So the holiday season is REALLY hard on someone trying to battle weight-related health issues. Especially in an office of 100+ people, equally divided between those wanting to help and support you, and those wanting to make the whole world fat, round, and lazy.
I felt a great deal of frustration the week before Christmas when a couple of folks decided "Hey let's have food in the middle of the department every day this week." The email went out for folks to sign up to bring stuff. I replied to All, "Please try to make sure some lighter options make it to the table!"
Sigh. "Lighter" was translated into some other language, not calories. So there was stuff covered in frosting, stuff filled with cream cheese, stuff full of fat and grease... And every single thing had an amazing smell that said, "Kat - you need to eat 5 of me!" Add to this the fact the table is set up smack in the middle of my department - right between me and the fax, to which I travel at least once an hour; right between me and the other three call takers, with whom I communicate face-to-face at least once a day; and eventually right between me and every single thing I needed to do, whether it was really on the way or not. Sigh.
To my chagrin, I did not stick to my guns the way I'd ordered myself to do. I enjoyed every single tidbit I ate, knowing that I would have to work double-hard to keep from losing the momentum I've maintained all this time between Weight Watchers and Jazzercise. Then, to add to my challenge, I had holiday activities with friends and then a cold, that prevented me from attending my meetings and workouts. Sigh.
So, tonight I finally made it back to Weight Watchers for a weigh-in. I was certain I had gained at least three pounds over the past couple of weeks. I'd visited a doctor Friday after work and the scale made an ugly face at me, I'm sure. My chest is still a little funky, so I didn't stay for tonight's meeting, but I was quite relieved to see that I hadn't even gained one pound, much less three. OK, I gained .6 pounds - a gain, but when you consider my lack of control over the last couple of weeks, it's awesome.
I decided to celebrate by allowing myself to eat the nachos I've been craving all day. I went to Taco Bell and ordered the Nachos Belgrande - if I was going to have them, I was going to have a lot of them! I'm still uncomfortably full, by the way.
As I sat in the restaraunt and enjoyed each greasy, cheesy, fatty mouthful, a family of six came in, ordered and sat in the tables next to mine. I didn't want to be rude and listen in on all their conversations, but well, they were right next to me and I had nothing else going on except nacho goodness. I observed that the four children (aged between 9 months and 9 years at a guess) were all very well behaved and well mannered for their ages. The mother was very patient with each one, even with the toddler who decided it was fun to bounce her fists on the hot sauce packets. The father patiently ordered for each of them (which proceeded with amazing efficiency I thought), and brought all the food and drinks over to the family at the table. He sorted out who's food was what and determined that they had several extra food items that they had neither ordered, nor paid for. He took the reciept and the tray with the extras back to the counter to straighten it all out - I noticed the family did not start eating while he was gone. When the cashier realized the error, he said that they couldn't sell the food to someone else now anyway so the family could keep it for free. The man thanked him and sat down. Still no one began eating until all had taken hands and said a brief, simple prayer of thanks for their meal.
It has been made plain before on this blog that I am not a Christian. But, while I have some gripes about the organization of the Christian Church, I have nothing against people who are Christian. I actually respect those who are rooted in their beliefs and endeavor to live well according to their teachings - even if I disagree with them. All day today, some form of spirituality or other has enterred into my space. I've had three separate conversations on the topic with three different people, just today. So in looking over this scene, I felt that I was being given a special gift. The gift was a chance to look at a family unit, functioning as a complete package - mother, father, children, Faith, togetherness and teamwork. They prayed together - as a fanily - in a public place. They were neither ashamed nor afraid for anyone to see that they were praying and giving thanks.
This is how I believe it should be - not just for Christians, but for people of all Faiths. I believe that people of all religions should cheer when they see someone else showing their Faith in public, no matter what religion that Faith is based in. They don't have to agree with the religion - just be respectful of the fact that the other person does agree with it and chooses to live as directed by it.
Now, here is where I get all crazy with the whole "Politically Correct" craze that is running rampant through our society. WTF??? OK, I don't agree with 99.99999% of the religions out there - not even with the one that the largest portion of the US population follows (in one form or another) - but I don't think it's fair for me to demand that no one can say Christmas in school, or use the word God in the pledge of allegiance. I don't think it's fair that because some people aren't Christians, the ones who are can't have a "Christmas" pageant at school. If you're not Christian and you don't want to see it, don't go. Plain and simple. I know there are plenty of other faiths out there that have their own things going on during the "Christmas" season; so hey, why don't the Jewish people all do a "Chanukah" pagenat, and the Kwanzaa people all do a "Kwanzaa" pageant? And if there are scheduling conflicts, why not all work together to make one big pageant that covers everyone's beliefs? Maybe? Anybody? Beuler? I just think the whole "PC" movement has gotten way out of hand. We're so afraid of squashing anybody's individual rights, we've squashed everybody's freedom of speech and freedom of religious expression. And hello? Didn't the country get started in the first place by a bunch of people leaving their home land so they could practice their religion the way they felt was appropriate FOR THEM? (This observation is clearly ignoring the Native Americans who actually were already here and got beaten down into the dirt by these people, but only for the moment - that's a rant for antoher day.) Are we really that stupid as a nation? Apparently so!
{BTW - Kwanzaa doesn't really replace Christmas - it's also not a religion - it means "first fruits of the harvest" and is an African-American observance of traditional African values (family, community, self-improvement, etc.); and it actually runs from 12/26 to 1/1, so there should never be a schedule conflict between Kwanzaa and Christmas. As for Chanukah, it is based on the Jewish calendar, which may or may not fall into conflict with the Georgain calendar used by Christians (and the American government). So the possibility does exist for this to bump schedules with a Christmas pageant, but again I say - how about a cooperative effort? How about taking full advantage of a great opportunity for members of each Faith to share a small taste of their beliefs with each other and maybe even brighten up the dimming light bulbs of acceptance and fellowship? So says the heathen! Go ye and stop being assholes!}
This has been an entirely non-PC public service announcment. :-)
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Smart Car
I found a picture of the car, and even an article about. I found it at http://freecarloansearch.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/05/smart-car. This isn't the whole article, but what's here is pretty interesting.
Small and Smart
The smallest among the small sub-compact car category would be the Smart ForTwo (dubbed simply as “Smart”). Does it automatically mean that the Smart car is the smartest choice for people looking to economize?
The Smart car is roughly a foot longer than an E-Z Go golf cart. This means that the Smart car is even smaller than the famous Mini Cooper by a little more than three feet.
Needless to say, the Smart car houses a very small 1-liter 3-cylinder engine that could give you a very respectable average of 36 MPG (33 city/41 highway). The gas mileage of the Smart Car rivals what Hybrid cars could give but at a bargain price of $11,590 - $16,590 depending on the trim.
Aside from the car’s economy, the Smart ForTwo still manages to house two passengers comfortably. Despite its size, the average passenger won’t feel cramped at all.
Monday, November 24, 2008
I have to find a picture of the car. I don't know what it's called. but it's even more miniature than a Cooper Mini. It looks like a nose without a face. Really! But a cute nose, if you can picture that. But that isn't even the whole thing that has me in a whirl.
I pulled into the grocery store parking lot and pulled up into the spot next this (my little Isuzu Rodeo actually dwarfed it - ha!). As I pulled up, the proud new owner was climbing out of it. The usual joke here would be a giant of a man squeezed in as tight as can be. But no, the man standing next to the car was just as miniature as the car was. Not a midget, but a dwarf - proportioned like everyone else, but on a smaller scale and none of the apparent physical ailments that plague the life of a midget.
When I saw him standing there, proudly beaming at his automobile, all I could think was "a miniature car for a miniature man." But I had to be polite because he saw me looking the car over and smiled. "It's cute," I said, "and must be amazingly easy on fuel." He beamed even brighter (not sure how, but he did) and responded that it was too new yet to tell for sure, but he thought it would be.
I smiled, nodded, and rushed into the store to buy groceries for my visit with January and Devin (and the fetus) for T-Day. And very carefully did not blurt it out to January while we were talking when I was still shopping.
I have got to find a picture of that car.
I pulled into the grocery store parking lot and pulled up into the spot next this (my little Isuzu Rodeo actually dwarfed it - ha!). As I pulled up, the proud new owner was climbing out of it. The usual joke here would be a giant of a man squeezed in as tight as can be. But no, the man standing next to the car was just as miniature as the car was. Not a midget, but a dwarf - proportioned like everyone else, but on a smaller scale and none of the apparent physical ailments that plague the life of a midget.
When I saw him standing there, proudly beaming at his automobile, all I could think was "a miniature car for a miniature man." But I had to be polite because he saw me looking the car over and smiled. "It's cute," I said, "and must be amazingly easy on fuel." He beamed even brighter (not sure how, but he did) and responded that it was too new yet to tell for sure, but he thought it would be.
I smiled, nodded, and rushed into the store to buy groceries for my visit with January and Devin (and the fetus) for T-Day. And very carefully did not blurt it out to January while we were talking when I was still shopping.
I have got to find a picture of that car.
