About seven, eight, maybe nine, months ago I noticed something strange going on in the oven of my kitchen stove. The oven was on, although I have no recollection of what bakery madness I may have been up to, but as I passed by and glanced in the oven window it looked like some small entity was inside with a welding torch. Thinking this was probably not a good sign, I turned the oven off.
Later that day I saw my young master electrician friend and asked him, if it looked like a welding arc going on in the oven, was that was a pretty good indication the element was shot? He assured me that it was and told me to look online to find a replacement.
For some reason, that I'm not really sure about, I just decided to do without an oven. Making that decision turned out to hold an element of surprise.
I was surprised at all the things I have learned to do with a skillet, even cooking a tasty, tender roast on top of the stove. I was surprised at all the things that can be cooked on a counter top pizza cooker, even homemade biscuits. I found the pizza cooker at a yard sale, practically brand new, for 20 bucks......this was $5 more than the cost of a replacement element for the oven, but I remained steadfast in my quest to go ovenless. I was surprised to discover the old metal burner trivet, that belonged to Mother, worked well to keep a casserole from becoming 'one with the pan'.
All these learning surprises have been fun, but with the approaching holiday season, and being the hostess for a large family gathering, I realized that cooking a turkey on a counter top pizza cooker was not going to fly....no pun intended. One year we had soup and sandwiches. Since I can still hear the whining and griping from that menu faux pas, I broke down and ordered the oven element.
The element arrived in a timely fashion and I thought it would be a good idea to clean the oven before installing it. The oven has a self cleaning feature that I had only used once. There is something unsettling about an appliance in the house that can lock its own door and heat up to crematory mode. Plus, I didn't think it was a good idea to break in the new element on its hottest setting.
The can of oven cleaner stated that the oven should be warm before applying. Since that was not an option, I opted for the 'cool oven' method, sprayed the inside of the oven, closed the door and went to bed.
The next morning, I gathered my arsenal of cleaning goodies and set out to wipe the muck out of the oven. I thought it would be much easier if I could take the oven door off. The manual that came with the stove said this was easy to do.
I have every instruction manual that came with every gadget, appliance, tool, toy or whatever that has entered this house. I may not have the item it belonged to, but I have the manual. Instruction manuals are written by men. I know this to be true for two reasons. One, they never read them and two, they did not proof read them before sending them to print.
The instruction manual for the stove stated that, for all models, removing the oven door was accomplished in the same way. All that need be done was to remove two screws, place those screws in the holes in the hinges, shut the oven door slowly until it stopped at a 45 degree angle and pull the oven door up and off the hinges, easy peasy......liar, liar, pants. on. fire.
I removed the two screws, which were not anywhere close to the length shown in the manual, and proceeded to the next step, placing them in the holes of the hinges. There were no holes in the hinges and even if there had been holes in the hinges, the screws were too short to stick all the way through them. I referred back to the manual, surely I had missed a step. I hadn't and I kept looking for the stupid holes in the hinges thinking they might magically appear...they did not. The whole purpose of putting the screws in the holes was to stop the oven door from closing all the way, hence the 45 degree angle, for easy oven door removal. Perhaps I could just pull the door off the hinges without it being anchored at 45 degrees. I pulled, tugged, even grunted and the door never moved. After using a reference to the screws, aimed at the oven door, I replaced the screws.
With bath towels for knee pads, I twisted myself like a contortionist in and around the oven. One hour and two rolls of paper towels later, the oven was clean and I was thinking it would have been easier to just go out and buy a new stove. My husband installed the new element and we watched intently to see if it was going to work. The red glow was a lovely sight.
The oven has not been used yet. I like the way it looks, all nice and clean. Maybe I will just turn it on, open the door, pull up a chair and pretend it's a fireplace.
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Tea & Seeds
The bird feeders are swaying in the breeze. They have no feathered friends fluttering back and forth because they are empty. No seeds..... like my head...... no thoughts.
My proof reader is not happy with me and sends me short, to the point, messages. Something, anything, please! Sigh.....I'm trying.
The sun has not shown its face for days. It's depressing. Even the weatherman on the late night news was fed up with it. I wonder, if a whole bunch of positive minded people were to decide that at a specific time they would all think thoughts of the clouds dissipating for just one hour, if it would work? We could call them "Cloud Busters". It might work, but I think that there are many more people lamenting about the gloominess of the situation and their thoughts outweigh the positive outcome.
Something odd happened this morning though. One of the main characters of my book, I will refer to him as M.C., showed up. He waltzed into the office, pulled out a folding chair, sat down and announced to me that he was bored.
"Bored?", I asked.
"Yes.", he replied.
"Why?"
"Because, I am tired of playing the same scene over and over again.". He spoke the words slowly, enunciating each word with a slight pause between them. His voice is deep and smooth, the words dripped like molten chocolate.
I glanced at him, trying not to meet his gaze. It didn't work. My eyes locked with his, deep dark pools of liquid midnight. He was wearing his familiar white gauze drawstring pants that rest seductively at his hips and the white gauze shirt that is never buttoned. I knew instantly where he had been, a few grains of sand were still clinging to his feet.
"I know", I said, sighing the same sigh Mother would do when she was bored, the sigh that always drove me crazy. "I've just been so busy and I have so much to do in a short amount of time. The scene isn't that bad, is it?"
"Not at all.", he said and gave me a wicked grin. With that he rose from the chair and descended the basement stairs. I watched him, wondering what he was up to.
It was about this time that I heard the clacking noise. I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see the Voice pass through the living room. The Voice, that lives in my head, has always been my constant companion. It has always carried a pair of large red flags, much like those one would use to land and park a Boeing 747. It uses these flags to warn me of eminent danger. I have spent a great deal of time ignoring the Voice, even when the flags were whirling at maximum velocity.
