and the goal was merely to inflate my ego with false indignation then I needed to let go of that. After practicing at letting go of the righteous anger I could feel the dishonesty of it. I became a lot pickier about what required anger as a solution.
My kids are grown and gone from home. There's an end to a whole lot of fun stuff.
I'm amazed at how teens perceive adults as having freedom. We all know that's crap.
Yea, verily, adults are free to freeze their asses off if they don't pay the light bill. Adults are free to sleep under bridges if they don't pay the rent or mortgage payments. Adults are free to starve if they don't earn wages to buy food. Adults are free to walk if they don't own a car.
So yes, if you perceive that as freedom, by all means pursue it.
Then of course, there's the kid who scares the crap out of you by pursuing the freedom of not working. Rent an apartment, have a baby, marry a loser; do anything but work. Hang out with people who are getting disability or food stamps or other guv'mint handouts. Don't look at the cage that those people are in. It's tiny, trust me. Don't listen to your parents when they tell you that getting disability is not a lifetime achievement.
Hey, I let her live. About six months ago she discovered her latent work ethic. She's still married to the loser, but one thing at a time, eh?
I no longer own a business. That had it's share of boredom, but the burden of anxiety was huge. It's a relief to work for someone else and let them make the decisions for their business. There were parts of owning a retail business that I enjoyed very much but those were out-weighed by the churning fear of not succeeding. Thinking about it now is enough to make my stomach knot up.
Simplifying your life is popular these days. I guess that's what I've done, albeit unwittingly. Really, I was searching desperately for boredom.
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Drive a Little
I was reading an article a week ago that said that Americans are not driving less even though the price of gas is rising. In the past there has been a correlation between rising gas prices and decreased driving.
I mentioned the article to MySpouse. He said "Well, how much can you cut down? It's not feasible to quit driving. People need to go their jobs, at least."
He drives about 20 miles round-trip to his job. Since there's overtime where he works he may make that trip seven days a week. Once a week we go to the larger city where he works for entertainment. Every two months we travel to a destination more than 100 miles from home.
We are not doing a lot of 'luxury' driving.
Transportation for me the last couple years has been very limited. In my search for employment I've focused on jobs here in town so that I don't have to drive to work. Anyway, I could stand to walk; my legs need strengthening and I'd like to lose some weight. There's an advantage for me to not drive.
That doesn't work for everyone, I know.
We could cut down on our driving a bit more. He could ride a bicycle to work in nicer weather. Probably not every day, though. He would miss listening to loud country music. We could ride bicycles in nicer weather to the AA meetings in the larger city.
I doubt that we would give up driving completely. Unless we are forced to do so. I hope it doesn't come to that.
I mentioned the article to MySpouse. He said "Well, how much can you cut down? It's not feasible to quit driving. People need to go their jobs, at least."
He drives about 20 miles round-trip to his job. Since there's overtime where he works he may make that trip seven days a week. Once a week we go to the larger city where he works for entertainment. Every two months we travel to a destination more than 100 miles from home.
We are not doing a lot of 'luxury' driving.
Transportation for me the last couple years has been very limited. In my search for employment I've focused on jobs here in town so that I don't have to drive to work. Anyway, I could stand to walk; my legs need strengthening and I'd like to lose some weight. There's an advantage for me to not drive.
That doesn't work for everyone, I know.
We could cut down on our driving a bit more. He could ride a bicycle to work in nicer weather. Probably not every day, though. He would miss listening to loud country music. We could ride bicycles in nicer weather to the AA meetings in the larger city.
I doubt that we would give up driving completely. Unless we are forced to do so. I hope it doesn't come to that.
Play Dates
I kept my promise to the young lady down the street. She brought her puppy to play with Lilac and we roasted marshmallows over a small fire in the backyard.
It was slightly less windy today than yesterday. Slightly warmer also. I made a small fire that would burn down very quickly and not be a danger to the property of my neighbors.
It's been years since I've roasted marshmallows over a campfire; I'd forgotten how sticky they are when you pull them off the skewer. I managed not to get marshmallow in my hair. I was quite proud of myself for being less messy than a teenager.
The puppy wanted to play, of course, but Lilac didn't seem to feel festive. The young lady threw toys around the backyard for her puppy to play with. I suggested that she throw the red ball and see if we could get Lilac interested in playing. The red ball is one of Lilac's favorite toys. That worked. A couple tosses of the red ball got Lilac going and then the two dogs played by themselves.
The puppy and Lilac are still getting to know each other. Puppy is learning some doggy etiquette from Lilac. Like 'I'm older than you, I demand respect.' kind of etiquette. Reminds me of the kind of etiquette my mother taught her children.
I can't say I'm the best example of humanity. Still, I'm pleased that the young lady comes to visit. Talking to MySpouse about her visiting reminds me of something I hear frequently at AA meetings: "Fake it 'til you make it." One of the ways to become what you want to be is to act the way you want to be. To become 'normal' it helps to act normal: visit a neighbor, play with a dog, roast marshmallows.
I know that it will take more than play dates to help the young lady stay sane. We just each have to do our part for her health and sanity, and this is my part.
It was slightly less windy today than yesterday. Slightly warmer also. I made a small fire that would burn down very quickly and not be a danger to the property of my neighbors.
It's been years since I've roasted marshmallows over a campfire; I'd forgotten how sticky they are when you pull them off the skewer. I managed not to get marshmallow in my hair. I was quite proud of myself for being less messy than a teenager.
The puppy wanted to play, of course, but Lilac didn't seem to feel festive. The young lady threw toys around the backyard for her puppy to play with. I suggested that she throw the red ball and see if we could get Lilac interested in playing. The red ball is one of Lilac's favorite toys. That worked. A couple tosses of the red ball got Lilac going and then the two dogs played by themselves.
The puppy and Lilac are still getting to know each other. Puppy is learning some doggy etiquette from Lilac. Like 'I'm older than you, I demand respect.' kind of etiquette. Reminds me of the kind of etiquette my mother taught her children.
I can't say I'm the best example of humanity. Still, I'm pleased that the young lady comes to visit. Talking to MySpouse about her visiting reminds me of something I hear frequently at AA meetings: "Fake it 'til you make it." One of the ways to become what you want to be is to act the way you want to be. To become 'normal' it helps to act normal: visit a neighbor, play with a dog, roast marshmallows.
I know that it will take more than play dates to help the young lady stay sane. We just each have to do our part for her health and sanity, and this is my part.
Productive Insomnia
Waking up at 2:30 AM again. Since this is happening with some regularity I've decided to make productive use of the time. Doing laundry is fairly quiet as household chores go. I can wash my clothes without disturbing MySpouse.
The last two weeks have been rather hectic. I haven't had time to put away clothing I've washed. I find myself digging thru a basket or a pile of clean laundry and I hate doing that. I don't like the way the clothing looks or the clutter of baskets and piles.
Luckily, I haven't had to do anything but brute labor for about ten days so the clothing I've worn is comfortable if not visually elegant. It's hard to get excited about a cotton knit navy turtleneck. I'm going to turn it inside-out anyway, so that the label doesn't chafe the nape of my neck.
All those years of paper routes taught me that inside-out clothing is a good thing sometimes. Socks and turtlenecks are more comfortable that way. Inside-out socks get the toe-seam off the top of your toes. If you're doing a lot of walking the last thing you want is scabs on the tops of your toes. Come to think of it, avoiding scabs anywhere on your body is a good thing.
I have a day off from the part-time job at the restaurant. I have a hundred things to do, so I suppose I should make an effort at prioritizing and listing the hundred things. I have an uncashed paycheck, for pity's sake. That is surely an indication of hectivity if ever there was one.
I want to:
*Do my laundry and put it away.
*Call my mother.
*Cash my paycheck.
*Vacuum the downstairs.
*Wash the soiled rugs.
*Deliver Avon to customers.
*Walk my dogs.
*Write a report for Lions Club.
*Return books to the library (and pay the overdue fees).
*Clean the bathroom.
*Roast marshmallows with the young lady.
That should be enough to keep me occupied today.
I want to stay awake and busy until MySpouse gets home from work. Then the two of us can take a nap. That is one of the benefits of being older adults: nobody hassles you if you want to nap.
There's nothing really harmful in the insomnia, I guess, if I'm not disrupting MySpouse's rest.
Being productive lessens the feeling of wasted time.
The last two weeks have been rather hectic. I haven't had time to put away clothing I've washed. I find myself digging thru a basket or a pile of clean laundry and I hate doing that. I don't like the way the clothing looks or the clutter of baskets and piles.
Luckily, I haven't had to do anything but brute labor for about ten days so the clothing I've worn is comfortable if not visually elegant. It's hard to get excited about a cotton knit navy turtleneck. I'm going to turn it inside-out anyway, so that the label doesn't chafe the nape of my neck.
All those years of paper routes taught me that inside-out clothing is a good thing sometimes. Socks and turtlenecks are more comfortable that way. Inside-out socks get the toe-seam off the top of your toes. If you're doing a lot of walking the last thing you want is scabs on the tops of your toes. Come to think of it, avoiding scabs anywhere on your body is a good thing.
I have a day off from the part-time job at the restaurant. I have a hundred things to do, so I suppose I should make an effort at prioritizing and listing the hundred things. I have an uncashed paycheck, for pity's sake. That is surely an indication of hectivity if ever there was one.
I want to:
*Do my laundry and put it away.
*Call my mother.
*Cash my paycheck.
*Vacuum the downstairs.
*Wash the soiled rugs.
*Deliver Avon to customers.
*Walk my dogs.
*Write a report for Lions Club.
*Return books to the library (and pay the overdue fees).
*Clean the bathroom.
*Roast marshmallows with the young lady.
That should be enough to keep me occupied today.