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Light Travel
Sometimes when I drive home at night, and I'm crossing the Indian River Lagoon or the Banana River, the lights take me completely away. My own private Bermuda Triangle, but only in my head. There are different lights and they all have a different effect.
Car lights don't stay with you; they either pass you going the other way, or they drop behind you because they aren't able to keep up. These lights make me think of journeys that we each take. Each car is on its own journey, sometimes moving in the same direction as other cars for a time before it veers off in its path and takes another course. I wonder if the other drivers and passengers, like me, wonder what interesting journeys are being taken in all the other cars. Do they, like me, feel a brief, fleeting connection with the other people on the road? Or are they mindless drones, simply in motion because someone said they had to be somewhere other than where they were? Are they going somewhere they really want to be? What destiny awaits them at the other end?
The bridges are all lined with pairs of street lights, high above the road. On clear nights, these appear to be exactly what they are: lights placed on the bridge so we silly humans don't drive off into the water. On nights when it is foggy or very rainy, they are oh so much more than that. Muted and softened, the glow is more like the spirits of those who have passed before, and those yet to come. They stand steady and stoic, awaiting my passage, reassuring me that I am on the right path and that solace awaits me where I am going. I wonder, if I stray from the path will they move to warn me? I envision them darting out of their lines and clustering around to nest me in safety until I am back on the proper course. I do not ever test their willingness to protect me out of respect for their kind guardianship. Sometimes, I feel I should lift up into the sky and ride along directly between the lights; and sometimes, for just a moment, I believe I really can.
Then there are the lights that shine from the houses, businesses and parking lots along the waterways. On clear, calm nights these lights show as dots on land, but their reflections in the water seem to be trying to stretch forever, trying to reach the far shore but always disappearing before they reach it. These lights take me to a memory. I don't remember where I was, or if I even knew or cared. In the memory, I am very small, maybe a toddler - I really am not sure. I am being held by either my Mother or my Father, and they are standing close together. The three of us are looking across water towards a nearby shore. The lights there also appear as dots on land, but as long lines in the water. One of my parents makes a comment that they look "continental." I cannot clearly remember which voice speaks the words, but I can remember thinking that the word "continental" must be something very special indeed because of the emotion that I feel in the voice that has spoken.
Then of course, there are the lights the universe has provided for us. Those beautiful points of light so very far away in our sky. Oh, the places I go when I look at them. I cannot put the right words on this screen. They cannot compare to what my mind and my heart see when I look at them. I picture myself as a tiny mote of light, smaller than the stars, planets, and galaxies appear to our naked eyes. I travel at unimaginable speeds, well beyond what light speed can accomplish. More like tesseract travel, where you fold into nothingness and appear somewhere else less than an instant later. I move among the stars, the planets, galaxies, dust clouds, black holes. I find the places the artists try to create for us and see them for myself. I become one with each place I go, and carry a little of it with me to the next place, and the next and the next. I meet the inhabitants (yes, I believe that other places support life) and feel the wonder of their life experiences. I feel the effects of the passage of time on the solid and astral bodies that I encounter, and dance with them in their ballroom called a Universe.
There is no need for drugs in a mind that can travel to such places, unfettered and unclouded. My heart and mind can take me anywhere I want to be.
Car lights don't stay with you; they either pass you going the other way, or they drop behind you because they aren't able to keep up. These lights make me think of journeys that we each take. Each car is on its own journey, sometimes moving in the same direction as other cars for a time before it veers off in its path and takes another course. I wonder if the other drivers and passengers, like me, wonder what interesting journeys are being taken in all the other cars. Do they, like me, feel a brief, fleeting connection with the other people on the road? Or are they mindless drones, simply in motion because someone said they had to be somewhere other than where they were? Are they going somewhere they really want to be? What destiny awaits them at the other end?
The bridges are all lined with pairs of street lights, high above the road. On clear nights, these appear to be exactly what they are: lights placed on the bridge so we silly humans don't drive off into the water. On nights when it is foggy or very rainy, they are oh so much more than that. Muted and softened, the glow is more like the spirits of those who have passed before, and those yet to come. They stand steady and stoic, awaiting my passage, reassuring me that I am on the right path and that solace awaits me where I am going. I wonder, if I stray from the path will they move to warn me? I envision them darting out of their lines and clustering around to nest me in safety until I am back on the proper course. I do not ever test their willingness to protect me out of respect for their kind guardianship. Sometimes, I feel I should lift up into the sky and ride along directly between the lights; and sometimes, for just a moment, I believe I really can.
Then there are the lights that shine from the houses, businesses and parking lots along the waterways. On clear, calm nights these lights show as dots on land, but their reflections in the water seem to be trying to stretch forever, trying to reach the far shore but always disappearing before they reach it. These lights take me to a memory. I don't remember where I was, or if I even knew or cared. In the memory, I am very small, maybe a toddler - I really am not sure. I am being held by either my Mother or my Father, and they are standing close together. The three of us are looking across water towards a nearby shore. The lights there also appear as dots on land, but as long lines in the water. One of my parents makes a comment that they look "continental." I cannot clearly remember which voice speaks the words, but I can remember thinking that the word "continental" must be something very special indeed because of the emotion that I feel in the voice that has spoken.
Then of course, there are the lights the universe has provided for us. Those beautiful points of light so very far away in our sky. Oh, the places I go when I look at them. I cannot put the right words on this screen. They cannot compare to what my mind and my heart see when I look at them. I picture myself as a tiny mote of light, smaller than the stars, planets, and galaxies appear to our naked eyes. I travel at unimaginable speeds, well beyond what light speed can accomplish. More like tesseract travel, where you fold into nothingness and appear somewhere else less than an instant later. I move among the stars, the planets, galaxies, dust clouds, black holes. I find the places the artists try to create for us and see them for myself. I become one with each place I go, and carry a little of it with me to the next place, and the next and the next. I meet the inhabitants (yes, I believe that other places support life) and feel the wonder of their life experiences. I feel the effects of the passage of time on the solid and astral bodies that I encounter, and dance with them in their ballroom called a Universe.
There is no need for drugs in a mind that can travel to such places, unfettered and unclouded. My heart and mind can take me anywhere I want to be.
Random Picture Day
Statue at Universal. Really sets off my imagination. Takes me to some pretty cool places. :-)
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Nativity
So I came home from buying things to make my cold better last night and I found a big box from QVC at my door. I haven't ordered anything from them; nor have I ever even watched a QVC program for more than 10 seconds. I wondered if perhaps a family member had taken up the habit.
I walked up to my door and moved the box aside so I could get in with my bags, then went back out for the box. I looked at the name and address, but only the address was mine. I do not know of a neighbor by the name of Matt.
I called the hoomeowners' association today and gave them the name on the box, but Janet (the office manager) didn't find a renter listed by that name. I decided that I would call QVC tonight once I got home.
I got home and putzed around with feeding the fur bellies, feeding myself, and watching TV and finally decided that I should really call about the box. So I dialed the 800 number on the packing envelope and got someone on the phone. She asked what was in the box and I said I hadn't opened it yet. She asked why not and I replied that it wasn't mine. (Is it really such a strange concept that a person might not want to open a package that she knows isn't hers?)
To try and figure out what was up with it, we started with the UPS tracking number which was visible in the window of the envelope. She read all of the tracking info to me, and I verified that the address was mine but I had no idea who Matt was. OK, open just the envelope and read the packing slip for an order number or member number. This revealed that the item was ordered by some family member of Matt's, but nothing about where it really should have gone. Since I've lived in this place since June, this family member is working with some pretty out-dated info.
The Customer Service Rep and I continued to discuss the issue, and she even managed to toss in a friendly "Well, why haven't you ever ordered from us before?", to which I replied that most of the time I can barely buy groceries. By the end of the conversation she had determined that the easiest thing to do was for me to keep the contents of the box because the person who ordered it would be calling any day now to find out why Matt hadn't received it, at which point QVC would promptly send a new one to the correct address.
The conversation continued and I decided to find out just what was in the box. A nativity, in ceramic, very similar to the nativity I grew up with at Mom and Dad's house. Only without hands that were chewed on by the mice living in the attic. The CSR and I decided that this is just more proof that everything happens for a reason. I told her I had lost the nativity my parents had given me when I was married, and that now I at least have one Christmas decoration (long story behind that one that I don't wish to share at the moment).
So Merry Christmas to me, I have a new nativity. Ra Ra Ree.
I walked up to my door and moved the box aside so I could get in with my bags, then went back out for the box. I looked at the name and address, but only the address was mine. I do not know of a neighbor by the name of Matt.
I called the hoomeowners' association today and gave them the name on the box, but Janet (the office manager) didn't find a renter listed by that name. I decided that I would call QVC tonight once I got home.
I got home and putzed around with feeding the fur bellies, feeding myself, and watching TV and finally decided that I should really call about the box. So I dialed the 800 number on the packing envelope and got someone on the phone. She asked what was in the box and I said I hadn't opened it yet. She asked why not and I replied that it wasn't mine. (Is it really such a strange concept that a person might not want to open a package that she knows isn't hers?)