The Voice was doing the cat walk through the living room. It had watched the Victoria's Secrets fashion show on TV last night. It had found a pair of rarely worn high heeled shoes in my closet, a pair of tattered lace panties and an old push-up bra. As the clacking began to grow louder, I turned my chair to watch as it pranced by. The Voice, like me, has no legs. When the Master of the Universe was handing out legs we thought he said "eggs" and politely said, "No thank you, we will just get ours at the store."
The Voice obviously could not find any wings but had discovered a brightly colored beach towel and had it draped around its shoulders. Since the Voice is quite smitten with M.C., the flags were tucked into each side of the tattered panties. It was quite a site, but then again, not the first time I had seen the Voice doing its own thing.
M.C. emerged from the basement, carrying a china teacup and saucer and headed to the kitchen. The china has been boxed up for years. It is what I like to call 'grocery store china', the kind where for every twenty or so dollars of groceries bought, a stamp was earned. The stamps were placed on a card and when the card was full, it could be redeemed for a place setting of china. I bought a lot of groceries, enough for 12 place settings, along with all the accessories. The china has been used maybe twice.
M.C. returned to the office with a cup of tea and sat down in his chair. "What are you doing?", I asked, trying to look preoccupied.
He chuckled and answered, "Defining my character." I rolled my eyes and acted like I didn't get the gist of his meaning.
M.C. quietly finished his tea, but I could still feel his gaze. He set the empty cup and saucer on my desk and took my hand. I had no choice but to look at him. "I understand, you are busy. These things will all come together. You will meet your deadlines and the stress you unwittingly put upon yourself will be gone." His voice was all but a whisper, but the words were crystal clear. "But, my lady, do not forget your passion."
He kissed the back of my hand and disappeared. The Voice, witnessing the kiss, tripped, fell flat on the floor and the red flags skidded into the kitchen. The brightly colored beach towel splayed across its head.
I think I will go buy some bird seed.
My proof reader is not happy with me and sends me short, to the point, messages. Something, anything, please! Sigh.....I'm trying.
The sun has not shown its face for days. It's depressing. Even the weatherman on the late night news was fed up with it. I wonder, if a whole bunch of positive minded people were to decide that at a specific time they would all think thoughts of the clouds dissipating for just one hour, if it would work? We could call them "Cloud Busters". It might work, but I think that there are many more people lamenting about the gloominess of the situation and their thoughts outweigh the positive outcome.
Something odd happened this morning though. One of the main characters of my book, I will refer to him as M.C., showed up. He waltzed into the office, pulled out a folding chair, sat down and announced to me that he was bored.
"Bored?", I asked.
"Yes.", he replied.
"Why?"
"Because, I am tired of playing the same scene over and over again.". He spoke the words slowly, enunciating each word with a slight pause between them. His voice is deep and smooth, the words dripped like molten chocolate.
I glanced at him, trying not to meet his gaze. It didn't work. My eyes locked with his, deep dark pools of liquid midnight. He was wearing his familiar white gauze drawstring pants that rest seductively at his hips and the white gauze shirt that is never buttoned. I knew instantly where he had been, a few grains of sand were still clinging to his feet.
"I know", I said, sighing the same sigh Mother would do when she was bored, the sigh that always drove me crazy. "I've just been so busy and I have so much to do in a short amount of time. The scene isn't that bad, is it?"
"Not at all.", he said and gave me a wicked grin. With that he rose from the chair and descended the basement stairs. I watched him, wondering what he was up to.
It was about this time that I heard the clacking noise. I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see the Voice pass through the living room. The Voice, that lives in my head, has always been my constant companion. It has always carried a pair of large red flags, much like those one would use to land and park a Boeing 747. It uses these flags to warn me of eminent danger. I have spent a great deal of time ignoring the Voice, even when the flags were whirling at maximum velocity.
The Voice was doing the cat walk through the living room. It had watched the Victoria's Secrets fashion show on TV last night. It had found a pair of rarely worn high heeled shoes in my closet, a pair of tattered lace panties and an old push-up bra. As the clacking began to grow louder, I turned my chair to watch as it pranced by. The Voice, like me, has no legs. When the Master of the Universe was handing out legs we thought he said "eggs" and politely said, "No thank you, we will just get ours at the store."
The Voice obviously could not find any wings but had discovered a brightly colored beach towel and had it draped around its shoulders. Since the Voice is quite smitten with M.C., the flags were tucked into each side of the tattered panties. It was quite a site, but then again, not the first time I had seen the Voice doing its own thing.
M.C. emerged from the basement, carrying a china teacup and saucer and headed to the kitchen. The china has been boxed up for years. It is what I like to call 'grocery store china', the kind where for every twenty or so dollars of groceries bought, a stamp was earned. The stamps were placed on a card and when the card was full, it could be redeemed for a place setting of china. I bought a lot of groceries, enough for 12 place settings, along with all the accessories. The china has been used maybe twice.
M.C. returned to the office with a cup of tea and sat down in his chair. "What are you doing?", I asked, trying to look preoccupied.
He chuckled and answered, "Defining my character." I rolled my eyes and acted like I didn't get the gist of his meaning.
M.C. quietly finished his tea, but I could still feel his gaze. He set the empty cup and saucer on my desk and took my hand. I had no choice but to look at him. "I understand, you are busy. These things will all come together. You will meet your deadlines and the stress you unwittingly put upon yourself will be gone." His voice was all but a whisper, but the words were crystal clear. "But, my lady, do not forget your passion."
He kissed the back of my hand and disappeared. The Voice, witnessing the kiss, tripped, fell flat on the floor and the red flags skidded into the kitchen. The brightly colored beach towel splayed across its head.
I think I will go buy some bird seed.