I want to stay awake and busy until MySpouse gets home from work. Then the two of us can take a nap. That is one of the benefits of being older adults: nobody hassles you if you want to nap.
There's nothing really harmful in the insomnia, I guess, if I'm not disrupting MySpouse's rest.
Being productive lessens the feeling of wasted time.
Sunday, April 1, 2007
Someone's Daughter
A 'normal' teenager can drive their parents nuts. It happened to me with my two kids; I'm sure it has happened to lots of other parents. My son ended up in prison before he had the chance to do some of the things that my daughter has done. I recently wrote a post where I expressed anger at some of the things my daughter did. Or, in some cases, didn't do.
Before my son's sentencing I was talking to my daughter about it, trying to convey the seriousness of his situation. She looked at me and said "Well, you won't have to worry about Nick giving you grandkids." I was too amazed at how she went from Point A to Point Z to protest. Instead of reprimanding her I went into the bathroom, shut the door, looked in the mirror and shook my head. Finally I laughed a little, saying to myself "I'll be damned." The world returned to normal then.
That happened ten years ago. I've not forgotten exactly what she said and I still shake my head over it.
As per the post on March 30, 2007 my daughter went through a time of extreme laziness. It was such a thorough abdication that I began to fear there was some mental illness at the
root of it. MySpouse has a niece who behaved like my daughter and testing found that the niece had a chemical imbalance. The niece can take meds for her problem.
I wasn't willing to let my daughter off the hook so easily. I remembered how lazy I was when I was in school. Teachers despaired of me. I was lazy; potential be damned.
Turns out my daughter's aversion to working at a job was mostly attitude and perception. She found a job that fits her like a designer gown. It's second shift hours - 2:00 PM to 10:00 PM. Those are the hours that she would slide around to if there were no pressure on her internal clock. She gets to be bossy; as the oldest female of her generation she's done a lot of babysitting over the years. This job as a security guard is perfect for her.
That's my daughter. I love her, but I'm not willing to let her bullshit me.
What concerns me here and now is someone else's daughter.
The young lady comes to visit me and brings her puppy that she was given as a
Christmas gift. My dog Lilac will play with the puppy, but my other dog, Jackson, growls and threatens the puppy. The solution to the problem is to leave Jackson in the house while Lilac and the rest of us go out to the backyard to socialize and play.
I'm writing about this so that I remember that coming here may help the young lady to heal. I'd never hold out my home as a bastion of sanity but it's not as harmful as some places a teenage girl could go. This past fall the young lady was in the grip of psychosis, having schizophrenic episodes, terrifying her parents. Their fear was for her. For her life and sanity.
They feared for their child just as every parent does. As I did for my daughter.
The young lady was hospitalized, tested for various things. Tests revealed a cyst in her brain that may have been the cause of the psychotic episodes. Or may not... Medications were tried in various doses until a balance was achieved that lets the young lady function reasonably well.
I try to remember to welcome the young lady when I truly have time. Try to remember not to feel put upon when she knocks on my door. I try to remember to be honest with her when I really don't have time to visit.
Her parents trust me with their daughter. They trust me not to harm her.
Before my son's sentencing I was talking to my daughter about it, trying to convey the seriousness of his situation. She looked at me and said "Well, you won't have to worry about Nick giving you grandkids." I was too amazed at how she went from Point A to Point Z to protest. Instead of reprimanding her I went into the bathroom, shut the door, looked in the mirror and shook my head. Finally I laughed a little, saying to myself "I'll be damned." The world returned to normal then.
That happened ten years ago. I've not forgotten exactly what she said and I still shake my head over it.
As per the post on March 30, 2007 my daughter went through a time of extreme laziness. It was such a thorough abdication that I began to fear there was some mental illness at the
root of it. MySpouse has a niece who behaved like my daughter and testing found that the niece had a chemical imbalance. The niece can take meds for her problem.
I wasn't willing to let my daughter off the hook so easily. I remembered how lazy I was when I was in school. Teachers despaired of me. I was lazy; potential be damned.
Turns out my daughter's aversion to working at a job was mostly attitude and perception. She found a job that fits her like a designer gown. It's second shift hours - 2:00 PM to 10:00 PM. Those are the hours that she would slide around to if there were no pressure on her internal clock. She gets to be bossy; as the oldest female of her generation she's done a lot of babysitting over the years. This job as a security guard is perfect for her.
That's my daughter. I love her, but I'm not willing to let her bullshit me.
What concerns me here and now is someone else's daughter.
The young lady comes to visit me and brings her puppy that she was given as a
Christmas gift. My dog Lilac will play with the puppy, but my other dog, Jackson, growls and threatens the puppy. The solution to the problem is to leave Jackson in the house while Lilac and the rest of us go out to the backyard to socialize and play.
I'm writing about this so that I remember that coming here may help the young lady to heal. I'd never hold out my home as a bastion of sanity but it's not as harmful as some places a teenage girl could go. This past fall the young lady was in the grip of psychosis, having schizophrenic episodes, terrifying her parents. Their fear was for her. For her life and sanity.
They feared for their child just as every parent does. As I did for my daughter.
The young lady was hospitalized, tested for various things. Tests revealed a cyst in her brain that may have been the cause of the psychotic episodes. Or may not... Medications were tried in various doses until a balance was achieved that lets the young lady function reasonably well.
I try to remember to welcome the young lady when I truly have time. Try to remember not to feel put upon when she knocks on my door. I try to remember to be honest with her when I really don't have time to visit.
Her parents trust me with their daughter. They trust me not to harm her.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Fishin' Shoes
I started a paper route this week. I've had paper routes in the past, the first one being an attempt to show my son how to work properly. He wouldn't do the paper route nor would he walk the dogs regularly, so I combined the two chores. The first route I had lasted 7 years. Six days a week me and the two dogs went for a walk.
The two dogs were paper-route trained: 'Sit' and 'Stay', of course.
Wait : at intersections
Let's Go : crossing intersections
Stay By Me : if there were other dogs loose
Let's Go To Gramma's House : my mother-in-law lived on my route and we would stop and visit every couple of weeks.
One of the subscribers on the route had a day care business. My big dog would go and lean against the fence so that the little kids could touch her fur through the fence. I had to keep track of which kid got to take the paper to the subscriber. Things like that made it fun to do.
I enjoyed doing the paper route. I liked being outdoors in all kinds of weather. I liked seeing the changes that the different seasons brought. I learned to dress for all the different kinds of weather. I learned to fear freezing rain; no other form of precipitation is as dangerous as freezing rain.
Today I went out and did the new paper route in the rain. I admit, I drove the car. I didn't want 49 wet papers. Even with the car I knew a soaking was inevitable.
For wading thru the wet grass I wore my fishin' shoes. Ratty as they are, they're still comfortable to wear. Shoes that are too worn to be seen in public; well on their way to being trash, but enough protection to wear into a river or stream when you're fishing. If they fall apart you've already got your money's worth from them.
Appropriate attire for a rainy day.
The two dogs were paper-route trained: 'Sit' and 'Stay', of course.
Wait : at intersections
Let's Go : crossing intersections
Stay By Me : if there were other dogs loose
Let's Go To Gramma's House : my mother-in-law lived on my route and we would stop and visit every couple of weeks.
One of the subscribers on the route had a day care business. My big dog would go and lean against the fence so that the little kids could touch her fur through the fence. I had to keep track of which kid got to take the paper to the subscriber. Things like that made it fun to do.
I enjoyed doing the paper route. I liked being outdoors in all kinds of weather. I liked seeing the changes that the different seasons brought. I learned to dress for all the different kinds of weather. I learned to fear freezing rain; no other form of precipitation is as dangerous as freezing rain.
Today I went out and did the new paper route in the rain. I admit, I drove the car. I didn't want 49 wet papers. Even with the car I knew a soaking was inevitable.
For wading thru the wet grass I wore my fishin' shoes. Ratty as they are, they're still comfortable to wear. Shoes that are too worn to be seen in public; well on their way to being trash, but enough protection to wear into a river or stream when you're fishing. If they fall apart you've already got your money's worth from them.
Appropriate attire for a rainy day.
Who's Laughing Now?
Who's laughing now?
You can talk to your kids about the 'real world' until hell freezes over... No need to listen to adults share their experiences. No need to heed the warnings from people who live in the 'real world'. Like your parents, for instance.
I love my daughter, but I am laughing now. Did she think we were wrong? Did she think we were stupid? I sure hope she enjoyed being a lazy-ass twit for three years.
Daughter has a job as a security guard. Her employers want to know about an 18-month blank on her job application. Her employers want to hear from someone besides a relative about that span of time.
I'd be thrilled to tell them what she did during those 18 months: Absolutely nothing.
She didn't go to Russia and become a KGB spy. No way, too much effort. Might have been required to get up before noon. Same applies to Iraq, Iran, and China. Why work if you can mooch off your folks?
She had a paper route at age 14 and that was the last job she did with a good attitude. She worked at Penney's and dissed everyone else who worked there. She worked at a Subway and knew more than the couple who managed it. She worked at Arby's and thought she could tell the manager what hours she would work.
Don't think that we didn't try to get her to work. Of course we did. She would work(a little) at jobs we provided.
She worked for me watering plants one summer and I fired her. I told her plants needed to be watered no later than 10:00 AM. After that it was too hot and watering the plants would cook them. The day she watered the plants at 1:00 PM was the day I fired her. Some of the plants dried out in the heat, wilted past the point of recovery; by the time she watered them they were no longer salable. Most of them lived, being hardy perennials, but they looked like shit. Not plants I could take to farmer's market and sell.
Kids do crap like that and then wonder why their parents are unhappy with them.
Kids run smack-dab into the real world and wonder why their parents are laughing.