To try and figure out what was up with it, we started with the UPS tracking number which was visible in the window of the envelope. She read all of the tracking info to me, and I verified that the address was mine but I had no idea who Matt was. OK, open just the envelope and read the packing slip for an order number or member number. This revealed that the item was ordered by some family member of Matt's, but nothing about where it really should have gone. Since I've lived in this place since June, this family member is working with some pretty out-dated info.
The Customer Service Rep and I continued to discuss the issue, and she even managed to toss in a friendly "Well, why haven't you ever ordered from us before?", to which I replied that most of the time I can barely buy groceries. By the end of the conversation she had determined that the easiest thing to do was for me to keep the contents of the box because the person who ordered it would be calling any day now to find out why Matt hadn't received it, at which point QVC would promptly send a new one to the correct address.
The conversation continued and I decided to find out just what was in the box. A nativity, in ceramic, very similar to the nativity I grew up with at Mom and Dad's house. Only without hands that were chewed on by the mice living in the attic. The CSR and I decided that this is just more proof that everything happens for a reason. I told her I had lost the nativity my parents had given me when I was married, and that now I at least have one Christmas decoration (long story behind that one that I don't wish to share at the moment).
So Merry Christmas to me, I have a new nativity. Ra Ra Ree.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
My couch/sofa is currently a double-thick queen size air mattress. While it has a down-side, that being that I've managed to poke it with a few tiny holes, it works very well for midnight "I can't sleep so I'm going to watch a movie" episodes. And a great benefit of that arrangement is that since I no longer have an allergic man around, the fur bellies can climb up there and purr me to sleep while I watch.
Nothing in the world like letting Binks or Mr. Bond, or both, curl up along side me and cuddle and purr and make me forget in a dreamy, kitty-induced stupor.
My next lover/partner/mate will be someone who is a kitty lover too. Or he can keep on walking.
Nothing in the world like letting Binks or Mr. Bond, or both, curl up along side me and cuddle and purr and make me forget in a dreamy, kitty-induced stupor.
My next lover/partner/mate will be someone who is a kitty lover too. Or he can keep on walking.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Adventures in Weed-Eating
The Woods has a yard. It isn't a big yard, and most of it is full of a cement pad. But there is an L-shaped section that contains weeds closely resembling grass, and other weeds closely resembling young trees. With the lovely, humid/rainy season upon us here in Central FL, the grass-weeds have taken full advantage of the fact that it is not often dry enough for me to attempt using the weed eater left here by the last tenant.
After work yesterday, I came home and put on long sweats and a grungy t-shirt, picked up a roll of duct tape, and dug the ancient and dilapidated machine out of the outside storage closet. What was the duct tape for? Ah, I see you paid attention! The duct tape had a very special purpose indeed. The last time it was dry enough for me to attempt a weed whacking adventure, I discovered two things to my great dismay. 1--my extension cord is way too short for me to reach the whole yard (there was an interesting arc-shaped area that was trimmed and the rest was knee-high). 2--the handle of the weed eater was only loosely fitted on the shaft and the seam where the two halves met constantly separated and came back together, pinching me each time.
I quickly decided the lawn would not get a proper whacking if I did not repair both issues to the best of my ability. The cord issue was a no-brainer. Buy a second extension cord and put them together. Duh. The handle turned out to be an easy fix as well. Especially since I don't care that the weed eater now looks like something a redneck might use as a stand-in fishing pole. But it works so there.
Oh, yes, it works. Finally done with my repairs (which I survived without either pinching myself or permanently attaching myself to the contraption), I plugged her in and let her rip (literally) into the weeds.
I got one bar of the "L" all done, and was just getting into the really tall, thick stuff that I couldn't reach before when I discovered why you don't get too close to a big oak tree with a weed eater. Whack! GHGHGHGHGHGHGghghghghgh.... (silence).
I turned off the weed eater, let it stop spinning, and unplugged it. I turned it over to see if the noise indicated some problem that I would actually be able to identify. Boy did I identify a problem! The cord was apparently not happy with the oak tree experience and had sucked itself all the way up inside the spooler, much like a frightened turtle. Only without the pee. (But that's a different story. That one's called The Turtle and The Pee, but I haven't written it yet.)
I thought, "Oh, crap, only halfway done here. No owner's manual, no guy around... Great. I have to be Wonder Woman again." So I spun around real fast to groovy, impressive action music from the 70's/80's, donned my patriotic super-wardrobe and my invisible jet and began putting the golden lasso to work.
"What seems to be the problem here? Oh, I see; the cord has been sucked up inside the spooler. Wait, I know a trick for this." Tap, tap, tap. Plug the cord back in and hit the power for a couple of seconds. Turn it off, unplug it again and see how much cord has come out.
None. . . . Hmmm...
Try again. Tap, tap, tap. Plug, power, plug, look. No cord.
I try spinning the spooler manually to see if I can locate the end of the cord within the microscopic gap between the spooler and its casing. Amazingly, Wonder Woman's super eye sight spots the end, and it is very close to the hole where it is supposed to come out. I begin using my Scissors of Amazing Agility and try to wrangle the end of the cord into the hole. After much effort, cursing, and further effort and cursing, the end of the cord is just touching the edge of the hole. I decide it's time to try the tap, tap, power, look game again. I plug the weed eater back in, tap it a couple of times on the cement, and hit the power for just a moment. Holding my breath...
Nope. No cord hanging out. I attempt again for several minutes to pull the spooler out of casing (because I'm sure you should be able to do that) only to find that another section of the cord has come loose of its shoddy wrapping job and is catching on something every time I try to pull the spooler off.
Now Justice League Wonder Woman gets involved and dishes out some swift and serious justice on the section of cord at fault. SNIP! What a surprise, the spooler pulls off with no further resistance! I take a look at how the cord was wrapped, give a tisk-tisk, and pull the remaining cord off so I can replace it with newer cord and wrap it correctly. (Because I know how it should be wrapped after living almost all of my adult/divorced life in apartments with no yards.) I quickly reassemble the weed eater (because the sun is trying to set on me and I'm hot, sweaty and thirsty) and go back to work.
"You did not defeat me!" I say aloud in a very Invader Zim voice, as I observe that not only is the weed eater working again, but it is working much better than it was. Guys, don't worry. I'm not out to take over your places as fixers of all broken things, but I'm also not about to sit around and wait for a guy while my grass reaches my butt. I'll save the heavy-duty, or really disgusting things for you all. :-)
After work yesterday, I came home and put on long sweats and a grungy t-shirt, picked up a roll of duct tape, and dug the ancient and dilapidated machine out of the outside storage closet. What was the duct tape for? Ah, I see you paid attention! The duct tape had a very special purpose indeed. The last time it was dry enough for me to attempt a weed whacking adventure, I discovered two things to my great dismay. 1--my extension cord is way too short for me to reach the whole yard (there was an interesting arc-shaped area that was trimmed and the rest was knee-high). 2--the handle of the weed eater was only loosely fitted on the shaft and the seam where the two halves met constantly separated and came back together, pinching me each time.
I quickly decided the lawn would not get a proper whacking if I did not repair both issues to the best of my ability. The cord issue was a no-brainer. Buy a second extension cord and put them together. Duh. The handle turned out to be an easy fix as well. Especially since I don't care that the weed eater now looks like something a redneck might use as a stand-in fishing pole. But it works so there.
Oh, yes, it works. Finally done with my repairs (which I survived without either pinching myself or permanently attaching myself to the contraption), I plugged her in and let her rip (literally) into the weeds.
I got one bar of the "L" all done, and was just getting into the really tall, thick stuff that I couldn't reach before when I discovered why you don't get too close to a big oak tree with a weed eater. Whack! GHGHGHGHGHGHGghghghghgh.... (silence).
I turned off the weed eater, let it stop spinning, and unplugged it. I turned it over to see if the noise indicated some problem that I would actually be able to identify. Boy did I identify a problem! The cord was apparently not happy with the oak tree experience and had sucked itself all the way up inside the spooler, much like a frightened turtle. Only without the pee. (But that's a different story. That one's called The Turtle and The Pee, but I haven't written it yet.)
I thought, "Oh, crap, only halfway done here. No owner's manual, no guy around... Great. I have to be Wonder Woman again." So I spun around real fast to groovy, impressive action music from the 70's/80's, donned my patriotic super-wardrobe and my invisible jet and began putting the golden lasso to work.
"What seems to be the problem here? Oh, I see; the cord has been sucked up inside the spooler. Wait, I know a trick for this." Tap, tap, tap. Plug the cord back in and hit the power for a couple of seconds. Turn it off, unplug it again and see how much cord has come out.
None. . . . Hmmm...
Try again. Tap, tap, tap. Plug, power, plug, look. No cord.
I try spinning the spooler manually to see if I can locate the end of the cord within the microscopic gap between the spooler and its casing. Amazingly, Wonder Woman's super eye sight spots the end, and it is very close to the hole where it is supposed to come out. I begin using my Scissors of Amazing Agility and try to wrangle the end of the cord into the hole. After much effort, cursing, and further effort and cursing, the end of the cord is just touching the edge of the hole. I decide it's time to try the tap, tap, power, look game again. I plug the weed eater back in, tap it a couple of times on the cement, and hit the power for just a moment. Holding my breath...