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Tis' The Season
Tis' the season of shopping, decorating, eating enough chocolate to last for an entire year. A season of celebration, seeing old friends and family and the ever so popular school Christmas program.
Sitting on bleachers is not something my husband and I look forward to, but we did our grandparently duty and headed for the school gymnasium. The two oldest grandsons decided to join us. They are in junior high, much too cool to be in a Christmas program. It was time for the two youngest grandchildren, Ms. Sassafrass and her older brother, to carry on this tradition.
Like most programs, the ones you go to see perform are either the very first group, or the last. Sassafrass' class was not only first, she was the leader and of course, looked lovely in her fur trimmed green holiday dress.
We had taken a seat about mid section of the gym and two rows from the top......where all the heat goes. I scanned the crowd. Funny, people do not dress up anymore. Ms. Sassafrass was also scanning the crowd, possibly getting a little stage fright looking at a sea of unknown faces. She spotted her Papa and me. I'm sure that had nothing to do with the bright red sleeve of my shirt waving at her. Her face lit up and she waved. When it was time for her to play the bells, she made sure we were watching.
Her brother's turn came a few classes later. He is seven now and looked quite dapper in his shirt and tie. That was a good thing, he never sang a note. I think he may have mouthed a word or two, but he was there under duress. At least he did not have his arms crossed tightly across his chest and his mad face on, maturity is growing on him.
During each performance, many parents came to the center of the gym to take pictures and videos of their children. We looked at this group and noticed grandson #2 was right in the middle of the photographers. He and his older brother had decided to sit on the other side of the gym, across from us, with Sassafrass' parents.
This young man is 10 years old. He sat among the parents, armed with a cell phone, and took pictures. He must have decided it was the best seat in the house because he stayed there for the duration, taking pictures. He has had much training, watching his mother with her sideline photography business.
He is also a true chip off of his father's block. Every year when the Christmas season begins, they have two rituals.....watching National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation and going together to find a tree....a live tree. The latter of these tasks was concluded last week. The tree, as usual, was enormous and when they got home with it, grandson #2 stated that he did not think it would fit through the door. His father cautioned him to "stand back" and as he rammed the tree and himself into the open doorway, grandson #2 said, "It's a beaut' Clark!"
Tis' the season. Enjoy, have fun, go to the programs, put up a decoration or two and spend time making some memories.
Sitting on bleachers is not something my husband and I look forward to, but we did our grandparently duty and headed for the school gymnasium. The two oldest grandsons decided to join us. They are in junior high, much too cool to be in a Christmas program. It was time for the two youngest grandchildren, Ms. Sassafrass and her older brother, to carry on this tradition.
Like most programs, the ones you go to see perform are either the very first group, or the last. Sassafrass' class was not only first, she was the leader and of course, looked lovely in her fur trimmed green holiday dress.
We had taken a seat about mid section of the gym and two rows from the top......where all the heat goes. I scanned the crowd. Funny, people do not dress up anymore. Ms. Sassafrass was also scanning the crowd, possibly getting a little stage fright looking at a sea of unknown faces. She spotted her Papa and me. I'm sure that had nothing to do with the bright red sleeve of my shirt waving at her. Her face lit up and she waved. When it was time for her to play the bells, she made sure we were watching.
Her brother's turn came a few classes later. He is seven now and looked quite dapper in his shirt and tie. That was a good thing, he never sang a note. I think he may have mouthed a word or two, but he was there under duress. At least he did not have his arms crossed tightly across his chest and his mad face on, maturity is growing on him.
During each performance, many parents came to the center of the gym to take pictures and videos of their children. We looked at this group and noticed grandson #2 was right in the middle of the photographers. He and his older brother had decided to sit on the other side of the gym, across from us, with Sassafrass' parents.
This young man is 10 years old. He sat among the parents, armed with a cell phone, and took pictures. He must have decided it was the best seat in the house because he stayed there for the duration, taking pictures. He has had much training, watching his mother with her sideline photography business.
He is also a true chip off of his father's block. Every year when the Christmas season begins, they have two rituals.....watching National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation and going together to find a tree....a live tree. The latter of these tasks was concluded last week. The tree, as usual, was enormous and when they got home with it, grandson #2 stated that he did not think it would fit through the door. His father cautioned him to "stand back" and as he rammed the tree and himself into the open doorway, grandson #2 said, "It's a beaut' Clark!"
Tis' the season. Enjoy, have fun, go to the programs, put up a decoration or two and spend time making some memories.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
For The Girls
Yesterday's blog was about the common misconception that love and sex are the same thing and that message permeates most of today's music. Today, I would like to embark on some sexual tRuth as I see it. Although it is my intention to share these thoughts with anyone willing to take the time to read this, it is a message for the girls, the young girls.
Hardly a month goes by that there is not some article about a person getting into trouble for having a relationship with a much younger person. Some are teachers having a relationship with a student. Some are people who are just over the legal limit of what is considered adulthood. In most of these cases, lives are tarnished and careers are ruined.
There is nothing new about younger women, girls, falling for older guys, but there has been a huge shift in what can happen to these men, boys, if things go too far. Believe me when I say, there was a time in my life that if my Mother could have played the age card, she would have. Along with having 5 aces up her sleeve.
Reading some comments about a case of an older male with a much younger female, I was surprised at the number of times people said fourteen year old girls do not know what they are doing and it was all the man's fault.
Fourteen year old girls, or 15-18 year old girls, may not understand the consequences of what they are doing, but they know exactly what they are doing. To think otherwise is a common misconception. If they have watched TV, listened to music, flipped through the pages of a magazine, they know what they are doing.