You can talk to your kids about the 'real world' until hell freezes over... No need to listen to adults share their experiences. No need to heed the warnings from people who live in the 'real world'. Like your parents, for instance.
I love my daughter, but I am laughing now. Did she think we were wrong? Did she think we were stupid? I sure hope she enjoyed being a lazy-ass twit for three years.
Daughter has a job as a security guard. Her employers want to know about an 18-month blank on her job application. Her employers want to hear from someone besides a relative about that span of time.
I'd be thrilled to tell them what she did during those 18 months: Absolutely nothing.
She didn't go to Russia and become a KGB spy. No way, too much effort. Might have been required to get up before noon. Same applies to Iraq, Iran, and China. Why work if you can mooch off your folks?
She had a paper route at age 14 and that was the last job she did with a good attitude. She worked at Penney's and dissed everyone else who worked there. She worked at a Subway and knew more than the couple who managed it. She worked at Arby's and thought she could tell the manager what hours she would work.
Don't think that we didn't try to get her to work. Of course we did. She would work(a little) at jobs we provided.
She worked for me watering plants one summer and I fired her. I told her plants needed to be watered no later than 10:00 AM. After that it was too hot and watering the plants would cook them. The day she watered the plants at 1:00 PM was the day I fired her. Some of the plants dried out in the heat, wilted past the point of recovery; by the time she watered them they were no longer salable. Most of them lived, being hardy perennials, but they looked like shit. Not plants I could take to farmer's market and sell.
Kids do crap like that and then wonder why their parents are unhappy with them.
Kids run smack-dab into the real world and wonder why their parents are laughing.
Insomnia in Two Generations
Insomnia again. About four times in the last two weeks I've been awake at 2:30 AM. Usually the insomnia is associated with severe stress; this episode doesn't seem to have that association.
I get up out of bed so as not to disturb MySpouse. The dogs trek resignedly down the stairs with me. They curl up on the couch and go back to sleep. I think unkind thoughts about creatures who can sleep. I make coffee. Might as well, it'll be hours before I go back to sleep.
This insomnia isn't nearly as bad as what I've experienced in the past. I'm grateful for that. Grateful also to not have the kind of stress that precipitated the past insomniac episodes.
Yesterday I visited with a woman whose son was a friend of my son when the boys were teenagers. She asked after Nick and I answered "He's doing okay for a guy in prison." I can talk about Nick in a quick glossing-over sort of way, but I can't talk at length or in detail about him. It' s too painful. I'm honest about that with people who do want to talk about Nick.
January 1997 is when Nick was arrested. I lived in a stew of anxiety for the six months before he was sentenced in June 1997. More serious than the kind of things teens are inclined to, he was drunk and cranked, he kidnapped and raped a young lady. I do not condone what he did. I do believe he deserved to be punished.
But not so extremely. First-degree murderers get shorter sentences. Nick was sentenced to serve two 25-year sentences consecutively...one after the other; rather than concurrently...both sentences at the same time. He had no prior arrests for violent crime. No record beyond normal teenage speeding tickets.
He has served 10 years of 50. He was 18 when he was arrested. Nick will be 29 years old on April 30, 2007. The friend's mother asked about parole. I told her I don't even think about it.
If I don't hope, I will not be disappointed.
For most inmates in our prisons there's a family, a mother, siblings, cousins on the outside. Inmates without a caring person on the outside do not fare as well as inmates whose families stay involved with them. Prison is a whole different society than what's out here where we live.
Nick was as frightened by jail and prison as anything he'd ever been scared of before. There wasn't much I could do to help except to listen and explain some things to him.
When he was in jail he had a bout of insomnia. The jailers gave him Benadryl to help him sleep. He called me, all suspicious of a drug he'd never heard of before. I told him that the active ingredient in Benadryl would help him to sleep by making him drowsy. Told him he'd had the drug numerous times in the past as a remedy for cold symptoms. Nothing to fear, says Doctor Mom.
I found some humor in it. He was all worried about the Benadryl, common as it is, but not the least concerned about using crank. Go figure.
I get up out of bed so as not to disturb MySpouse. The dogs trek resignedly down the stairs with me. They curl up on the couch and go back to sleep. I think unkind thoughts about creatures who can sleep. I make coffee. Might as well, it'll be hours before I go back to sleep.
This insomnia isn't nearly as bad as what I've experienced in the past. I'm grateful for that. Grateful also to not have the kind of stress that precipitated the past insomniac episodes.
Yesterday I visited with a woman whose son was a friend of my son when the boys were teenagers. She asked after Nick and I answered "He's doing okay for a guy in prison." I can talk about Nick in a quick glossing-over sort of way, but I can't talk at length or in detail about him. It' s too painful. I'm honest about that with people who do want to talk about Nick.
January 1997 is when Nick was arrested. I lived in a stew of anxiety for the six months before he was sentenced in June 1997. More serious than the kind of things teens are inclined to, he was drunk and cranked, he kidnapped and raped a young lady. I do not condone what he did. I do believe he deserved to be punished.
But not so extremely. First-degree murderers get shorter sentences. Nick was sentenced to serve two 25-year sentences consecutively...one after the other; rather than concurrently...both sentences at the same time. He had no prior arrests for violent crime. No record beyond normal teenage speeding tickets.
He has served 10 years of 50. He was 18 when he was arrested. Nick will be 29 years old on April 30, 2007. The friend's mother asked about parole. I told her I don't even think about it.
If I don't hope, I will not be disappointed.
For most inmates in our prisons there's a family, a mother, siblings, cousins on the outside. Inmates without a caring person on the outside do not fare as well as inmates whose families stay involved with them. Prison is a whole different society than what's out here where we live.
Nick was as frightened by jail and prison as anything he'd ever been scared of before. There wasn't much I could do to help except to listen and explain some things to him.
When he was in jail he had a bout of insomnia. The jailers gave him Benadryl to help him sleep. He called me, all suspicious of a drug he'd never heard of before. I told him that the active ingredient in Benadryl would help him to sleep by making him drowsy. Told him he'd had the drug numerous times in the past as a remedy for cold symptoms. Nothing to fear, says Doctor Mom.
I found some humor in it. He was all worried about the Benadryl, common as it is, but not the least concerned about using crank. Go figure.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Freakin' Frugal
At last, we have money left over at the end of the month. We celebrated by spending some of it. It was fun to buy books and not have the nagging guilt of budget-busting to deal with. This bit of extra money doesn't mean we get to stop living frugally. Oh, no. That lifestyle will continue.
In part our interests and tolerance contribute to our frugal living.
*We don't watch TV. So there is none of that biggest, baddest, newest TV going on. No commercials to persuade us to buy things we do not need. I know MySpouse feels a little dweebish when the SuperBowl rolls around, but if he really cared about football he could follow it on the Internet.
*I hate cell phones. I don't know of any device that has made people behave more rudely. What I don't understand about cell phones is why people can't talk and drive at the same time. Truckers talk on CB radios without endangering the lives of others. Also I'm amused by people who think that it's more important to have a conversation than to prevent the accident that
they're going to die in.
*Gas engines. Way too loud for me. Neither of us is interested in boats, jet-skis, snowmobiles, motorcycles, ATV's, or 4-wheel drive vehicles. 4-wheel drive is mostly a yuppie status thing. Why do you need 4-wheel drive if you never leave the Interstate? If the only roads you drive on are paved? You don't. But you've helped to keep full-size American vehicles on the road. You've helped auto manufacturers make millions of dollars on vehicles with useless features.
Boats, jet-skis, snowmobiles, motorcycles, ATV's, are, I believe, a way to violate nature with sound and movement. I wouldn't call myself a tree-hugger, but these gas-powered toys produce too much noise for the little entertainment they provide. Like listening to a 5-year-old tell a joke they just made up.
*Addictions. Take a look at what you're spending money on. It doesn't have to be booze or drugs necessarily. You may be purchasing items to pass along to others; children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews. I'm not preaching, folks. I'm currently in the throes of an addiction to Ruffles potato chips. Sounds kind of comical, I know, but as soon as I'm stressed about something I want Ruffles. It's a relief though, to want Ruffles rather than Wild Turkey.
*Credit cards and addictions go hand-in-hand, I think. Credit cards make it easier to spend money. Credit cards make it easier to spend money that isn't yours...yet. Look at the future; is that what you want to do with your money? If you're at the age that me and MySpouse are, early to mid-fifties, you probably do need to look at the future carefully. Who wants to be paying off credit card debt after retirement? Don't plan on filing bankruptcy. With the highest rates of bankruptcy ever, the laws could change any day.
Anyone who writes about frugal living will say exactly what I'm going to say now. Frugal, cheap, inexpensive doesn't mean devoid of fun. Just less expensive fun.
You want to eat out? Plan. Attend a fundraiser meal put on by a local service club in your community. You get to eat, socialize, and help out your community. Plus, donating to a charity makes the food you eat free of calories.
You want to take a break from winter? Go to a local greenhouse. February is when I feel the need to take a break from winter. It's so great to go to the local greenhouse. Green plants, moist air, the scent of wet soil, the promise of spring to come, are a distraction from snow, slush, and cold temperatures.
You're bored and lonely? Stop going to the local bar and see who calls you. Get out of the house. Go someplace where there are people. Join a service club, go to church, volunteer, attend a 12-step meeting.
Every community, but for the very smallest, has opportunities for entertainment.
In part our interests and tolerance contribute to our frugal living.
*We don't watch TV. So there is none of that biggest, baddest, newest TV going on. No commercials to persuade us to buy things we do not need. I know MySpouse feels a little dweebish when the SuperBowl rolls around, but if he really cared about football he could follow it on the Internet.