Nope. No cord hanging out. I attempt again for several minutes to pull the spooler out of casing (because I'm sure you should be able to do that) only to find that another section of the cord has come loose of its shoddy wrapping job and is catching on something every time I try to pull the spooler off.
Now Justice League Wonder Woman gets involved and dishes out some swift and serious justice on the section of cord at fault. SNIP! What a surprise, the spooler pulls off with no further resistance! I take a look at how the cord was wrapped, give a tisk-tisk, and pull the remaining cord off so I can replace it with newer cord and wrap it correctly. (Because I know how it should be wrapped after living almost all of my adult/divorced life in apartments with no yards.) I quickly reassemble the weed eater (because the sun is trying to set on me and I'm hot, sweaty and thirsty) and go back to work.
"You did not defeat me!" I say aloud in a very Invader Zim voice, as I observe that not only is the weed eater working again, but it is working much better than it was. Guys, don't worry. I'm not out to take over your places as fixers of all broken things, but I'm also not about to sit around and wait for a guy while my grass reaches my butt. I'll save the heavy-duty, or really disgusting things for you all. :-)
I walked down to the beach after work today. I haven't done that nearly enough and I really hope I start doing it more often. It's a short walk really, and so beautiful and peaceful.
As I strolled along, parallel to the waves, I watched little sea birds (not sure what they were) scurry among the receding waters and pluck treats from the foam. I immediately thought "sand piper" when I saw them, but since I've never seen a picture that said it was a sandpiper, I have no way of knowing. They were pretty, though. Smallish, a little smaller than a robin, with white bodies, brownish gray wings and black legs and beaks. Watching them run this way and that reminded me of Stratos, my former love bird, and his adorable little skitter across my vanity dresser while I would put on makeup.
I watched the waves as well, but they were rather low swells tonight as the tide was a long way out. The sand caught my eye and my imagination though. As usual, it was dotted with shells of all shapes and sizes (as long as they were smaller than my thumb) and colors. The sand itself was decorated in various colors: green from algae, seaweed, etc., red from something (I'm not sure what - maybe a different kind of algae?), but most fascinating were the hints of gold and white light, as if someone had sprinkled gold and diamond dust all over the sand. It was very subtle, and very striking.
As always, the sky was amazing; giant puffball clouds surrounded me on all sides, but none were overhead. The sky was a bit hazy because it's humid as heck right now, but the sun was starting to descend out to the west (away from the water obviously) and the clouds were just starting to show hints of sunset colors.
I could have stayed out there for hours, but there were things that needed doing, so I came home to get them out of my way.
As I strolled along, parallel to the waves, I watched little sea birds (not sure what they were) scurry among the receding waters and pluck treats from the foam. I immediately thought "sand piper" when I saw them, but since I've never seen a picture that said it was a sandpiper, I have no way of knowing. They were pretty, though. Smallish, a little smaller than a robin, with white bodies, brownish gray wings and black legs and beaks. Watching them run this way and that reminded me of Stratos, my former love bird, and his adorable little skitter across my vanity dresser while I would put on makeup.
I watched the waves as well, but they were rather low swells tonight as the tide was a long way out. The sand caught my eye and my imagination though. As usual, it was dotted with shells of all shapes and sizes (as long as they were smaller than my thumb) and colors. The sand itself was decorated in various colors: green from algae, seaweed, etc., red from something (I'm not sure what - maybe a different kind of algae?), but most fascinating were the hints of gold and white light, as if someone had sprinkled gold and diamond dust all over the sand. It was very subtle, and very striking.
As always, the sky was amazing; giant puffball clouds surrounded me on all sides, but none were overhead. The sky was a bit hazy because it's humid as heck right now, but the sun was starting to descend out to the west (away from the water obviously) and the clouds were just starting to show hints of sunset colors.
I could have stayed out there for hours, but there were things that needed doing, so I came home to get them out of my way.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Sunday, July 06, 2008
Ann got her Master’s Degree. I’m feeling this high level of pride for her hard work and her accomplishment. We both almost completed Bachelor’s degrees at Christopher Newport College/University, but both got interrupted by life. I tried to go back to school for a while at
So I went home. There was no way I was missing the chance to see my sister walk across the stage to get her Master’s Degree. Yaw and I flew up to
Graduation day came and we left ahead of Pat and the gang because I needed to stop at Target. Between Target and the Interstate, I got lost twice – in
I was relieved to be in my seat and settled when the first speaker came up and made a speech, then the other speakers did their thing, then finally the graduates were brought up. Doctorate Degrees went first, then Master’s, then Bachelor’s and finally Associates. I was surprised to see that the longest list of graduates was in the Master’s Degree section; I expected the longest list to be the Bachelor’s Degree section.
Sunday came and we spent the day deciding if we were going to visit with my parents (they didn’t pick up when I called them) or if we would join Pat’s family at the
The flight home was much smoother, thank goodness. Home at about 11 p.m. and back to work at 8 a.m. And the move continues...
Peacock Babies
Every afternoon the peahens come out with the half-dozen fuzzy pea-babies. Browns and greys still, there’s no telling which will be hens and which will be cocks.
They have fluffy, downy feathers, and I am constantly tempted to pick them up one at a time and play the “whoozha whoozha whoozha” game I used to do with Stratos (the lovebird I had before I had cats). Of course, I know that the instant I touch one of these precious babies, 3-4 peahens and 2-3 peacocks will be all over me, pecking and scratching to protect their young. And the poor little baby will then be abandoned by the flock (or whatever you call a bunch of peafowl). Since I have neither the time, nor the knowledge required to bring up a pea-baby, I will content myself with watching them on their afternoon stroll and with imaging that I am fluffing their downy feathers and giggling.
I sometimes leave the gate open while I am here, to see if they will wander into yard. It will be great once my move is complete and the cats are here with me. I have a sliding glass door with a screen (that needs to be replaced) that they can sit at and watch them like they used to do at the Sea Spray townhouse.
I haven’t decided what to name this new place. There are lots of trees (Yay, I have trees again!), and the community is named Ocean Woods, so I may call it The Woods. Yeah, that sounds nice. Or Sylvan Home. Nah... The Woods.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Beach Bum Barbie
I sit outside the gate to the community I'm thinking of moving to. I'm waiting for Barbara to come so she can open the gate and show me the place. While I wait, I think to myself that the last thing in the whole world I want to be doing right now is moving again.
I had given myself to the end of May to find a new roommate to replace Shannon, who is going in a different direction. I had one nibble, but she chose something else too. So the search has begun in ernest again.
I have to be out by June 30. With any luck, I'll be long gone by then. I searched a site Shannon told me about--brevardmls.com. It gives listings of local real estate for sale or rent by private owners. It's where Shannon found the place we're in right now.
I had printed off about 20 pages of rental listings the other night and started sifting through them for closest to price range and best match for my needs. I picked the top 5, and of those decided to call from the top of the list down. I wasn't sure the first pick would be available -it's been out there a couple of months.
I called the nunber to the realor's office and was put into Barbara's voice mail. We played phone tag for a couple of days and finally caught up yesterday.
I watch about four or five cars pull up and pass through the gate. Eventually a convertible pulls up with a very tanned, very bleach-blonde woman driving. Her hair is in a ponytail on one side of her head. I an instantly transported back to the late 70's - early 80's. I am a young teen wearing my hair pony tailed on one side like a disco queen and I am in my sister's high heal sandals and flowing white dress.
Barbara shows me the place but is clearly more interested in showing me another one elsewhere that is a little larger. We go look at it and she explains that it isn't even listed yet - the previous tenant moved out just this past week. I can tell - they haven't even had the cleaning crew in yet. The previous tenant left things in quite a shambles. It has a couple of things I like, but looks like more work would be required to make it liveable than I have time to wait for. "They'll fix what needs to be fixed," Barbara replies ot my observation.
It's more than cosnmetic in this one, I think. I call her this afternoon and leave a message. "The first one requires a lot less work to get me in and comfortable. Let's look at it again." We agree that I will call tomorrow and set an appointment for after work. I am hopeful.
I had given myself to the end of May to find a new roommate to replace Shannon, who is going in a different direction. I had one nibble, but she chose something else too. So the search has begun in ernest again.
I have to be out by June 30. With any luck, I'll be long gone by then. I searched a site Shannon told me about--brevardmls.com. It gives listings of local real estate for sale or rent by private owners. It's where Shannon found the place we're in right now.
I had printed off about 20 pages of rental listings the other night and started sifting through them for closest to price range and best match for my needs. I picked the top 5, and of those decided to call from the top of the list down. I wasn't sure the first pick would be available -it's been out there a couple of months.
I called the nunber to the realor's office and was put into Barbara's voice mail. We played phone tag for a couple of days and finally caught up yesterday.
I watch about four or five cars pull up and pass through the gate. Eventually a convertible pulls up with a very tanned, very bleach-blonde woman driving. Her hair is in a ponytail on one side of her head. I an instantly transported back to the late 70's - early 80's. I am a young teen wearing my hair pony tailed on one side like a disco queen and I am in my sister's high heal sandals and flowing white dress.