So, my message for the girls is this: When you take that final look in the mirror, wearing your skin tight jeans and shirt, understand that your body is yours and yours alone. It is not who you are, it is not a weapon of power, it is not something to use carelessly or give away freely. If you are fortunate to live a long life, that body has a 99% chance of changing over the years. If you do not believe this, look at your mother, then ask her for her high school year book. What makes you who you are is the way you think about yourself. Yes, you are surrounded by peer pressure and you may be hearing the pleas of someone you think you are in love with to take that next step. He will not explode if you don't take that step and most likely will not think better of you if you do.
Think good thoughts about yourself and share those good thoughts with others. Keep your chin up in times of hurt feelings, these things will pass. Do not worry about what someone thinks of you, in actuality, they spend much more time thinking about themselves. Be kind to others, but especially to your self. Life is full of awesome adventures, even the ones that do not feel so awesome. These things are there for you to learn lessons, lessons that will help guide you the rest of your life. Remember, what you think to be true at fourteen, will be something you will laugh at when you are 20.
Do not be afraid to ask questions. Believe it or not, parents, grandparents, and most adults in general, have had sex, and, like it or not, are still having sex. If they are uncomfortable talking to you about it, find someone who is not uncomfortable and listen to what they tell you.
Before closing, I want to be clear about something. I am not ranting about the clothes. When I was in high school, our hem lines were so short, even in the dead of winter, that I'm surprised half of us did not die of pneumonia. I am also not placing the blame entirely on the girls. Boys have their own common misconceptions and if some of them were true, most men would have gone through life with their eyes permanently crossed. But girls must remember that no matter how hard you try, boys do not, and never will, think like girls and what boys are thinking about when it comes to sex has nothing to do with love.
Be yourself, and most importantly, be true to yourself.
Hardly a month goes by that there is not some article about a person getting into trouble for having a relationship with a much younger person. Some are teachers having a relationship with a student. Some are people who are just over the legal limit of what is considered adulthood. In most of these cases, lives are tarnished and careers are ruined.
There is nothing new about younger women, girls, falling for older guys, but there has been a huge shift in what can happen to these men, boys, if things go too far. Believe me when I say, there was a time in my life that if my Mother could have played the age card, she would have. Along with having 5 aces up her sleeve.
Reading some comments about a case of an older male with a much younger female, I was surprised at the number of times people said fourteen year old girls do not know what they are doing and it was all the man's fault.
Fourteen year old girls, or 15-18 year old girls, may not understand the consequences of what they are doing, but they know exactly what they are doing. To think otherwise is a common misconception. If they have watched TV, listened to music, flipped through the pages of a magazine, they know what they are doing.
So, my message for the girls is this: When you take that final look in the mirror, wearing your skin tight jeans and shirt, understand that your body is yours and yours alone. It is not who you are, it is not a weapon of power, it is not something to use carelessly or give away freely. If you are fortunate to live a long life, that body has a 99% chance of changing over the years. If you do not believe this, look at your mother, then ask her for her high school year book. What makes you who you are is the way you think about yourself. Yes, you are surrounded by peer pressure and you may be hearing the pleas of someone you think you are in love with to take that next step. He will not explode if you don't take that step and most likely will not think better of you if you do.
Think good thoughts about yourself and share those good thoughts with others. Keep your chin up in times of hurt feelings, these things will pass. Do not worry about what someone thinks of you, in actuality, they spend much more time thinking about themselves. Be kind to others, but especially to your self. Life is full of awesome adventures, even the ones that do not feel so awesome. These things are there for you to learn lessons, lessons that will help guide you the rest of your life. Remember, what you think to be true at fourteen, will be something you will laugh at when you are 20.
Do not be afraid to ask questions. Believe it or not, parents, grandparents, and most adults in general, have had sex, and, like it or not, are still having sex. If they are uncomfortable talking to you about it, find someone who is not uncomfortable and listen to what they tell you.
Before closing, I want to be clear about something. I am not ranting about the clothes. When I was in high school, our hem lines were so short, even in the dead of winter, that I'm surprised half of us did not die of pneumonia. I am also not placing the blame entirely on the girls. Boys have their own common misconceptions and if some of them were true, most men would have gone through life with their eyes permanently crossed. But girls must remember that no matter how hard you try, boys do not, and never will, think like girls and what boys are thinking about when it comes to sex has nothing to do with love.
Be yourself, and most importantly, be true to yourself.
Monday, December 1, 2014
A Common Misconception
Having music playing in the background while working is something I do not usually do. There is always a song, on a loop feed, that plays endlessly in my head, but recently I have made myself crank up the tunes. It seems to make my work more productive.
I listen to rock/pop music. Whatever is new, whatever most young people listen to. I like it and it gives me an edge for conversation with the much younger generation. It is always a delight to hear, "Grandma! You know that song?"
I have spent most of my life waltzing around with a large "N" of naiveness planted somewhere on my forehead. The big "N" has served me well from time to time, throughout the years. Being able to perfect the naive look has come in very handy when finding myself in a situation I knew I had better get out of.....and get out of quick. But, I have discovered that when the radio station I listen to plays the 'oldies but goodies' or 'rotten forgottens', there are a lot of lyrics that I didn't understand. Sometimes I just inserted a word that I thought was the right one, only to find out a decade later I had been singing it wrong.
When I listen to the music today, I listen very carefully to the words. It amazes me, that after all this time, after all the things we have supposedly learned as a functioning society, much of the music is still sending the same message. That message being, love and sex are the same thing. Many young people fall for this myth and some end up finding out the hard way that this is simply not true.
One of the songs, that is popular right now, has a couple crooning to each other about their love/sex relationship. The male voice sings seductively that he will make her sexual/love experience feel just like the first time. I may be wrong on this, but I'd venture a guess that there are a lot of women that would agree the first time being wonderful is a HUGE common misconception.