*I hate cell phones. I don't know of any device that has made people behave more rudely. What I don't understand about cell phones is why people can't talk and drive at the same time. Truckers talk on CB radios without endangering the lives of others. Also I'm amused by people who think that it's more important to have a conversation than to prevent the accident that
they're going to die in.
*Gas engines. Way too loud for me. Neither of us is interested in boats, jet-skis, snowmobiles, motorcycles, ATV's, or 4-wheel drive vehicles. 4-wheel drive is mostly a yuppie status thing. Why do you need 4-wheel drive if you never leave the Interstate? If the only roads you drive on are paved? You don't. But you've helped to keep full-size American vehicles on the road. You've helped auto manufacturers make millions of dollars on vehicles with useless features.
Boats, jet-skis, snowmobiles, motorcycles, ATV's, are, I believe, a way to violate nature with sound and movement. I wouldn't call myself a tree-hugger, but these gas-powered toys produce too much noise for the little entertainment they provide. Like listening to a 5-year-old tell a joke they just made up.
*Addictions. Take a look at what you're spending money on. It doesn't have to be booze or drugs necessarily. You may be purchasing items to pass along to others; children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews. I'm not preaching, folks. I'm currently in the throes of an addiction to Ruffles potato chips. Sounds kind of comical, I know, but as soon as I'm stressed about something I want Ruffles. It's a relief though, to want Ruffles rather than Wild Turkey.
*Credit cards and addictions go hand-in-hand, I think. Credit cards make it easier to spend money. Credit cards make it easier to spend money that isn't yours...yet. Look at the future; is that what you want to do with your money? If you're at the age that me and MySpouse are, early to mid-fifties, you probably do need to look at the future carefully. Who wants to be paying off credit card debt after retirement? Don't plan on filing bankruptcy. With the highest rates of bankruptcy ever, the laws could change any day.
Anyone who writes about frugal living will say exactly what I'm going to say now. Frugal, cheap, inexpensive doesn't mean devoid of fun. Just less expensive fun.
You want to eat out? Plan. Attend a fundraiser meal put on by a local service club in your community. You get to eat, socialize, and help out your community. Plus, donating to a charity makes the food you eat free of calories.
You want to take a break from winter? Go to a local greenhouse. February is when I feel the need to take a break from winter. It's so great to go to the local greenhouse. Green plants, moist air, the scent of wet soil, the promise of spring to come, are a distraction from snow, slush, and cold temperatures.
You're bored and lonely? Stop going to the local bar and see who calls you. Get out of the house. Go someplace where there are people. Join a service club, go to church, volunteer, attend a 12-step meeting.
Every community, but for the very smallest, has opportunities for entertainment.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Ten Things I Like
I couldn't resist making a list. Or a rhyme. This is a cheap entertainment device used by writers who can't think of a topic to write about.
Here's my list:
1. Electric lawnmowers
2. Twinkies
3. Shower gels
4. Cats/dogs
5. Scrabble on the Internet
6. Plastic hangers
7. Flannel sheet-blankets
8. Coffee
9. Rocks
10. Metropolitan Home
1.) I like electric lawnmowers. I worry about running over the dropcord and getting fried, but at least I can start an electric mower. I'm really bad with gas engines. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I've been able to start a gas mower. Now that I weigh enough to win the fight with the pull cord I have no need to do so.
2.) Twinkies are not health food. I think everyone can agree on that. They are as cute as bunnies; who would believe that they could be harmful, either Twinkies or rabbits? At least Twinkies don't breed and chow down on your prize roses.
3.) Shower gels, yay! Gunky bar soaps, boo! I used to buy an inexpensive shampoo and use it as a body wash 20 years ago. The places I lived tended to have bathtubs rather than showers. The inexpensive shampoo didn't cloud the water or leave soap scum in the bathtub. Then too, there was that lovely scent of strawberries to it.
4.) Cats/Dogs...Dogs/Cats. I suppose dogs would be my first choice, but I'm fond of cats also. I appreciate the different attributes of each species. That thing about each species despising the other? I can tell you why that is so. When dogs meet each other they sniff each others' butt. When cats meet each other they sniff each others' faces. Has to do with where scent glands are located in the two species. What it means in practical terms is that when they meet, a cat seems impolite to a dog and a dog seems impolite to a cat. Could this explain the continuing strife in the Middle East?
5.) Scrabble on the Internet, another of my favorite things. I believe that it has kept my marriage intact by providing me with opponents besides MySpouse. I've played for about three years at Internet Scrabble Club (ISC). That has sharpened my skills considerably. One of the most amusing things to observe is people who have never played the board game but have found ISC. One player (?) asked a helper "Is there a less wordy version?" I nearly fell out of my chair laughing. Even MySpouse appreciated the wit behind that question.
6.) I like bright colors for the most part. It's just cool to have a choice between fluorescent orange and fluorescent green plastic hangers. Maybe becuz I was deprived as a child and forced to wear plaid dresses.
7.) I remember these from my childhood. Think you can find them now? A search on the Internet only yields about 3 hits. The closest I can come these days without traveling to Europe is a matelasse bedspread.
8.) Okay, I don't just like coffee. I'm sure it's an addiction of sorts. I tried cutting down on coffee once. In my experiment I found that a cup of water had the same laxative properties as a cup of coffee. I could drink water in the morning then and still be 'regular'. The problem was that water lacked flavor. End of experiment... I drink coffee in the morning.
9.) I have been fascinated by rocks since I was eight years old. I enjoyed all my Earth Science classes in school, even chemistry. I like all kinds of rocks; little polished ones, big
earth-mover-sized ones. MySpouse and I traveling around Iowa will stop at rock piles and pick up homeless rocks. 'No rock left behind' is our motto.
10.) This is what I want my home to resemble. Simply fantasy on my part. Right now my house looks like the backroom of a Salvation Army store. Sad, sad, sad. I'd have to give up some of the six tons of clothing I have. Why, the floor would be visible! Still, that Metropolitan Home look is what I long for.
Well, for "a cheap entertainment device" it was a lot of fun to write. Maybe that's where the charm of a list lies.
Here's my list:
1. Electric lawnmowers
2. Twinkies
3. Shower gels
4. Cats/dogs
5. Scrabble on the Internet
6. Plastic hangers
7. Flannel sheet-blankets
8. Coffee
9. Rocks
10. Metropolitan Home
1.) I like electric lawnmowers. I worry about running over the dropcord and getting fried, but at least I can start an electric mower. I'm really bad with gas engines. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I've been able to start a gas mower. Now that I weigh enough to win the fight with the pull cord I have no need to do so.
2.) Twinkies are not health food. I think everyone can agree on that. They are as cute as bunnies; who would believe that they could be harmful, either Twinkies or rabbits? At least Twinkies don't breed and chow down on your prize roses.
3.) Shower gels, yay! Gunky bar soaps, boo! I used to buy an inexpensive shampoo and use it as a body wash 20 years ago. The places I lived tended to have bathtubs rather than showers. The inexpensive shampoo didn't cloud the water or leave soap scum in the bathtub. Then too, there was that lovely scent of strawberries to it.
4.) Cats/Dogs...Dogs/Cats. I suppose dogs would be my first choice, but I'm fond of cats also. I appreciate the different attributes of each species. That thing about each species despising the other? I can tell you why that is so. When dogs meet each other they sniff each others' butt. When cats meet each other they sniff each others' faces. Has to do with where scent glands are located in the two species. What it means in practical terms is that when they meet, a cat seems impolite to a dog and a dog seems impolite to a cat. Could this explain the continuing strife in the Middle East?
5.) Scrabble on the Internet, another of my favorite things. I believe that it has kept my marriage intact by providing me with opponents besides MySpouse. I've played for about three years at Internet Scrabble Club (ISC). That has sharpened my skills considerably. One of the most amusing things to observe is people who have never played the board game but have found ISC. One player (?) asked a helper "Is there a less wordy version?" I nearly fell out of my chair laughing. Even MySpouse appreciated the wit behind that question.
6.) I like bright colors for the most part. It's just cool to have a choice between fluorescent orange and fluorescent green plastic hangers. Maybe becuz I was deprived as a child and forced to wear plaid dresses.
7.) I remember these from my childhood. Think you can find them now? A search on the Internet only yields about 3 hits. The closest I can come these days without traveling to Europe is a matelasse bedspread.
8.) Okay, I don't just like coffee. I'm sure it's an addiction of sorts. I tried cutting down on coffee once. In my experiment I found that a cup of water had the same laxative properties as a cup of coffee. I could drink water in the morning then and still be 'regular'. The problem was that water lacked flavor. End of experiment... I drink coffee in the morning.
9.) I have been fascinated by rocks since I was eight years old. I enjoyed all my Earth Science classes in school, even chemistry. I like all kinds of rocks; little polished ones, big
earth-mover-sized ones. MySpouse and I traveling around Iowa will stop at rock piles and pick up homeless rocks. 'No rock left behind' is our motto.
10.) This is what I want my home to resemble. Simply fantasy on my part. Right now my house looks like the backroom of a Salvation Army store. Sad, sad, sad. I'd have to give up some of the six tons of clothing I have. Why, the floor would be visible! Still, that Metropolitan Home look is what I long for.
Well, for "a cheap entertainment device" it was a lot of fun to write. Maybe that's where the charm of a list lies.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Thoughts On Money
"Do you tell your spouse how much you spend?"
I thought it best to reply in the affirmative to that question. I suspect that the woman asking me is self-medicating with retail therapy.
I realized as I began to write that 'how much did you spend' is different than 'what did you buy'. Retail therapy(shopping) can be as harmful to financial health as a gambling addiction. It's about money, it's about control.