Barbara shows me the place but is clearly more interested in showing me another one elsewhere that is a little larger. We go look at it and she explains that it isn't even listed yet - the previous tenant moved out just this past week. I can tell - they haven't even had the cleaning crew in yet. The previous tenant left things in quite a shambles. It has a couple of things I like, but looks like more work would be required to make it liveable than I have time to wait for. "They'll fix what needs to be fixed," Barbara replies ot my observation.
It's more than cosnmetic in this one, I think. I call her this afternoon and leave a message. "The first one requires a lot less work to get me in and comfortable. Let's look at it again." We agree that I will call tomorrow and set an appointment for after work. I am hopeful.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
The world seems somewhat strange to me tonight. Driving home, the sky was a wonderful mix of dark clouds on a darker background, with stars and constellations showing through large gaps. At ground level, though it was relatively clear out, in the distance the world was masked in a haze.
Driving across one of my many bridges, I looked North to see the VAB shrouded, it's red warning light (hey, airplanes, don't fly into me) casting an eerie red glow onto the surrounding terrain. The water has been very choppy out in the rivers and lagoon all this week. And we've had about 50/50 split of rain (little showers) with very distant lightning, and the brush fires that continue to crop up.
None of this is made any less odd by my own imagination. Yaw decided we had to watch 1408 last night. I agreed as long as I could watch silly stuff to distract myself afterwards. I don't really do horror and Stephen King is a master of it. I made it through, and put in Meet the Robinsons as my choice. My dreams were a mix of futuristic child-like inventions and crazy people with axes chasing me around. Today has been a very bizarre day.
And I'm not writing this just because Deb said dink dink. I was thinking it all the way home. So there. >:p
Driving across one of my many bridges, I looked North to see the VAB shrouded, it's red warning light (hey, airplanes, don't fly into me) casting an eerie red glow onto the surrounding terrain. The water has been very choppy out in the rivers and lagoon all this week. And we've had about 50/50 split of rain (little showers) with very distant lightning, and the brush fires that continue to crop up.
None of this is made any less odd by my own imagination. Yaw decided we had to watch 1408 last night. I agreed as long as I could watch silly stuff to distract myself afterwards. I don't really do horror and Stephen King is a master of it. I made it through, and put in Meet the Robinsons as my choice. My dreams were a mix of futuristic child-like inventions and crazy people with axes chasing me around. Today has been a very bizarre day.
And I'm not writing this just because Deb said dink dink. I was thinking it all the way home. So there. >:p
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Funny how our minds, that seem so easily moved from one moment to the next, can find themselves so easily trapped in a place we don't want them to be, a place from so far back in the past that it shouldn't even exist anymore.
Maybe not funny, maybe just cruel.
Maybe Robert Heinlein's Lazarus Long had it right; every now and then, go through a complete reset, mind wipe and all, so you can't remember all that old crap that makes it suddenly hard to function.
I just want everybody to be happy.
Maybe not funny, maybe just cruel.
Maybe Robert Heinlein's Lazarus Long had it right; every now and then, go through a complete reset, mind wipe and all, so you can't remember all that old crap that makes it suddenly hard to function.
I just want everybody to be happy.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
My Jayson wrote me after his birthday. A brief note about his upcoming graduation from VA Tech, and his plans for the summer. I was inspired by his energy and remembered days from my past when I looked forward to opportunities, which I would choose to take - or not.
One of Jayson's summer options involved his father, David. The man who was so much a part of my world that I thought I didn't exist away from him. The Merlin to my Mad Madam Mim. Somewhere deep in my core, that man is still my Merlin and I am still Mim, though I'm sure now that we'd destroy each other if we met again. Actually, I still feel the Mim now even without him, but I do remember how it was. Who he was, then. He is not that man now; he is someone else. Perhaps I am too; or perhaps I am the same, merely more than before. Could be either, I guess.
Jayson noted that his father has been spending his time making other people rich in their restaurants, and not following his own lifelong dream of owning and operating a restaurant of his own. I remember countless evenings spent discussing how he would make it work. He knows every possible angle of the business and has quite a bit of experience. I wondered to myself (and then to Jayson in my reply to him) why his father hasn't taken that leap. I honestly believed that by this time he would be in his glory, running the show.
I remember when he took a second job working as a cook at a local seafood place; he would come home late at night, covered with flour in spite of washing up before leaving work, and he'd be grinning from ear to ear. He was always so happy working in a kitchen.
Now I wonder what life has put in front of him to make him choose not to follow that dream. I think it must be fear. He must be afraid of failing. I can't imagine that man that I knew being afraid, but now I see that it was probably there all along; right alongside all those other things I didn't see - the human within the man I knew.
David, if ever you find yourself scanning these pages, and you come across this; know that I believe that the man I knew is still inside there somewhere, fighting to get back out. Let him out, let him breathe. He will save you. But you have to let go of your fear, and you have to trust him.
One of Jayson's summer options involved his father, David. The man who was so much a part of my world that I thought I didn't exist away from him. The Merlin to my Mad Madam Mim. Somewhere deep in my core, that man is still my Merlin and I am still Mim, though I'm sure now that we'd destroy each other if we met again. Actually, I still feel the Mim now even without him, but I do remember how it was. Who he was, then. He is not that man now; he is someone else. Perhaps I am too; or perhaps I am the same, merely more than before. Could be either, I guess.
Jayson noted that his father has been spending his time making other people rich in their restaurants, and not following his own lifelong dream of owning and operating a restaurant of his own. I remember countless evenings spent discussing how he would make it work. He knows every possible angle of the business and has quite a bit of experience. I wondered to myself (and then to Jayson in my reply to him) why his father hasn't taken that leap. I honestly believed that by this time he would be in his glory, running the show.
I remember when he took a second job working as a cook at a local seafood place; he would come home late at night, covered with flour in spite of washing up before leaving work, and he'd be grinning from ear to ear. He was always so happy working in a kitchen.
Now I wonder what life has put in front of him to make him choose not to follow that dream. I think it must be fear. He must be afraid of failing. I can't imagine that man that I knew being afraid, but now I see that it was probably there all along; right alongside all those other things I didn't see - the human within the man I knew.
David, if ever you find yourself scanning these pages, and you come across this; know that I believe that the man I knew is still inside there somewhere, fighting to get back out. Let him out, let him breathe. He will save you. But you have to let go of your fear, and you have to trust him.
Friday, May 02, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Pot Roast
In the middle of the day, a couple of days ago, I had the biggest craving for pot roast. Not just any pot roast - Mom's Pot Roast. Holy Cow, I wanted some of that so bad I was ready to fly to VA and beg Queen Rose to make it. I ended up going to lunch yesterday at a local restaurant (Roadhouse) where I knew they served a pot roast dinner (called Nana's Pot Roast). It doesn't compare to hers, but I thought it would curb the craving. I looked at the menu and to my disappointment, did not see it. Fortunately, we had the server who likes us because we used to come in all the time. She checked in the kitchen and they said that they'd hook me up. They did; it was good, but still couldn't compare. But now I'm not distracted by the thought of it.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Peacocks, Cats, Lizards
All of the above have wandered across my patio at some point today. I sit on the sofa and watch Binks and Mr. Bond as they observe a female (peahen?) who is equally curious about them. They each look at each other through the screen, not sure what reaction would be appropriate.
This is the first time I've opened the blinds when the peacock flock was out and about. The boys have heard their calls before, but haven't seen them. A large-ish male struts past, sweeping his luxurious tale across the brick patio, as if clearing the way for some VIP behind him. Eventually, the flock decides to move on across N. Atlantic, causing numerous vehicles to stop and wait while the poke and strut at their own pace. There is no hurrying these large avians. The story of them is unknown to me (at least with any certainty), but I believe someone told me it's the same as monkeys. Some rich idiot bought a bunch of them, cared for them for a while, and when the rich person died, they were cut loose into the wild. Of course, I've never seen a monkey. But I see the peacocks almost every day.
After the flock has gone, a stray gray striped tabby wanders onto the patio, sniffing the trail of the peahen. The tabby sees Mr. Bond, still resting in the sun spot from the patio door. They meow at each other through the screen, but when a motorcycle passes, Tabby decides he/she is too close to the road and moves on to the next patio.
A little while later, a tiny lizard, maybe 2 inches including tail, rests on a warm brick and soaks up sunlight. Mr. Bond sniffs at the screen, remembering the scent of frequent prey from his two previous homes at the Towers and the Palm Tree House. Binks is blissfully unaware of the lizard. He might not care even if he did see it.
I finish watching the Top 20 on VH1 and close the blinds on the sun. The day is getting hot and so is the house now. Time for a little housekeeping and maybe a walk. Maybe.
This is the first time I've opened the blinds when the peacock flock was out and about. The boys have heard their calls before, but haven't seen them. A large-ish male struts past, sweeping his luxurious tale across the brick patio, as if clearing the way for some VIP behind him. Eventually, the flock decides to move on across N. Atlantic, causing numerous vehicles to stop and wait while the poke and strut at their own pace. There is no hurrying these large avians. The story of them is unknown to me (at least with any certainty), but I believe someone told me it's the same as monkeys. Some rich idiot bought a bunch of them, cared for them for a while, and when the rich person died, they were cut loose into the wild. Of course, I've never seen a monkey. But I see the peacocks almost every day.