Perhaps there is nothing new under the sun. The song "Baby It's Cold Outside" was written in 1944 and if you think he was really concerned about her getting cold, ya might want to listen to the lyrics again.
Yes, it is true, some of us just liked the music and did not pay much attention to the words. Be sure to listen to the music your children are listening to....and be sure to explain the difference.
I listen to rock/pop music. Whatever is new, whatever most young people listen to. I like it and it gives me an edge for conversation with the much younger generation. It is always a delight to hear, "Grandma! You know that song?"
I have spent most of my life waltzing around with a large "N" of naiveness planted somewhere on my forehead. The big "N" has served me well from time to time, throughout the years. Being able to perfect the naive look has come in very handy when finding myself in a situation I knew I had better get out of.....and get out of quick. But, I have discovered that when the radio station I listen to plays the 'oldies but goodies' or 'rotten forgottens', there are a lot of lyrics that I didn't understand. Sometimes I just inserted a word that I thought was the right one, only to find out a decade later I had been singing it wrong.
When I listen to the music today, I listen very carefully to the words. It amazes me, that after all this time, after all the things we have supposedly learned as a functioning society, much of the music is still sending the same message. That message being, love and sex are the same thing. Many young people fall for this myth and some end up finding out the hard way that this is simply not true.
One of the songs, that is popular right now, has a couple crooning to each other about their love/sex relationship. The male voice sings seductively that he will make her sexual/love experience feel just like the first time. I may be wrong on this, but I'd venture a guess that there are a lot of women that would agree the first time being wonderful is a HUGE common misconception.
Perhaps there is nothing new under the sun. The song "Baby It's Cold Outside" was written in 1944 and if you think he was really concerned about her getting cold, ya might want to listen to the lyrics again.
Yes, it is true, some of us just liked the music and did not pay much attention to the words. Be sure to listen to the music your children are listening to....and be sure to explain the difference.
Thursday, November 27, 2014
Use It In A Sentence
The following words, and their meaning, have been the 'word of the day' on the dictionary app for the past five days.
Frigorific: (The 'g' is pronounced with the 'j' sound, but I do like the pronunciation using the 'g' as in the word 'gut'.) Causing or producing cold.
Gas light: To cause a person to doubt their sanity.
Nostomania: An irresistible compulsion to return home; intense homesickness.
Pabulum: Material for intellectual nourishment.
Degust: To taste or savor carefully or appreciatively.
The recent arctic vortex has indeed secured frigorific conditions for the holiday season. There are many, traveling the highways and byways, suffering from nostomania as they get closer to their destination.
Make sure to not gas light the chef by remembering to degust the feast with much passion and share some excellent pabulum during the meal and afterwards, keeping the snoring to a minimum.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Frigorific: (The 'g' is pronounced with the 'j' sound, but I do like the pronunciation using the 'g' as in the word 'gut'.) Causing or producing cold.
Gas light: To cause a person to doubt their sanity.
Nostomania: An irresistible compulsion to return home; intense homesickness.
Pabulum: Material for intellectual nourishment.
Degust: To taste or savor carefully or appreciatively.
The recent arctic vortex has indeed secured frigorific conditions for the holiday season. There are many, traveling the highways and byways, suffering from nostomania as they get closer to their destination.
Make sure to not gas light the chef by remembering to degust the feast with much passion and share some excellent pabulum during the meal and afterwards, keeping the snoring to a minimum.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
Take Heed of the Signs
When driving through any national park or game preserve there are usually signs that read, DO NOT FEED THE _________. The blank can be filled in with a number of different animal names, bear, bison, deer, wolves, etc.
The reason for this is because it is not always wise to break the "wild" barrier between humans and critters. These animals are referred to as wild animals because, well, that is what they are, wild animals.
To say that I have never fed a wild animal would be an outright lie. There has been many a Christmas turkey carcass set outside to feed the neighborhood possum. It is really difficult to say, "Oh look at the cute possum!", because..... they be really ugly.
My sister, Lela, moved to the great Southwest a few years ago to be close to her daughter, Ms. Luvsdemcritters and they really enjoy living in the desert.....right smack in the desert.
Ms. Luvsdemcritters is a girl after my own heart. She loves all animals and is even involved in a rescue operation for pets that need a good home.
Although, at first glance, the desert seems to be a barren place, but it is actually teaming with wildlife. There are numerous birds, coyotes, rattlesnakes, mountain lions and the beloved Javelina, aka, the desert pig. The last three above mentioned critters have all been seen in Ms. Luvsdemcritters backyard.
The javelina is not really a pig but comes from the peccary family, a hoofed animal that migrated north from South America. The adults can grow to about 19 inches tall and weigh from 40 to 60 pounds. They travel in groups from two to twenty and their babies are called 'reds'. Javelinas have been known to charge when feeling threatened. This is because they have very poor eyesight, so, in actuality the charging is merely a defense mechanism for a means of escape, they do not actually 'see' what scared them, they are just looking for a way out. We can now give the bats a break and use the phrase, "blind as a javelina".
Javelinas do not like dogs and have been known to seriously injure or kill them. Again, this is not out of being naturally aggressive, but from the instinct to protect the herd....and being blind as a bat.....or, um.....javelina.
Feeding the javelinas creates a couple of problems. The first one being they will return to the food source, looking for more food. They usually will bring the rest of the herd with them, so instead of having 5 or 6 javelina in the yard one day, there may be 20 the next. If there is not enough food to go around, they most likely will eat what ever vegetation is growing in the yard and they do not care if the vegetation was paid for, or just grew naturally.
The second problem that arises with feeding the javelina is the fact that they attract mountain lions. Mountain lions LOVE to eat the javelina. The mountain lions probably have a motto that goes something like, "there's no better way, than to start the day, with a little pulled pork".