I have been under-employed since I closed the consignment clothing business I owned. The bulk of the money in this marriage is what MySpouse earns, 97% I think. I have had a paper route on Wednesday delivering the weekly shopper, pays a whacking $20.00/week, for about a year. There has been no question of my controlling the finances here. I'm okay with that.
I told the asking woman that we've been too broke the past three years for either of us to do much spending, beyond paying bills. Since the bulk of our income is his earnings, we tend to shop together. Every three months or so we'd be ahead $50 or $100 and we would go to a bookstore and each of us buy what we like to read. Sometimes we would need to go to Wal-Mart for a specific item and I would ask if I could buy $5.00 worth of yarn or beads. I used to just assume, but now I ask.
People don't always communicate as well as they should. There's some news, huh? Especially married people. Especially married people who don't want to acknowledge how deep the financial doo-doo is. Or what their part in the mess is. It's not that we lied to each other. It's that we didn't talk about it at all. We didn't talk about the mess, or how to clean it up; we didn't talk about our fears or desires or the future. Becuz, I admit, this is some scary shit.
If we wanted a future we had to talk about finances. Talking about money, dealing with control issues... difficult at the best of times. Damn difficult at the worst of times. We have a history of honesty, however, and that helped us tackle a thorny mess of wants and needs. Being honest with each other was how we started our relationship and being honest is what would
allow us to continue.
We decided that getting out of debt is a priority. MySpouse is 55, I'm 48...retirement isn't so far off. Well, these many months of denial of the pleasure of spending has resulted in a couple of the bigger bills being paid off. For the first time in three years we are current with our bills, on time with the mortgage payment. Three or four months of paying the bills on time isn't going to repair our credit record, but that is not actually our purpose.
There are a great many websites that deal with financial planning, debt reduction, and frugal living. Here are a couple of sites whose advice we've used: Simple Dollar and Debt-Proof Living.
I thought it best to reply in the affirmative to that question. I suspect that the woman asking me is self-medicating with retail therapy.
I realized as I began to write that 'how much did you spend' is different than 'what did you buy'. Retail therapy(shopping) can be as harmful to financial health as a gambling addiction. It's about money, it's about control.
I have been under-employed since I closed the consignment clothing business I owned. The bulk of the money in this marriage is what MySpouse earns, 97% I think. I have had a paper route on Wednesday delivering the weekly shopper, pays a whacking $20.00/week, for about a year. There has been no question of my controlling the finances here. I'm okay with that.
I told the asking woman that we've been too broke the past three years for either of us to do much spending, beyond paying bills. Since the bulk of our income is his earnings, we tend to shop together. Every three months or so we'd be ahead $50 or $100 and we would go to a bookstore and each of us buy what we like to read. Sometimes we would need to go to Wal-Mart for a specific item and I would ask if I could buy $5.00 worth of yarn or beads. I used to just assume, but now I ask.
People don't always communicate as well as they should. There's some news, huh? Especially married people. Especially married people who don't want to acknowledge how deep the financial doo-doo is. Or what their part in the mess is. It's not that we lied to each other. It's that we didn't talk about it at all. We didn't talk about the mess, or how to clean it up; we didn't talk about our fears or desires or the future. Becuz, I admit, this is some scary shit.
If we wanted a future we had to talk about finances. Talking about money, dealing with control issues... difficult at the best of times. Damn difficult at the worst of times. We have a history of honesty, however, and that helped us tackle a thorny mess of wants and needs. Being honest with each other was how we started our relationship and being honest is what would
allow us to continue.
We decided that getting out of debt is a priority. MySpouse is 55, I'm 48...retirement isn't so far off. Well, these many months of denial of the pleasure of spending has resulted in a couple of the bigger bills being paid off. For the first time in three years we are current with our bills, on time with the mortgage payment. Three or four months of paying the bills on time isn't going to repair our credit record, but that is not actually our purpose.
There are a great many websites that deal with financial planning, debt reduction, and frugal living. Here are a couple of sites whose advice we've used: Simple Dollar and Debt-Proof Living.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Fire Fetish
MySpouse says I have to stop trying to portray us as normal people. Did any of you actually think that?
We have a yellow daisy-shaped kiddie pool in the backyard...for dogs.
We have a cat who runs down the driveway to meet MySpouse when he gets home from work.
As per the title, I have a 'thing' about fire. It started out innocently enough.
I made friends with a young man who came to AA meetings here in town. I had two years of sobriety when we met. At the time I was one of the younger attendees, living only a couple blocks from the meeting place. For the meeting- after- the-meeting my house was convenient. When we started out all we had in common was a desire to stay sober and a love of dogs.
I'm outgoing and mouthy and my young friend thought that was all there was to me. I worked in a factory that mailed out junk mail, surrounded by people and machines, week after week. I had found some pretty, quiet places out in the country where I could go with my dogs and I took Chris to one of them.
At first I drove. As this escapism continued, he drove. He had a Nissan pickup; it was easier to wrangle dogs in his pickup than in my car. Over the course of a couple of years we had settled on a rural park south of town as our usual destination. It was rarely used and we could allow the dogs to run on their own. We'd go every six weeks or so for stress relief.
We would take a thermos of coffee. While the dogs ran around scaring the coyotes he and I would drink coffee and talk about sobriety and relationships. We would make a fire in the firebox/grill at the park. It was soothing, relaxing. We even started going to the park in the wintertime becuz stress never stops. I remember one occasion when the pond was frozen and there was no water available to put out the fire. I solved that problem by heaping snow onto the coals.
Chris was a student at Iowa State University. He worked his way up to being Doctor Chris Peterson. He hunted for a job in keeping with his education and interests and found one. He moved to Mississippi.
I know that professionally and personally he had to go, but his going left a huge hole in my life.
He was my best friend and I missed him terribly. I didn't go out to the rural park for about a year after he left Iowa. When I did go to the park again I asked my husband to go with me. I didn't want to go there by myself and cry over Chris.
During the time that Chris and I were friends I'd divorced my second husband, had a learning experience with a married guy, courted and married my third husband. MySpouse and I live in a big 100-year old house here in town. For the last three years having transportation of my own has been iffy. I couldn't get out to the rural park easily.
I adopted one of the holes that the dog dug in the backyard as a firepit. Just to relieve stress, every couple weeks I'd have a small fire. That has worked up to having a fire almost daily. There are times when it's too windy or precipitating too heavily, too cold or I'm too busy, to have a fire.
My routine is to get up in the morning, come downstairs with the dogs, let them out to potty in the backyard, and either start a fire or add to the coals in the firepit from the day before.
Partly the fire is to relax and partly to practice a survival skill. I met and talked with a refugee from New Orleans in 2005. She came to Iowa to stay with her sister after the hurricane. I felt sorry for Jean, but she also brought home to me the need to be prepared for a disaster. So I practice my fire-making skills.
Having a fire is more than just a hobby for me.
We have a yellow daisy-shaped kiddie pool in the backyard...for dogs.
We have a cat who runs down the driveway to meet MySpouse when he gets home from work.
As per the title, I have a 'thing' about fire. It started out innocently enough.
I made friends with a young man who came to AA meetings here in town. I had two years of sobriety when we met. At the time I was one of the younger attendees, living only a couple blocks from the meeting place. For the meeting- after- the-meeting my house was convenient. When we started out all we had in common was a desire to stay sober and a love of dogs.
I'm outgoing and mouthy and my young friend thought that was all there was to me. I worked in a factory that mailed out junk mail, surrounded by people and machines, week after week. I had found some pretty, quiet places out in the country where I could go with my dogs and I took Chris to one of them.
At first I drove. As this escapism continued, he drove. He had a Nissan pickup; it was easier to wrangle dogs in his pickup than in my car. Over the course of a couple of years we had settled on a rural park south of town as our usual destination. It was rarely used and we could allow the dogs to run on their own. We'd go every six weeks or so for stress relief.
We would take a thermos of coffee. While the dogs ran around scaring the coyotes he and I would drink coffee and talk about sobriety and relationships. We would make a fire in the firebox/grill at the park. It was soothing, relaxing. We even started going to the park in the wintertime becuz stress never stops. I remember one occasion when the pond was frozen and there was no water available to put out the fire. I solved that problem by heaping snow onto the coals.
Chris was a student at Iowa State University. He worked his way up to being Doctor Chris Peterson. He hunted for a job in keeping with his education and interests and found one. He moved to Mississippi.
I know that professionally and personally he had to go, but his going left a huge hole in my life.
He was my best friend and I missed him terribly. I didn't go out to the rural park for about a year after he left Iowa. When I did go to the park again I asked my husband to go with me. I didn't want to go there by myself and cry over Chris.
During the time that Chris and I were friends I'd divorced my second husband, had a learning experience with a married guy, courted and married my third husband. MySpouse and I live in a big 100-year old house here in town. For the last three years having transportation of my own has been iffy. I couldn't get out to the rural park easily.
I adopted one of the holes that the dog dug in the backyard as a firepit. Just to relieve stress, every couple weeks I'd have a small fire. That has worked up to having a fire almost daily. There are times when it's too windy or precipitating too heavily, too cold or I'm too busy, to have a fire.
My routine is to get up in the morning, come downstairs with the dogs, let them out to potty in the backyard, and either start a fire or add to the coals in the firepit from the day before.
Partly the fire is to relax and partly to practice a survival skill. I met and talked with a refugee from New Orleans in 2005. She came to Iowa to stay with her sister after the hurricane. I felt sorry for Jean, but she also brought home to me the need to be prepared for a disaster. So I practice my fire-making skills.
Having a fire is more than just a hobby for me.
Teen Angst
I saw a T-shirt once that said "Forget about the Fountain of Youth. How about a Fountain of Smart?" I liked it. I don't understand why anyone would want to be young forever or even young again.