After the flock has gone, a stray gray striped tabby wanders onto the patio, sniffing the trail of the peahen. The tabby sees Mr. Bond, still resting in the sun spot from the patio door. They meow at each other through the screen, but when a motorcycle passes, Tabby decides he/she is too close to the road and moves on to the next patio.
A little while later, a tiny lizard, maybe 2 inches including tail, rests on a warm brick and soaks up sunlight. Mr. Bond sniffs at the screen, remembering the scent of frequent prey from his two previous homes at the Towers and the Palm Tree House. Binks is blissfully unaware of the lizard. He might not care even if he did see it.
I finish watching the Top 20 on VH1 and close the blinds on the sun. The day is getting hot and so is the house now. Time for a little housekeeping and maybe a walk. Maybe.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Mourning Dove Resting On My House
I have no idea why the pictures from my phone are always tinted blue, but I'm finding it to be annoying. But it's better than no pictures at all, I suppose.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Night Shuttle Launch From the Cape
The pictures below are from a night launch of the shuttle. I don't remember how long ago this was; at least a month, I'm sure. It was about 2:30 a.m. and a crowd of people gathered on the beach near my house to watch. It was very overcast, but it was still quite impressive in my opinion. I hope there's another one soon when it isn't cloudy out. I'd really love to see one in all its glory.
We had thunder storms yesterday and last night. Really pretty ones. During the day, they just made the sky dark and the power flash. But last night, as I drove home with Linda from watching a friend's band, I watched another of Nature's beautiful light shows take place over my home as I approached it from farther southwest. It seemed like all the lightning was coming from the center of one huge cloud that overtook the entire sky with each flash.
Ahhh... I love a good light show. I think I'll go down to the beach today and try to look less pale. I have no idea why I'm connecting last night's storms with sunbathing today, but there you have it: My insane mind revealed in just a few simple words. Gotta love it.
Ahhh... I love a good light show. I think I'll go down to the beach today and try to look less pale. I have no idea why I'm connecting last night's storms with sunbathing today, but there you have it: My insane mind revealed in just a few simple words. Gotta love it.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
The Beginning of the World
I have discovered that when time is not on my side (heading to work late from the Cape), it is best to take 528 I95 and exit at 407 because you can go 80 most of the way. Not very fuel efficient, but definitely way faster.
This is the beginning of the dry season here, so already there is a combination of brush fires and controlled burns constantly making the air smoky and murky. Driving in to work early last Friday, I was somewhat distracted by the visual effect caused by the remnants of one of those brush fires.
The sun wasn't really up yet, but was getting pretty close to rising. The sky was less dark (rather than lighter) and the silhouettes of pines and palms and other taller trees could be seen intermixed with the bumpy landscape of brush, and the occasional twisting turns of "rivers" (ditches) snaking their way through the wetlands that line many parts of the local highway system.
Because of the near darkness and the haze of smoke remnants and fog (OK smog), the landscape took on a surreal quality that immediately brought to mind the phrase "primordial soup". I found myself watching the mist to see if new forms of life were stirring in its midst, waiting for their legs to be strong enough to bring them up onto solid ground.
Nothing interesting happened, and I got to work unmarked by random monsters in the mist. But my imagine was wild all day long...
This is the beginning of the dry season here, so already there is a combination of brush fires and controlled burns constantly making the air smoky and murky. Driving in to work early last Friday, I was somewhat distracted by the visual effect caused by the remnants of one of those brush fires.
The sun wasn't really up yet, but was getting pretty close to rising. The sky was less dark (rather than lighter) and the silhouettes of pines and palms and other taller trees could be seen intermixed with the bumpy landscape of brush, and the occasional twisting turns of "rivers" (ditches) snaking their way through the wetlands that line many parts of the local highway system.
Because of the near darkness and the haze of smoke remnants and fog (OK smog), the landscape took on a surreal quality that immediately brought to mind the phrase "primordial soup". I found myself watching the mist to see if new forms of life were stirring in its midst, waiting for their legs to be strong enough to bring them up onto solid ground.
Nothing interesting happened, and I got to work unmarked by random monsters in the mist. But my imagine was wild all day long...
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Hair
Not the movie. Not the Broadway musical.
On my head. Or rather, off my head. Yep, I did it. I said, "I have had enough of always grabbing my hair and stuffing it in a ponytail. I am long overdue for a fresh new style."
So I took part of my tax refund and visited my good buddy Michelle at the salon. She said, "Hey stranger, nice to see you. What are we doing today?"
I replied, "I'm sitting in your chair and you are making my color fabulous and taking off 1/2 of my hair."
And here is the part that explains why I love having Michelle as my stylist: She did not pause, did not balk, did not hesitate in any way. She took a quick critical look at my hair, asked if I had any ideas, and looked at the pictures I was eyeing in the big book of hair. She told me the ones she thought would be best on me, and which ones might be a little more maintenance than I could stand. In a few brief moments we'd worked out exactly what was going to happen.
My hair now sits just on my shoulder, the shortest it has been in about 6 years. Not the shortest it has ever been, but that was an extreme situation because I was trying to get rid of a dye job gone terribly wrong. I also have bangs again for the first time in about as long.
In short (yes, the pun is intended), we really did get rid of at least 1/2 (or maybe 3/4) of my hair. So far, I have styled it after 90% of my washings and I LOVE IT!!! (Those extra exclamations are specifically for Deb, grammar-holic that she is.)
I was kind enough to warn Yaw that the next time he would see me I would have shorter hair. On first sight, he was fairly neutral. For a couple of weeks he really didn't talk about it. He didn't really say anything much until Easter Sunday when he was helping me put on my claddagh cross. When I pulled my hair up so he could clasp it, he finally said, "I'm used to you having so much more hair to move when we do this," and gave a little frown.
I told him, "Oh, it will grow back." (But I'm not sure how long it will be before I let it grow again. I'm kinda liking not sitting on it...)
On my head. Or rather, off my head. Yep, I did it. I said, "I have had enough of always grabbing my hair and stuffing it in a ponytail. I am long overdue for a fresh new style."
So I took part of my tax refund and visited my good buddy Michelle at the salon. She said, "Hey stranger, nice to see you. What are we doing today?"
I replied, "I'm sitting in your chair and you are making my color fabulous and taking off 1/2 of my hair."
And here is the part that explains why I love having Michelle as my stylist: She did not pause, did not balk, did not hesitate in any way. She took a quick critical look at my hair, asked if I had any ideas, and looked at the pictures I was eyeing in the big book of hair. She told me the ones she thought would be best on me, and which ones might be a little more maintenance than I could stand. In a few brief moments we'd worked out exactly what was going to happen.
My hair now sits just on my shoulder, the shortest it has been in about 6 years. Not the shortest it has ever been, but that was an extreme situation because I was trying to get rid of a dye job gone terribly wrong. I also have bangs again for the first time in about as long.
In short (yes, the pun is intended), we really did get rid of at least 1/2 (or maybe 3/4) of my hair. So far, I have styled it after 90% of my washings and I LOVE IT!!! (Those extra exclamations are specifically for Deb, grammar-holic that she is.)
I was kind enough to warn Yaw that the next time he would see me I would have shorter hair. On first sight, he was fairly neutral. For a couple of weeks he really didn't talk about it. He didn't really say anything much until Easter Sunday when he was helping me put on my claddagh cross. When I pulled my hair up so he could clasp it, he finally said, "I'm used to you having so much more hair to move when we do this," and gave a little frown.
I told him, "Oh, it will grow back." (But I'm not sure how long it will be before I let it grow again. I'm kinda liking not sitting on it...)
Friday, March 21, 2008
Oh, yeah!
The truck is fixed (again). Only $278! Lucky me, I hadn't spent my tax refund yet. It's all gone now, but at least I can still drive to work and earn more money so I can get another tax refund next year because I work way too hard, don't get paid nearly enough, and pay way too much in taxes every year.
I think that might have been the second longest run-on sentence I have ever written. But nothing can top Mara when she's on a roll. :-)
I think that might have been the second longest run-on sentence I have ever written. But nothing can top Mara when she's on a roll. :-)
Thursday, March 20, 2008
St. Augustine
St. Augustine is nice. I'll have to go back though. I only saw the time share and some cool shops in town. I need to go back with unlimited time and unlimited funds. Or at least less limits on each.
The place had to be settled by a mix of Spanish and Scottish. You've got the architecture stemming from Spanish influence and the place is full of golfers, which was invented by the Scottish.
Seems perfectly logical that the Scottish would invent golf. It's a game you take up to relax, but is really hard to master (Scottish do everything the hard way); you play with the intention of relaxing, but get raging mad and throw your clubs at a tree; you drink ('nuff said) and drive your golf cart into the lake. OK, when it was invented, I don't think there were golf carts, but still...you get the picture, right?
I wonder how they came up with the name golf. I can't help thinking about Caddy Shack and Bill Murray's boss talking about gophers. I wonder if it really started because some big, drunk Scot was tired of gophers digging up his yard and started whacking little balls at their heads, deciding that if it went into the gopher's hole, he won something. OK, don't anybody take these words as gospel. It's early and I haven't had any coffee yet.