Mountain lions have very good eyesight and probably think the bigger the prey, the better, and longer lasting, the meal. If someone is out feeding and frolicking with the javelina, they could possibly look like a smorgasbord to a hungry mountain lion.
Ms. Luvsdemcritters, DO NOT FEED THE JAVELINAS!
The reason for this is because it is not always wise to break the "wild" barrier between humans and critters. These animals are referred to as wild animals because, well, that is what they are, wild animals.
To say that I have never fed a wild animal would be an outright lie. There has been many a Christmas turkey carcass set outside to feed the neighborhood possum. It is really difficult to say, "Oh look at the cute possum!", because..... they be really ugly.
My sister, Lela, moved to the great Southwest a few years ago to be close to her daughter, Ms. Luvsdemcritters and they really enjoy living in the desert.....right smack in the desert.
Ms. Luvsdemcritters is a girl after my own heart. She loves all animals and is even involved in a rescue operation for pets that need a good home.
Although, at first glance, the desert seems to be a barren place, but it is actually teaming with wildlife. There are numerous birds, coyotes, rattlesnakes, mountain lions and the beloved Javelina, aka, the desert pig. The last three above mentioned critters have all been seen in Ms. Luvsdemcritters backyard.
The javelina is not really a pig but comes from the peccary family, a hoofed animal that migrated north from South America. The adults can grow to about 19 inches tall and weigh from 40 to 60 pounds. They travel in groups from two to twenty and their babies are called 'reds'. Javelinas have been known to charge when feeling threatened. This is because they have very poor eyesight, so, in actuality the charging is merely a defense mechanism for a means of escape, they do not actually 'see' what scared them, they are just looking for a way out. We can now give the bats a break and use the phrase, "blind as a javelina".
Javelinas do not like dogs and have been known to seriously injure or kill them. Again, this is not out of being naturally aggressive, but from the instinct to protect the herd....and being blind as a bat.....or, um.....javelina.
Feeding the javelinas creates a couple of problems. The first one being they will return to the food source, looking for more food. They usually will bring the rest of the herd with them, so instead of having 5 or 6 javelina in the yard one day, there may be 20 the next. If there is not enough food to go around, they most likely will eat what ever vegetation is growing in the yard and they do not care if the vegetation was paid for, or just grew naturally.
The second problem that arises with feeding the javelina is the fact that they attract mountain lions. Mountain lions LOVE to eat the javelina. The mountain lions probably have a motto that goes something like, "there's no better way, than to start the day, with a little pulled pork".
Mountain lions have very good eyesight and probably think the bigger the prey, the better, and longer lasting, the meal. If someone is out feeding and frolicking with the javelina, they could possibly look like a smorgasbord to a hungry mountain lion.
Ms. Luvsdemcritters, DO NOT FEED THE JAVELINAS!
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Plan B
tRuth As I See It has been up and running over a year now. It does not seem possible, twelve months, gone in the blink of an eye.
I have to scan back through the blog now and then, to make sure I'm not repeating myself. At my age, that can happen.....a lot.
Today I had to drive to a big box store to return a tool. The big box store was true to its cause, the isles were full of big boxes. Many had "do not open before Black Friday" stamped on them. Black Friday, the biggest, aka worst, shopping day of the year.
The store was understaffed today, but there was a nice lady who waited on me at the return counter. She was new, still in training, which meant the only other person around had to show her the ropes for entering a return. No easy task. I was not in a hurry, my morning plans had already been changed by my better half. This needed done, right now, today. It could not have been done over the weekend. While I was at it, he also needed a couple of items from the big box drug store.....he did get the 'look' on that suggestion, but hey, it was just across the street, it surely could not be that big of a deal....Sigh....he hates to shop...I had been hoodwinked.
I was waiting patiently at the return counter. Not so the older man to my right. He was far from patient. The phone was ringing, and ringing....and ringing. The trainer of the nice lady ignored it and continued with her task of teaching. The impatient man finally spoke....in a really loud voice....wanting to know if there was someone who could help him. I wanted to say, "Dude, do ya see anyone else standing here?" I thought better of it, he may have been the man who was disgruntled with all the toilet paper in the trees, I did not want a lesson in manners. The trainer/teacher assured him she would be with him as soon as possible and gave a brief explanation as to what she was doing. I glanced his way and was pretty positive I saw smoke making a slow spiral out of his ears.
After many numbers had been entered into the system, my return was finished. I took the time to browse a couple of isles, just in case. Two LED light bulbs jumped into my arms. They make a nice glow above my desk and I'm sure the electric meter is spinning much slower now.
A quick stop at the drug store, in which I found some new mascara, and I was in nostomania mode, an irresistible compulsion to return home.....word of the day on my dictionary app.
The sun was shining. That was nice, it hasn't been seen for a couple of days.
A road trip, even a short one, can be good for the soul. Helps to blow a few cobwebs out of the back portals of the brain. It was just what I needed.....but I won't mention that to my better half.
I have to scan back through the blog now and then, to make sure I'm not repeating myself. At my age, that can happen.....a lot.
Today I had to drive to a big box store to return a tool. The big box store was true to its cause, the isles were full of big boxes. Many had "do not open before Black Friday" stamped on them. Black Friday, the biggest, aka worst, shopping day of the year.
The store was understaffed today, but there was a nice lady who waited on me at the return counter. She was new, still in training, which meant the only other person around had to show her the ropes for entering a return. No easy task. I was not in a hurry, my morning plans had already been changed by my better half. This needed done, right now, today. It could not have been done over the weekend. While I was at it, he also needed a couple of items from the big box drug store.....he did get the 'look' on that suggestion, but hey, it was just across the street, it surely could not be that big of a deal....Sigh....he hates to shop...I had been hoodwinked.