I am acquainted with someone who says her teen years were a lot of fun. She's entitled to her opinion, of course. It's just not the same as mine.
I don't remember teenhood being much in the way of fun and games. I was the oldest of six kids, which automatically made me the dogsbody, loaded with responsibility. After 8th grade I quit taking homework home becuz I didn't have time to do it. Riding herd on three kids with chores to do, babysitting the two youngest kids, washing dishes and cooking supper was a very typical after-school activity. There wasn't time for much else.
I was my mother's Girl Friday unless my stepdad was home. He was a truckdriver and I was second-in-command when he was out in the truck. When he was home he liked to sit at the dining room table, put down a twelve-pack, and bitch. One time he told me "Stop yelling at those kids. You're not their mom." I put down what I was doing and said "Okay, you yell at them." I walked away from a sinkful of dishes and a pot of boiling water that would have been tuna- and- noodles.
I went out to the woods and hid until I knew Mom would be home. Just another headache for her to deal with when she got home. That was one of his favorite things to do to me. Take away my authority but leave me with all the responsibility. How I came to hate that. Needless to say, he and I were not friends.
All of us kids knew to stay away from him if he was drinking a twelve-pack. We just found other places to be.
Our relationship improved after I left home. As I aged I learned that there was a name for people like him: alcoholic.
One good thing about having such a crappy life as a teen is that it kept me away from drugs. I'd heard about getting 'hooked' on drugs and had seen it happen to a couple of girls at school.
I figured with my personal problems I'd be a shoo-in for addiction. I avoided it during my teen years only to have it sandbag me when I was in my 30's.
Maybe I was smarter when I was a teenager. I still don't want to relive those years.
I am acquainted with someone who says her teen years were a lot of fun. She's entitled to her opinion, of course. It's just not the same as mine.
I don't remember teenhood being much in the way of fun and games. I was the oldest of six kids, which automatically made me the dogsbody, loaded with responsibility. After 8th grade I quit taking homework home becuz I didn't have time to do it. Riding herd on three kids with chores to do, babysitting the two youngest kids, washing dishes and cooking supper was a very typical after-school activity. There wasn't time for much else.
I was my mother's Girl Friday unless my stepdad was home. He was a truckdriver and I was second-in-command when he was out in the truck. When he was home he liked to sit at the dining room table, put down a twelve-pack, and bitch. One time he told me "Stop yelling at those kids. You're not their mom." I put down what I was doing and said "Okay, you yell at them." I walked away from a sinkful of dishes and a pot of boiling water that would have been tuna- and- noodles.
I went out to the woods and hid until I knew Mom would be home. Just another headache for her to deal with when she got home. That was one of his favorite things to do to me. Take away my authority but leave me with all the responsibility. How I came to hate that. Needless to say, he and I were not friends.
All of us kids knew to stay away from him if he was drinking a twelve-pack. We just found other places to be.
Our relationship improved after I left home. As I aged I learned that there was a name for people like him: alcoholic.
One good thing about having such a crappy life as a teen is that it kept me away from drugs. I'd heard about getting 'hooked' on drugs and had seen it happen to a couple of girls at school.
I figured with my personal problems I'd be a shoo-in for addiction. I avoided it during my teen years only to have it sandbag me when I was in my 30's.
Maybe I was smarter when I was a teenager. I still don't want to relive those years.
Fer It or Agin It
Before the violets and dandelions bloom, comes a bit of green, the 'winter' onions are about 4 inches high. The chives are pushing up stems also. If we want some color in our scrambled eggs or potato soup it's available now. It's not daffodils, alas, but thankfully it's not snow.
We are turning the thermostat all the way down and opening the back door. With the back door open the dogs have access to the yard. I no longer need to spend as much time opening/closing the door for them. Gosh, I don't know what I'll do with all the time I'll have now.
I confess, I am raking the yard. Just a little 3 x 3 spot or so at a time. However, I will not be hastened to uncover the perennials on the south side of the house. It always snows at least once after the robins arrive; I don't put any faith in it being snowless until the first week of April. No harm is done leaving the plants covered until then.
No hurry this year anyway. I need to move my compost heaps this spring. I will move them and distribute the compost. In the new location they can be refilled.
I see people in the fall raking up every single leaf in their yards and putting them in bags for the garbage men to pick up. Then in the spring these same people go out and spread fertilizer in the places where they raked up the leaves. I'd like to see people run a lawn mower over the leaves at least once before they rake. That would return a little bit of sustenance to the earth.
Why they cannot work with Nature instead of against her, I don't understand.
We are turning the thermostat all the way down and opening the back door. With the back door open the dogs have access to the yard. I no longer need to spend as much time opening/closing the door for them. Gosh, I don't know what I'll do with all the time I'll have now.
I confess, I am raking the yard. Just a little 3 x 3 spot or so at a time. However, I will not be hastened to uncover the perennials on the south side of the house. It always snows at least once after the robins arrive; I don't put any faith in it being snowless until the first week of April. No harm is done leaving the plants covered until then.
No hurry this year anyway. I need to move my compost heaps this spring. I will move them and distribute the compost. In the new location they can be refilled.
I see people in the fall raking up every single leaf in their yards and putting them in bags for the garbage men to pick up. Then in the spring these same people go out and spread fertilizer in the places where they raked up the leaves. I'd like to see people run a lawn mower over the leaves at least once before they rake. That would return a little bit of sustenance to the earth.
Why they cannot work with Nature instead of against her, I don't understand.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Revenue & Finance
Got a nasty-gram from the Iowa Department of Revenue and Finance. I called the phone number on the letter and pretended to be an adult. I don't feel as much fear as I used to even tho IDRF is the state-size equivalent of the IRS. Whoever I talk to is just an employee doing a job; they have very little power.
Anyway, IDRF wants to collect sales tax from 2005. They're estimating $350.00/quarter. That would be $5000.00 in sales per quarter. Something to smile about in this; if the store had $5000 in sales I'd still be in business. Why, with $5000.00 in sales, I could have paid myself wages, instead of allowing $5.00/day to eat a lunch of some kind.
I think enough time has passed that I can get out my account books and records for the business and look at them without drowning in tears. I still feel sad, but I don't feel helpless.
One of the good things about being self-employed: no job hunting. No applications to fill out, no resume, no references.
And what have we learned from all this? Never to own a business again. The State of Iowa has myriad taxes and penalties for doing so. Having to quit owning a business was very depressing; no one wants to admit that they've failed at doing something, least of all me. It was a really-o, truly-o, genuine learning experience.
A learning experience is not the same as a mistake. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
Anyway, IDRF wants to collect sales tax from 2005. They're estimating $350.00/quarter. That would be $5000.00 in sales per quarter. Something to smile about in this; if the store had $5000 in sales I'd still be in business. Why, with $5000.00 in sales, I could have paid myself wages, instead of allowing $5.00/day to eat a lunch of some kind.
I think enough time has passed that I can get out my account books and records for the business and look at them without drowning in tears. I still feel sad, but I don't feel helpless.
One of the good things about being self-employed: no job hunting. No applications to fill out, no resume, no references.
And what have we learned from all this? Never to own a business again. The State of Iowa has myriad taxes and penalties for doing so. Having to quit owning a business was very depressing; no one wants to admit that they've failed at doing something, least of all me. It was a really-o, truly-o, genuine learning experience.
A learning experience is not the same as a mistake. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Pancake Feed
I'm glad that's over. When I got home I was so tired that I couldn't say 'Elizabethan'. For me not to be able to talk, that's some serious shit. My knees feel fine. My feet feel like they been run over by a truck.
It went well. Everyone did their part. Most of them have done their parts before so no reflection on my abilities. Most of what I did to make it happen involved having a nice man with a pickup to do my bidding. Hopefully we made some money for our Lions Club.
One of the Lions Club members asked me at 1:30 PM what our expenses were. I answered "I have no idea. Why don't you ask me later, when my feet don't hurt?" I wasn't being sarcastic. Ask me when my feet don't hurt, when I haven't been flat-out busy for 10 hours, when I can think. Times like these make me realize I'm a long way from 20.
Next week the treasurer and I will have some numbers and figure out how much fundage the fundraiser raised. Then we'll have to figure out what to do to raise more funds. It would be really cool to raise enough money to ship all the members of the Kiwanis Club to Uzbekistan
for a year.
Later...
Had a nap and a bath. Feeling way more human. Had my legs akimbo soaking in the tub; I'm only stiff and sore, not injured.
Well, there's a feeling that brings back happy memories.
It went well. Everyone did their part. Most of them have done their parts before so no reflection on my abilities. Most of what I did to make it happen involved having a nice man with a pickup to do my bidding. Hopefully we made some money for our Lions Club.
One of the Lions Club members asked me at 1:30 PM what our expenses were. I answered "I have no idea. Why don't you ask me later, when my feet don't hurt?" I wasn't being sarcastic. Ask me when my feet don't hurt, when I haven't been flat-out busy for 10 hours, when I can think. Times like these make me realize I'm a long way from 20.
Next week the treasurer and I will have some numbers and figure out how much fundage the fundraiser raised. Then we'll have to figure out what to do to raise more funds. It would be really cool to raise enough money to ship all the members of the Kiwanis Club to Uzbekistan
for a year.
Later...
Had a nap and a bath. Feeling way more human. Had my legs akimbo soaking in the tub; I'm only stiff and sore, not injured.
Well, there's a feeling that brings back happy memories.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
You're Bloody Well Right
Ain't it great to be right? My experience of several years of weather here in central Iowa turns out to be dead-on accurate. (See the post on March 10, 2007.)
When I woke up this morning I wondered how late I'd slept. The light coming thru the bedroom windows was very bright. I did a double-take when I looked out the window. Oh, it's snow!
The robins are indeed disgruntled.