The place had to be settled by a mix of Spanish and Scottish. You've got the architecture stemming from Spanish influence and the place is full of golfers, which was invented by the Scottish.
Seems perfectly logical that the Scottish would invent golf. It's a game you take up to relax, but is really hard to master (Scottish do everything the hard way); you play with the intention of relaxing, but get raging mad and throw your clubs at a tree; you drink ('nuff said) and drive your golf cart into the lake. OK, when it was invented, I don't think there were golf carts, but still...you get the picture, right?
I wonder how they came up with the name golf. I can't help thinking about Caddy Shack and Bill Murray's boss talking about gophers. I wonder if it really started because some big, drunk Scot was tired of gophers digging up his yard and started whacking little balls at their heads, deciding that if it went into the gopher's hole, he won something. OK, don't anybody take these words as gospel. It's early and I haven't had any coffee yet.
Friday, March 07, 2008
Mardi Gras. Every year Cocoa Village has a big weekend with a fair--the usual; rides, food, games, music...--and a parade. Yaw and I went tonight and roamed the booths and finally decided to ride two rides.
Each of us had picked one ride that we really wanted to try. I picked the ferris wheel, something I've always loved. Yaw picked the Wipe Out, one of those ones that goes in circles really fast and goes higher and lower. Yaw enjoyed the Wipe Out but was stunned by the forces it put us through.
The ferris wheel, while less exciting than the Wipe Out, was a much greater pleasure to me. Especially when we were at the top. It was located closest to the river where it overlooked about 20 sailboats resting along the pier, their masts bobbing in the light wind. Looking out over the village itself, I was treated to a quaint city scene with lights in the trees that line the main drags, and crowds of happy people walking, eating, riding, playing. Laughter and music are all around us.
The wind will build tonight, and it will stay in the 60's tomorrow; there are tornado watches all over Brevard County. Earlier today, my cell phone rang when I was at work. My sister, who never calls me in the daytime, saw our weather on TV and wanted to make sure I wasn't in the middle of it. I assured her I was looking out a window with sun shining through it. No guarantee it would stay that way. I was supposed to call her when I got out of work, but I was distracted by a malfunctioning clutch. I will have to call tomorrow and apologize.
I am not looking forward to whatever words the dealership has for me. I'm sure something has to be replaced, and I'm equally sure that if it's the whole clutch, I will once again be donning my battle armor.
Each of us had picked one ride that we really wanted to try. I picked the ferris wheel, something I've always loved. Yaw picked the Wipe Out, one of those ones that goes in circles really fast and goes higher and lower. Yaw enjoyed the Wipe Out but was stunned by the forces it put us through.
The ferris wheel, while less exciting than the Wipe Out, was a much greater pleasure to me. Especially when we were at the top. It was located closest to the river where it overlooked about 20 sailboats resting along the pier, their masts bobbing in the light wind. Looking out over the village itself, I was treated to a quaint city scene with lights in the trees that line the main drags, and crowds of happy people walking, eating, riding, playing. Laughter and music are all around us.
The wind will build tonight, and it will stay in the 60's tomorrow; there are tornado watches all over Brevard County. Earlier today, my cell phone rang when I was at work. My sister, who never calls me in the daytime, saw our weather on TV and wanted to make sure I wasn't in the middle of it. I assured her I was looking out a window with sun shining through it. No guarantee it would stay that way. I was supposed to call her when I got out of work, but I was distracted by a malfunctioning clutch. I will have to call tomorrow and apologize.
I am not looking forward to whatever words the dealership has for me. I'm sure something has to be replaced, and I'm equally sure that if it's the whole clutch, I will once again be donning my battle armor.
Monday, March 03, 2008
driving across the first bridge, the sky behind is dayglo pink; the sky ahead a crystal clear blue interspersed with clouds of steel blue, lavender and white. the northern skies in between are mostly steel gray with rain falling to earth to wash away the day's sorrows.
by the time i reach the second bridge, the sky behind has become blazing oranges and peach with a haze of gray running between the layers; the sky ahead shows more of the blue, but to the south and north the rain is more bold. the vab is veiled behind a curtain of rain.
when i reach home, twilight is touching my front yard as i step to the front door and greet the fur bellies.
the rain will help the plants. i am sleepy, but i am willing to accept that in exchange for air i can breathe. bring the rain; save the planet. mother nature will have to do this for me, as my black thumbs cannot be trusted with the lives of green things. only plants that survive best when completely ignored are safe in my hands.
by the time i reach the second bridge, the sky behind has become blazing oranges and peach with a haze of gray running between the layers; the sky ahead shows more of the blue, but to the south and north the rain is more bold. the vab is veiled behind a curtain of rain.
when i reach home, twilight is touching my front yard as i step to the front door and greet the fur bellies.
the rain will help the plants. i am sleepy, but i am willing to accept that in exchange for air i can breathe. bring the rain; save the planet. mother nature will have to do this for me, as my black thumbs cannot be trusted with the lives of green things. only plants that survive best when completely ignored are safe in my hands.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Tea and Stalkings
Sitting on the large faux-suede eggplant colored sofa, sipping Earl Grey with honey. Watching the news teasers on WESH2, waiting for the day's forecast.
Out of the corner of my right eye I see a shift in the mass of the large red comforter Shannon keeps for Tristan. Slowly, in small increments, I see first an ear, then a whisker, a little black nose, and finally Binks' shiny black eyes peaking out from the shadows. A darker darkness than that around him.
I know it is all over. I will now be the victim of a purr attack from deep in the wilds of the sofa country.
Come love the mommy, Binks.
prrrrrrr...
Out of the corner of my right eye I see a shift in the mass of the large red comforter Shannon keeps for Tristan. Slowly, in small increments, I see first an ear, then a whisker, a little black nose, and finally Binks' shiny black eyes peaking out from the shadows. A darker darkness than that around him.
I know it is all over. I will now be the victim of a purr attack from deep in the wilds of the sofa country.
Come love the mommy, Binks.
prrrrrrr...
Monday, February 18, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
I have to go home to Virginia for a few days. My father's sister, Aunt Mary, passed away this Friday. She has finally been released from the tortures of cancer, and she can rest at last.
I am not going to the funeral. I would, certainly. While I may not have been in close contact with the majority of my extended family, there were a rare few with whom I interacted; and those few I love dearly, deeply, and fiercely. Aunt Mary was one of those few.
Instead of going to the funeral, I am making it possible for my father to go. Someone needs to be at the house with Queen Rose. She is not completely incapacitated, but she does require a good deal of assistance. And someone needs to be around in case she has another fall.
I will honor my Aunt Mary's memory by caring for someone I love, the same thing she would do. Not that I wouldn't have cared for my mother anyway. But somehow, it seems like I'm saying a few good words to my aunt by doing this. "I noticed that, in spite of your tough exterior and your walls of fire, that you loved the people in your life, and you cared for them in every way that you could."
This will also do me some good. Work is stressful. As much as I know that the stress will only be worse when I get back, it will be nice to have these few days in Queen Rose's court to breathe and hopefully reset my mind a little bit.
Then there's the situation with Yaw. What to do? What to do? I don't want to give up. He doesn't want me to give up. I'm not sure he wants to give up what he would have to give up for us to keep going. I have made my decision for the time being. I am waiting patiently, but not very kindly. He faces constant reminders of the bind he is in and I will not let up the pressure. I do, however, make it plain that my inner most feelings have not changed. He has my whole heart and for the moment, nothing can change that.
He has to decide. I just need to breathe. For a few brief days, please just let me breathe. I will come back to it all, and maybe the dam will break and at last all the pressures and stresses will be put to rest.
Like my wonderful, fiery Aunt Mary, only with me left alive and well, and breathing.
I am not going to the funeral. I would, certainly. While I may not have been in close contact with the majority of my extended family, there were a rare few with whom I interacted; and those few I love dearly, deeply, and fiercely. Aunt Mary was one of those few.
Instead of going to the funeral, I am making it possible for my father to go. Someone needs to be at the house with Queen Rose. She is not completely incapacitated, but she does require a good deal of assistance. And someone needs to be around in case she has another fall.
I will honor my Aunt Mary's memory by caring for someone I love, the same thing she would do. Not that I wouldn't have cared for my mother anyway. But somehow, it seems like I'm saying a few good words to my aunt by doing this. "I noticed that, in spite of your tough exterior and your walls of fire, that you loved the people in your life, and you cared for them in every way that you could."
This will also do me some good. Work is stressful. As much as I know that the stress will only be worse when I get back, it will be nice to have these few days in Queen Rose's court to breathe and hopefully reset my mind a little bit.
Then there's the situation with Yaw. What to do? What to do? I don't want to give up. He doesn't want me to give up. I'm not sure he wants to give up what he would have to give up for us to keep going. I have made my decision for the time being. I am waiting patiently, but not very kindly. He faces constant reminders of the bind he is in and I will not let up the pressure. I do, however, make it plain that my inner most feelings have not changed. He has my whole heart and for the moment, nothing can change that.