I was waiting patiently at the return counter. Not so the older man to my right. He was far from patient. The phone was ringing, and ringing....and ringing. The trainer of the nice lady ignored it and continued with her task of teaching. The impatient man finally spoke....in a really loud voice....wanting to know if there was someone who could help him. I wanted to say, "Dude, do ya see anyone else standing here?" I thought better of it, he may have been the man who was disgruntled with all the toilet paper in the trees, I did not want a lesson in manners. The trainer/teacher assured him she would be with him as soon as possible and gave a brief explanation as to what she was doing. I glanced his way and was pretty positive I saw smoke making a slow spiral out of his ears.
After many numbers had been entered into the system, my return was finished. I took the time to browse a couple of isles, just in case. Two LED light bulbs jumped into my arms. They make a nice glow above my desk and I'm sure the electric meter is spinning much slower now.
A quick stop at the drug store, in which I found some new mascara, and I was in nostomania mode, an irresistible compulsion to return home.....word of the day on my dictionary app.
The sun was shining. That was nice, it hasn't been seen for a couple of days.
A road trip, even a short one, can be good for the soul. Helps to blow a few cobwebs out of the back portals of the brain. It was just what I needed.....but I won't mention that to my better half.
Friday, November 21, 2014
Worm Holes & Eggs
Yesterday was a lovely day. Albeit, a cold day, but the sun was shining and the wind had subsided.
The gas gauge in my little car was reading about as close to the bottom as it could get and I decided it was a good time to fill it up. We use a facility located on the outskirts of town to purchase our fuel and the drive is just about a mile from home.
When I arrived, I realized something miraculous had happened. I had driven through one of those worm holes that scientists have been searching years for. The price of gas was $2.75 a gallon! I took a picture of the sign with the posted prices, so I would have documentation of my find. After filling the tank, I hurried home so I could look in the mirror and jump on the scales to see what year I had entered through this porthole in space.
I posted my experience on Facebook, the place that seems to be increasingly filled with sad, bad, and gloomy articles, so this story of my incredible journey will be old news to some. But, while I'm on the subject of FB, I'd like to offer a bit of tRuth as I see it. I know there are a lot of things going on in this crazy world that are not good, but spending time focusing on those things is also not good. Starting out the day with sadness is not the way to start the day. It's hard to share your light if it's surrounded by darkness.
Doesn't it seem odd that most people who eat breakfast eat the same thing for breakfast everyday, without getting tired of it? I would not want to eat the same thing for lunch or supper, but having our traditional egg and sausage (husband) bacon (me) sandwich every morning never seems redundant. It is almost a ritual.
I always fix my husband's sandwich first and then my own. This morning, as I headed to my prepared plate of bread, bacon and cheese, with my second egg riding on a spatula the egg jumped off and landed on the floor. I'm pretty sure it took out a cobweb as it slid under the toe-kick area of the cabinet. After swearing, and that was not done under my breath, I snatched it up off the floor and tossed it in the sink. There I washed off what ever pieces of gossamer webs were clinging to it, placed it on the above mentioned prepared plate and used the top piece of bread to blot it. It tasted wonderful!
It is a good thing my young food germ fanatical friend was not here, I believe she would have passed out.
The gas gauge in my little car was reading about as close to the bottom as it could get and I decided it was a good time to fill it up. We use a facility located on the outskirts of town to purchase our fuel and the drive is just about a mile from home.
When I arrived, I realized something miraculous had happened. I had driven through one of those worm holes that scientists have been searching years for. The price of gas was $2.75 a gallon! I took a picture of the sign with the posted prices, so I would have documentation of my find. After filling the tank, I hurried home so I could look in the mirror and jump on the scales to see what year I had entered through this porthole in space.
I posted my experience on Facebook, the place that seems to be increasingly filled with sad, bad, and gloomy articles, so this story of my incredible journey will be old news to some. But, while I'm on the subject of FB, I'd like to offer a bit of tRuth as I see it. I know there are a lot of things going on in this crazy world that are not good, but spending time focusing on those things is also not good. Starting out the day with sadness is not the way to start the day. It's hard to share your light if it's surrounded by darkness.
Doesn't it seem odd that most people who eat breakfast eat the same thing for breakfast everyday, without getting tired of it? I would not want to eat the same thing for lunch or supper, but having our traditional egg and sausage (husband) bacon (me) sandwich every morning never seems redundant. It is almost a ritual.
I always fix my husband's sandwich first and then my own. This morning, as I headed to my prepared plate of bread, bacon and cheese, with my second egg riding on a spatula the egg jumped off and landed on the floor. I'm pretty sure it took out a cobweb as it slid under the toe-kick area of the cabinet. After swearing, and that was not done under my breath, I snatched it up off the floor and tossed it in the sink. There I washed off what ever pieces of gossamer webs were clinging to it, placed it on the above mentioned prepared plate and used the top piece of bread to blot it. It tasted wonderful!
It is a good thing my young food germ fanatical friend was not here, I believe she would have passed out.
Thursday, November 20, 2014
Bravery At Its Finest
On this date, November 20, in 1620, Peregrine White was born aboard the Mayflower.
That gave Peregrine the distinct distinction of being the first known English child born in America. It's too bad organizations like the Brownies, Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, etc. weren't around back then because Peregrine would have gotten lots of cool stuff. He would have had his picture in all the papers holding the title of "The Country's First Baby" and surrounded by all the gifts donated from the local merchants.
On March 6, 1648, Peregrine and Sara Basset were married, plus fined for having premarital sex, and about nine months later the first of their seven children was born.....some things never change...... Peregrine lived to the ripe old age of 83 years old.
Now, the bravery......
Peregrine's mother, Susanna, boarded the Mayflower in Plymouth, England on September 6, 1620. She would have been approximately six months pregnant.