You might wonder why I'm so fascinated by the weather. Probably becuz I grew up on a farm surrounded by other farmers' kids. MySpouse is the same way. I tease him, "You can take the boy out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the boy." Although I've lived in this small town for twenty-five years there's still rural in the girl.
When we travel we stop to look at cows, horses, pigs, or other livestock. We probably look like Susie and Sammy Suburbanite. Driving a Ford Taurus, and all. MySpouse can't drive by an implement dealers' lot without craning his neck to look at what's there. We'll take pictures of frisky foals and cute calves. We're not stopping to look at these critters becuz we have no experience with them. It's becuz we do have experience with them.
We've ridden horses and ponies, milked cows, fed hogs, assisted with birthing various animals. We admire animals that are in good health and well cared for. I don't know about MySpouse but I still recall most of what I learned about conformation of cattle and horses.
When I took Vocational Agriculture classes 32 years ago I was one of three girls in 9th grade who chose to take the class. In 10th grade, I was the only girl. I joined FFA. Voc Ag was so much more fun than Home Ec.
In Voc Ag I finally learned how bull semen is collected for artificial insemination.
When I woke up this morning I wondered how late I'd slept. The light coming thru the bedroom windows was very bright. I did a double-take when I looked out the window. Oh, it's snow!
The robins are indeed disgruntled.
You might wonder why I'm so fascinated by the weather. Probably becuz I grew up on a farm surrounded by other farmers' kids. MySpouse is the same way. I tease him, "You can take the boy out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the boy." Although I've lived in this small town for twenty-five years there's still rural in the girl.
When we travel we stop to look at cows, horses, pigs, or other livestock. We probably look like Susie and Sammy Suburbanite. Driving a Ford Taurus, and all. MySpouse can't drive by an implement dealers' lot without craning his neck to look at what's there. We'll take pictures of frisky foals and cute calves. We're not stopping to look at these critters becuz we have no experience with them. It's becuz we do have experience with them.
We've ridden horses and ponies, milked cows, fed hogs, assisted with birthing various animals. We admire animals that are in good health and well cared for. I don't know about MySpouse but I still recall most of what I learned about conformation of cattle and horses.
When I took Vocational Agriculture classes 32 years ago I was one of three girls in 9th grade who chose to take the class. In 10th grade, I was the only girl. I joined FFA. Voc Ag was so much more fun than Home Ec.
In Voc Ag I finally learned how bull semen is collected for artificial insemination.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
The Peaceable Kingdom...NOT
Don't mind me, I'm just here to vent.
Leapin' lizards, what a day. This was the kind of day that makes me glad I don't own a gun. Cuz I'd kill someone. In fact, there were a couple of people today that I might have killed twice just for the sweet pleasure of their no longer existing.
I quit drinking booze for this?
I swear, dealing with these other people made me feel like the only sane person on the planet.
Started out with MySpouse getting up at his usual time, 4:30 AM. He had today off from work and he was looking forward to spending time with his computer. Except that his computer wouldn't cooperate. All he could get were sites that were on Google servers. My computer wouldn't cooperate either (no Scrabble site) but I wasn't as upset about it as he was.
He tried some things and no go. Called the ISP and found out they weren't open until 2:00 PM. then he proceeded to obsess and fuss. He wouldn't listen to me, basically ignored me.
Let me tell you, hell hath no fury like a woman ignored. First I was angry, then I was hurt, and finally PISSED OFF.
He realized he was tired by 9:30 AM and went up to bed for a nap. I think he'd been in bed maybe 20 minutes when I decided that I was peeved. I went upstairs and sat on the bed and asked him "So, do I look like chopped liver to you?"
Guys, there is no right answer when a woman asks you that. Just go ahead and apologize. At some point she'll tell you what you're apologizing for...
We talked. I explained. He apologized. Even though we love each other, we are two different people. We have different viewpoints and different priorities sometimes. Truthfully, we seldom fight and when we do it's usually becuz one of us is tired.
Today was going to be a busy day and I didn't want to start it out in such a negative way. I hate when that happens. We each have an Advertiser route that we do on Wednesday. For me, Avon delivery every other Wednesday, Lions Club two Wednesday evenings a month. This Wednesday was the one in which all three things landed. In between the paper route and Lions Club we were going to take time to cut up a fallen tree branch.
We did our paper routes. Cooked a frozen pizza for dinner. Went outside and cut up the tree branch. Busy morning, but with a couple hours available for a nap in the afternoon. MySpouse laid down for a nap and I told him I would lay down after I bathed.
I didn't want to go to bed until my hair was partially dry, so I came downstairs to work on a sign-up sheet for the Lions Club fundraiser. Take about 20 minutes, I figured. Time enough for my hair to dry a bit. I don't like that Bride-of-Frankenstein look that I get from sleeping on wet hair.
I'm typing away, wearing only a bathrobe and a frown, when the dogs start barking. I thought 'Please don't let it be the young gal from down the street stopping by. I'm too tired to be social'
And hey, whadda ya know, it wasn't the young gal from down the street.
It was my rapscallion BrotherTwo followed by five other people. One of the people, a young man, walked in carrying a cigarette in his hand. I told the young man with the cigarette "If you light that up in my house I'll shove it up your nose." I think all six of them smoke, but I don't, and they're in my house. I really was too tired to be social, and frankly, too tired to be nice.
My brother took it upon himself to make coffee. I hunted up some pop and snacks for the other members of his party. BrotherTwo has worked in construction for 20-odd years now. He may do some roofing for us. Toward that end, and to smoke, we went outside to look at the house. I'm willing to let him know all about construction, but when he mentioned landscaping, I cut him off straightaway.
He's talking about landscaping, I said very firmly "I'll take care of the landscaping. Don't say another word." He made a sound of protest, kind of shuffled around a bit and I took him by the elbow "Now get your size 10's out of my iris bed. Stand by your friend on the sidewalk and stop killing my plants."
He may not lecture me about landscaping. I have always been interested in growing plants and gardening. I had the opportunity to attend a community college for two years and I chose the Commercial Horticulture curriculum. I kept all my textbooks. When MySpouse isn't on the Internet he is also interested in gardening and plants.
Both MySpouse and I really like rocks. Spring of 2006 we built ourselves a little rock wall out front. It won't win any prizes for landscaping but we like it.
By the time BrotherTwo and his entourage departed it was too late for a nap. I finished the sign-up sheet.
Then off to the Lions Club meeting. The president of the club this year is a guy who is old enough to be my father. He treats me like a 1950's bimbo cheerleader. I'm overweight, opinionated, outgoing, outspoken...but I have never been a cheerleader.
President Twit has no experience with retail sales, promotion, or running a business . He gives me no credit for my experience in those areas, which results in my feeling really frustrated. When I go to area businesses and solicit donations on behalf of Lions Club I know what I'm asking of them.
At the board meeting on March 5th the organizing of a fundraiser to be held March 18th was given to me. It's a fundraiser that the club has done for many years so having less than two weeks to put it together isn't a huge deal. Really.
One of the things I've done for the fundraiser was to go and order sausage from a local business.
I've known the receptionist casually for years. That helps with communication. She asked at least three times if the business was donating the sausage to Lions Club. I told her no, in the past we had paid for it. I know; I wrote the check for it last year when I was treasurer. I told her the club would pay for it this year, but I would get an opinion from club members about accepting a donation next year.
If I had kept my yap shut at Wednesday's meeting President Twit wouldn't have insulted me in front of everyone present. He started out by asking the man who was no longer in charge of the fundraiser for a status report. At least the former organizer had the grace to be embarrassed. He referred President Twit to me.
I gave a report. Began passing the sign-up sheet around. Then my big mistake, I asked for input about accepting a donation next year. President Twit said to me, "That's a no-brainer. Take the donation. Go back and tell them we want a donation." Does he realize that representing the club does not give me blanket authority? It was not my decision to make. It's something that the members need to know about, discuss, and decide.
He has no idea how stupid that would make his Lions Club look. I told him no. I'd made a deal with them on behalf of the club and we needed to stick to it. For next year we can make a different deal with them.
I'd like the local businesses to have a good opinion of Lions Club.
Toward that end, I wait impatiently for President Twit's term to be finished.
Leapin' lizards, what a day. This was the kind of day that makes me glad I don't own a gun. Cuz I'd kill someone. In fact, there were a couple of people today that I might have killed twice just for the sweet pleasure of their no longer existing.
I quit drinking booze for this?
I swear, dealing with these other people made me feel like the only sane person on the planet.
Started out with MySpouse getting up at his usual time, 4:30 AM. He had today off from work and he was looking forward to spending time with his computer. Except that his computer wouldn't cooperate. All he could get were sites that were on Google servers. My computer wouldn't cooperate either (no Scrabble site) but I wasn't as upset about it as he was.
He tried some things and no go. Called the ISP and found out they weren't open until 2:00 PM. then he proceeded to obsess and fuss. He wouldn't listen to me, basically ignored me.
Let me tell you, hell hath no fury like a woman ignored. First I was angry, then I was hurt, and finally PISSED OFF.
He realized he was tired by 9:30 AM and went up to bed for a nap. I think he'd been in bed maybe 20 minutes when I decided that I was peeved. I went upstairs and sat on the bed and asked him "So, do I look like chopped liver to you?"
Guys, there is no right answer when a woman asks you that. Just go ahead and apologize. At some point she'll tell you what you're apologizing for...
We talked. I explained. He apologized. Even though we love each other, we are two different people. We have different viewpoints and different priorities sometimes. Truthfully, we seldom fight and when we do it's usually becuz one of us is tired.