He has to decide. I just need to breathe. For a few brief days, please just let me breathe. I will come back to it all, and maybe the dam will break and at last all the pressures and stresses will be put to rest.
Like my wonderful, fiery Aunt Mary, only with me left alive and well, and breathing.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
How to make playing solitaire on early Sunday morning seem more interesting:
Turn on your media player with some cool visualization programmed.
Select "Kings and Queens" by Aerosmith. If you don't have it, get it. Well, I guess this will only work if you like Aerosmith...
Pull up your solitaire in the small screen and arrange everything so it sits on top of the visualization.
OK, no. I do not do illicit drugs. Do this and there's no need for that.
Turn on your media player with some cool visualization programmed.
Select "Kings and Queens" by Aerosmith. If you don't have it, get it. Well, I guess this will only work if you like Aerosmith...
Pull up your solitaire in the small screen and arrange everything so it sits on top of the visualization.
OK, no. I do not do illicit drugs. Do this and there's no need for that.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Sails
Driving to and from work, I pass a lot of water. Most of the bodies of water I pass are large enough to have boating and fishing channels. One of these days, I actually count the number of bridges I cross each way.
On these bodies of water, with their boating and fishing channels, I am often distracted from my drive (or ride, if Shannon is driving) by the myriad sails that are out on the water. While most of them are plain-Jane white sails, I am occasionally greeted by one that has some color or flare.
The ones I really enjoy are the para-sails. That looks like a lot of fun to me. I may have to try that sometime, just so I can say I did.
On these bodies of water, with their boating and fishing channels, I am often distracted from my drive (or ride, if Shannon is driving) by the myriad sails that are out on the water. While most of them are plain-Jane white sails, I am occasionally greeted by one that has some color or flare.
The ones I really enjoy are the para-sails. That looks like a lot of fun to me. I may have to try that sometime, just so I can say I did.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
As I sit at the dining room table, drifting in and out of sleep due to my MRSA drugs, Yaw sits with one had moving back and forth between his "broken" iPhone and his laptop, busily working to download things that didn't come with his phone. His other hand is braced around the stem of the glass of wine I gave him. I would join him but the Cipro won't allow it.
I note out loud during one of my lucid moments that it looks like he is holding the wine glass as his life line, and I ask if he needs more blood poured into it. He laughs at my comment, but neither sets the glass down, nor requests more wine.
I drop back into a doze for a few more minutes, only to wake again to the sound of Mr. Bond hissing and snorting because he thinks Tristan is downstairs. Tristan is actually upstairs, comatose where his mother left him. I tell Mr. Bond to stop being a jerk and drift away again.
It's all I can do to stay awake until the next time I have to take the Cipro. Thank goodness it's only a 10-day prescription. I would really, REALLY like to shave again, but Dr. Blue Eyes says absolutely not. Sigh.
The MRSA is a vicious form of staph infection that is resistant to typical meds for staph. I happen to have acquired it somewhere, somehow. Which is what all the recent comments about my armpit ick are coming from. If I've peaked your curiosity, poke around on the CDC and Mayo Clinic websites and search MRSA. Lots of good info on both sites. I am now on my third batch of antibiotics and have graduated all the way to Cipro, which--by the way--is the same one they give you for Anthrax. Now, isn't that comforting? I'm not sure what the next one in line is, and I hope I don't find out. Enough is enough! I want my armpit back!
I note out loud during one of my lucid moments that it looks like he is holding the wine glass as his life line, and I ask if he needs more blood poured into it. He laughs at my comment, but neither sets the glass down, nor requests more wine.
I drop back into a doze for a few more minutes, only to wake again to the sound of Mr. Bond hissing and snorting because he thinks Tristan is downstairs. Tristan is actually upstairs, comatose where his mother left him. I tell Mr. Bond to stop being a jerk and drift away again.
It's all I can do to stay awake until the next time I have to take the Cipro. Thank goodness it's only a 10-day prescription. I would really, REALLY like to shave again, but Dr. Blue Eyes says absolutely not. Sigh.
The MRSA is a vicious form of staph infection that is resistant to typical meds for staph. I happen to have acquired it somewhere, somehow. Which is what all the recent comments about my armpit ick are coming from. If I've peaked your curiosity, poke around on the CDC and Mayo Clinic websites and search MRSA. Lots of good info on both sites. I am now on my third batch of antibiotics and have graduated all the way to Cipro, which--by the way--is the same one they give you for Anthrax. Now, isn't that comforting? I'm not sure what the next one in line is, and I hope I don't find out. Enough is enough! I want my armpit back!
Monday, January 07, 2008
Purging
While going through boxes this weekend for things that I might sell at the flea market, I came across a couple of boxes full of my college literature and history books. I found several papers and projects which I soon found myself reading as if I'd come across some meaningful work of art. (I hadn't, but it was fun to pretend.)
One of my classes required me to keep a reading journal, which I'd never done before, and haven't done since. I leafed through the notebook and read comments from the instructor, whom I happened to enjoy quite a lot. She seemed to like my sense of humor about some of the early American writers we were required to study. I had made a note about having to read more Bradshaw, saying "Oh, No! More Bradshaw this week!" She put a little smile next to it.
The same instructor gave us a project to create a series of poetic pieces in several different styles. I titled mine "Works of Fancy" and put a pretty sunset picture on the cover. Below are the two pieces that most remind me of me. The first one is in a style called "acrostic." In this style, you break a word up into its individual letters, and each line of the poem begins with one of those letters. The poem itself is about the word. The second, I don't remember what style it is, but the trick was that she gave each of us a color sampler from a paint store and we had to write a poem using the name of each of the colors on the sample. I've italicized the words that were underlined in the original. At the bottom of this one, I inserted a picture I'd made on my computer at work a few years before. It's also at the bottom of this post.
Music
Moving and emotional
Undercurrents of rhythm and
Sound
Infinite possibilities with just a few
Chords
Green Tease
Sylvan lands stretch across my vision
Hills of Green hiding mystic secrets
beneath the Green Sheen
and out over the Wide Open Pasture
the Green Tease lures me deeper still.
One of my classes required me to keep a reading journal, which I'd never done before, and haven't done since. I leafed through the notebook and read comments from the instructor, whom I happened to enjoy quite a lot. She seemed to like my sense of humor about some of the early American writers we were required to study. I had made a note about having to read more Bradshaw, saying "Oh, No! More Bradshaw this week!" She put a little smile next to it.
The same instructor gave us a project to create a series of poetic pieces in several different styles. I titled mine "Works of Fancy" and put a pretty sunset picture on the cover. Below are the two pieces that most remind me of me. The first one is in a style called "acrostic." In this style, you break a word up into its individual letters, and each line of the poem begins with one of those letters. The poem itself is about the word. The second, I don't remember what style it is, but the trick was that she gave each of us a color sampler from a paint store and we had to write a poem using the name of each of the colors on the sample. I've italicized the words that were underlined in the original. At the bottom of this one, I inserted a picture I'd made on my computer at work a few years before. It's also at the bottom of this post.
Music
Moving and emotional
Undercurrents of rhythm and
Sound
Infinite possibilities with just a few
Chords
Green Tease
Sylvan lands stretch across my vision
Hills of Green hiding mystic secrets
beneath the Green Sheen
and out over the Wide Open Pasture
the Green Tease lures me deeper still.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Points
Today, I was on the phone with one of our more challenging clients, explaining something to the third person for the fifth time because they all needed their own personal explanation of the same thing.
With the client on mute for the moment while they chatted amongst themselves, I took a moment to reach for my bottle of bubbles (amazing stress relief tool). As I pondered reaching for a pen to stab myself in the eye instead (yes, they were that annoying), Yaw walked up and handed me a photograph of what appeared to be a beautiful beach shot at dusk or dawn, when the sky is more dark than light, but the light is still there.
I kept the client on mute and said about a thousand thank yous to him. He couldn't have timed that more perfectly.
When I was released from my hell of servitude, I asked him where he'd taken the picture. He said "In the sky."
"So where was this beach?" I aksed.
"No, there's no beach. That's the sky. I took this from inside the plane on my flight home yesterday."
I will have to scan the photo onto my pc, assuming I can make my scanner and pc speak to each other again. The photo really deserves attention. And he gets major points for bringing it to me at all, more so for doing it at such a perfect time.
With the client on mute for the moment while they chatted amongst themselves, I took a moment to reach for my bottle of bubbles (amazing stress relief tool). As I pondered reaching for a pen to stab myself in the eye instead (yes, they were that annoying), Yaw walked up and handed me a photograph of what appeared to be a beautiful beach shot at dusk or dawn, when the sky is more dark than light, but the light is still there.
I kept the client on mute and said about a thousand thank yous to him. He couldn't have timed that more perfectly.
When I was released from my hell of servitude, I asked him where he'd taken the picture. He said "In the sky."
"So where was this beach?" I aksed.
"No, there's no beach. That's the sky. I took this from inside the plane on my flight home yesterday."
I will have to scan the photo onto my pc, assuming I can make my scanner and pc speak to each other again. The photo really deserves attention. And he gets major points for bringing it to me at all, more so for doing it at such a perfect time.
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