Today was going to be a busy day and I didn't want to start it out in such a negative way. I hate when that happens. We each have an Advertiser route that we do on Wednesday. For me, Avon delivery every other Wednesday, Lions Club two Wednesday evenings a month. This Wednesday was the one in which all three things landed. In between the paper route and Lions Club we were going to take time to cut up a fallen tree branch.
We did our paper routes. Cooked a frozen pizza for dinner. Went outside and cut up the tree branch. Busy morning, but with a couple hours available for a nap in the afternoon. MySpouse laid down for a nap and I told him I would lay down after I bathed.
I didn't want to go to bed until my hair was partially dry, so I came downstairs to work on a sign-up sheet for the Lions Club fundraiser. Take about 20 minutes, I figured. Time enough for my hair to dry a bit. I don't like that Bride-of-Frankenstein look that I get from sleeping on wet hair.
I'm typing away, wearing only a bathrobe and a frown, when the dogs start barking. I thought 'Please don't let it be the young gal from down the street stopping by. I'm too tired to be social'
And hey, whadda ya know, it wasn't the young gal from down the street.
It was my rapscallion BrotherTwo followed by five other people. One of the people, a young man, walked in carrying a cigarette in his hand. I told the young man with the cigarette "If you light that up in my house I'll shove it up your nose." I think all six of them smoke, but I don't, and they're in my house. I really was too tired to be social, and frankly, too tired to be nice.
My brother took it upon himself to make coffee. I hunted up some pop and snacks for the other members of his party. BrotherTwo has worked in construction for 20-odd years now. He may do some roofing for us. Toward that end, and to smoke, we went outside to look at the house. I'm willing to let him know all about construction, but when he mentioned landscaping, I cut him off straightaway.
He's talking about landscaping, I said very firmly "I'll take care of the landscaping. Don't say another word." He made a sound of protest, kind of shuffled around a bit and I took him by the elbow "Now get your size 10's out of my iris bed. Stand by your friend on the sidewalk and stop killing my plants."
He may not lecture me about landscaping. I have always been interested in growing plants and gardening. I had the opportunity to attend a community college for two years and I chose the Commercial Horticulture curriculum. I kept all my textbooks. When MySpouse isn't on the Internet he is also interested in gardening and plants.
Both MySpouse and I really like rocks. Spring of 2006 we built ourselves a little rock wall out front. It won't win any prizes for landscaping but we like it.
By the time BrotherTwo and his entourage departed it was too late for a nap. I finished the sign-up sheet.
Then off to the Lions Club meeting. The president of the club this year is a guy who is old enough to be my father. He treats me like a 1950's bimbo cheerleader. I'm overweight, opinionated, outgoing, outspoken...but I have never been a cheerleader.
President Twit has no experience with retail sales, promotion, or running a business . He gives me no credit for my experience in those areas, which results in my feeling really frustrated. When I go to area businesses and solicit donations on behalf of Lions Club I know what I'm asking of them.
At the board meeting on March 5th the organizing of a fundraiser to be held March 18th was given to me. It's a fundraiser that the club has done for many years so having less than two weeks to put it together isn't a huge deal. Really.
One of the things I've done for the fundraiser was to go and order sausage from a local business.
I've known the receptionist casually for years. That helps with communication. She asked at least three times if the business was donating the sausage to Lions Club. I told her no, in the past we had paid for it. I know; I wrote the check for it last year when I was treasurer. I told her the club would pay for it this year, but I would get an opinion from club members about accepting a donation next year.
If I had kept my yap shut at Wednesday's meeting President Twit wouldn't have insulted me in front of everyone present. He started out by asking the man who was no longer in charge of the fundraiser for a status report. At least the former organizer had the grace to be embarrassed. He referred President Twit to me.
I gave a report. Began passing the sign-up sheet around. Then my big mistake, I asked for input about accepting a donation next year. President Twit said to me, "That's a no-brainer. Take the donation. Go back and tell them we want a donation." Does he realize that representing the club does not give me blanket authority? It was not my decision to make. It's something that the members need to know about, discuss, and decide.
He has no idea how stupid that would make his Lions Club look. I told him no. I'd made a deal with them on behalf of the club and we needed to stick to it. For next year we can make a different deal with them.
I'd like the local businesses to have a good opinion of Lions Club.
Toward that end, I wait impatiently for President Twit's term to be finished.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Just Sitting
Uffda. I'm glad that's over. We can all draw a deep breath now. I can't believe how tired and sore I am when all I did was sit most of the day.
SisOne had her surgery today and it went well. The 'sentinel' lymph node had no cancer present. Of course there is still a bit of danger in recovery, but, hey, not dying on the operating table is a positive thing.
After SisOne was installed in a semi-private room the whole throng of visitors was allowed in...six of us. Every one else whispered to her, but I spoke right up and told her a funny story. I was granted a tiny bit of a smile. Pretty good for a gal who just had five hours of surgery.
The story I told her was about my second husband's grandmother. Gramma O had abdominal surgery. To keep abdominal muscles from stiffening the nurses want a patient to cough. Coughing is painful, to say the least. Gramma O had worked in that hospital as a nurse's aide for years so she knew very well what they wanted. She played possum. One of the nurses told us outside the room that Gramma O wouldn't cough for them, so could we tell her a joke and get her to laugh? Because laughing uses the same abdominal muscles that coughing does...
A quandary for us: What jokes did we know that we could tell an elderly lady? Finally grandson decides he can tell her the 'Frayed Knot' joke cuz it doesn't have any dirty words in it.
As soon as the nurse was gone Gramma O opened her eyes and I scolded her for being so unhelpful. She just smiled at me. I told her she still had to listen to the joke. Grandson told it well, and she did laugh. And it did hurt. But probably not as much as coughing.
It's good that the story about Gramma O made SisOne smile. It was twenty years ago that I heard the 'Frayed Knot' joke and I don't remember the punchline.
SisOne had her surgery today and it went well. The 'sentinel' lymph node had no cancer present. Of course there is still a bit of danger in recovery, but, hey, not dying on the operating table is a positive thing.
After SisOne was installed in a semi-private room the whole throng of visitors was allowed in...six of us. Every one else whispered to her, but I spoke right up and told her a funny story. I was granted a tiny bit of a smile. Pretty good for a gal who just had five hours of surgery.
The story I told her was about my second husband's grandmother. Gramma O had abdominal surgery. To keep abdominal muscles from stiffening the nurses want a patient to cough. Coughing is painful, to say the least. Gramma O had worked in that hospital as a nurse's aide for years so she knew very well what they wanted. She played possum. One of the nurses told us outside the room that Gramma O wouldn't cough for them, so could we tell her a joke and get her to laugh? Because laughing uses the same abdominal muscles that coughing does...
A quandary for us: What jokes did we know that we could tell an elderly lady? Finally grandson decides he can tell her the 'Frayed Knot' joke cuz it doesn't have any dirty words in it.
As soon as the nurse was gone Gramma O opened her eyes and I scolded her for being so unhelpful. She just smiled at me. I told her she still had to listen to the joke. Grandson told it well, and she did laugh. And it did hurt. But probably not as much as coughing.
It's good that the story about Gramma O made SisOne smile. It was twenty years ago that I heard the 'Frayed Knot' joke and I don't remember the punchline.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Reality Live
I'm not much troubled by reality. We don't watch television, subscribe to a newspaper or magazines, or listen to radio. So do you think I'm out of touch?
Most of the news we get comes from the stuff we read on the Internet. Okay, MySpouse reads things to me while I play Scrabble or Tetris. He's a blog-o-holic. At least he's cut down on the number of political blogs he reads. Mostly he reads to me the items that make him laugh.
Last Sunday MySpouse got a free newspaper when he gassed up his pick-up. I read the comics, looked thru the Target flyer, and read an article about how some news organization had NO items about Paris Hilton for a week. The news organization found out that no one really missed Miss Hilton.
Okay, she's rich and skinny. Is that it? Is that all? I'd say she's young, also, but that's not true. At 26 she's closer to 30 than she probably wants to be.
And what, precisely, does she do?
I come from a long line of doers. I don't waste my time like I did when I was 20-something.
He drives, I crochet. I have an appointment with a doctor, dentist, or lawyer - I take
my knitting to work on. My daughter calls to rant and I play Free Cell while she natters
about her shit of a husband.
I do things that are productive and creative. I'm sure Miss Hilton could hire someone to knit or crochet an item, but it's not about paying someone to do something. It's about learning a skill and using it in a positive way. I'm hoping some day to crochet as well as my mother does.
So maybe I am out of touch. If a Paris Hilton sighting was the high point of my day, I might be better off.
Most of the news we get comes from the stuff we read on the Internet. Okay, MySpouse reads things to me while I play Scrabble or Tetris. He's a blog-o-holic. At least he's cut down on the number of political blogs he reads. Mostly he reads to me the items that make him laugh.
Last Sunday MySpouse got a free newspaper when he gassed up his pick-up. I read the comics, looked thru the Target flyer, and read an article about how some news organization had NO items about Paris Hilton for a week. The news organization found out that no one really missed Miss Hilton.
Okay, she's rich and skinny. Is that it? Is that all? I'd say she's young, also, but that's not true. At 26 she's closer to 30 than she probably wants to be.
And what, precisely, does she do?
I come from a long line of doers. I don't waste my time like I did when I was 20-something.
He drives, I crochet. I have an appointment with a doctor, dentist, or lawyer - I take
my knitting to work on. My daughter calls to rant and I play Free Cell while she natters
about her shit of a husband.
I do things that are productive and creative. I'm sure Miss Hilton could hire someone to knit or crochet an item, but it's not about paying someone to do something. It's about learning a skill and using it in a positive way. I'm hoping some day to crochet as well as my mother does.
So maybe I am out of touch. If a Paris Hilton sighting was the high point of my day, I might be better off.
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