Have you ever seen a replica of the Mayflower? It is really small.......really small. The ship was only 100 feet in length. There were 102 passengers aboard, along with 30-40 crew members. To say that the conditions were a bit cramped would be an understatement. Not only that, this was a three month journey. A three month journey, at sea, with no bathroom.
To make matters even worse, in the second month of the journey, they ran into some nasty weather. The ship was being battered with high winds and high seas. The caulking was falling out of the timbers, letting in seawater. The conditions were ma-honkingly, for lack of a better word, unsanitary and there was not enough food to go around. It was cold and even the beds were wet.
I wonder how many times Susanna White had to hurl over the port or starboard side of the Mayflower?
The original destination for the Mayflower was the Colony of Virginia, but after many days of trying to go south, they were forced to return to Cape Cod Hook, now known as Provincetown Harbor. It was there, anchored in the harbor, still aboard a ship that had to smell ten times worse than a bus load of young boys right after football practice, that Susanna White gave birth.
Susanna White was a brave woman indeed. She left the only home she had known, with her husband and an older son, to come to a new world. She survived a dangerous trip, horrible conditions and was still able to bring forth a new life with no doctor, no epidural anesthesia. Hopefully she at least had a piece of wood to bite.
In the first few weeks of setting foot on this new land, she outlived half of the passengers aboard the Mayflower, due to a harsh, cold winter. She even had to bury her husband three months later. She remarried and went on to have five more children.
Most of us have never heard of Susanna White. She deserves the highest honor given for bravery.
We do not have a clue, if we think for one minute, that times are tough.
That gave Peregrine the distinct distinction of being the first known English child born in America. It's too bad organizations like the Brownies, Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, etc. weren't around back then because Peregrine would have gotten lots of cool stuff. He would have had his picture in all the papers holding the title of "The Country's First Baby" and surrounded by all the gifts donated from the local merchants.
On March 6, 1648, Peregrine and Sara Basset were married, plus fined for having premarital sex, and about nine months later the first of their seven children was born.....some things never change...... Peregrine lived to the ripe old age of 83 years old.
Now, the bravery......
Peregrine's mother, Susanna, boarded the Mayflower in Plymouth, England on September 6, 1620. She would have been approximately six months pregnant.
Have you ever seen a replica of the Mayflower? It is really small.......really small. The ship was only 100 feet in length. There were 102 passengers aboard, along with 30-40 crew members. To say that the conditions were a bit cramped would be an understatement. Not only that, this was a three month journey. A three month journey, at sea, with no bathroom.
To make matters even worse, in the second month of the journey, they ran into some nasty weather. The ship was being battered with high winds and high seas. The caulking was falling out of the timbers, letting in seawater. The conditions were ma-honkingly, for lack of a better word, unsanitary and there was not enough food to go around. It was cold and even the beds were wet.
I wonder how many times Susanna White had to hurl over the port or starboard side of the Mayflower?
The original destination for the Mayflower was the Colony of Virginia, but after many days of trying to go south, they were forced to return to Cape Cod Hook, now known as Provincetown Harbor. It was there, anchored in the harbor, still aboard a ship that had to smell ten times worse than a bus load of young boys right after football practice, that Susanna White gave birth.
Susanna White was a brave woman indeed. She left the only home she had known, with her husband and an older son, to come to a new world. She survived a dangerous trip, horrible conditions and was still able to bring forth a new life with no doctor, no epidural anesthesia. Hopefully she at least had a piece of wood to bite.
In the first few weeks of setting foot on this new land, she outlived half of the passengers aboard the Mayflower, due to a harsh, cold winter. She even had to bury her husband three months later. She remarried and went on to have five more children.
Most of us have never heard of Susanna White. She deserves the highest honor given for bravery.
We do not have a clue, if we think for one minute, that times are tough.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Have None
When asking old people what was their biggest regret in life, the answer was surprising. It was not some lurid part of their past, some inexcusable deed. It was the amount of time they had spent worrying.
They had worried about things they had no control over. They had spent vast amounts of time worrying about what someone might think, money, troubles, who said what, who didn't say that.
They regretted the time they had wasted on something that did not really matter.
How many risks could they have taken, if worry had not been in their way? How many dreams were left undreamed because of worrying? So much wasted time.
The present time, right now, this very second, is the only time we really have. We are not guaranteed the next minute, hour, day or week.
If we spend this most valuable of our precious resources worrying, what have we accomplished? Absolutely nothing. If we spend our allotted minutes being mad, not talking to someone, judging others, thinking we are better than the next person, what good comes from it? Absolutely nothing.
There are way too many wonderful things life has to offer. Laughter with a family member or friend, trying something new and different, getting up early just to watch the sun rise, or staying up late and gazing at the vastness of the universe laid before us in a black sky. Making the decision to go for the dream, no matter what.
Understand this, in 150 years, nothing that you are worrying about now, will matter, it will be gone and the only one who will have suffered is you.
Spend your time in joy. God put an unfathomable amount of abundance in our lives. Stop worrying that there is not enough for you. There is, believe it, it is there for the asking and for the taking. The risks we take are far more rewarding than worrying about taking them.
Leave this place singing the song Frank Sinatra sang back in the late 1960's....
They had worried about things they had no control over. They had spent vast amounts of time worrying about what someone might think, money, troubles, who said what, who didn't say that.
They regretted the time they had wasted on something that did not really matter.
How many risks could they have taken, if worry had not been in their way? How many dreams were left undreamed because of worrying? So much wasted time.
The present time, right now, this very second, is the only time we really have. We are not guaranteed the next minute, hour, day or week.
If we spend this most valuable of our precious resources worrying, what have we accomplished? Absolutely nothing. If we spend our allotted minutes being mad, not talking to someone, judging others, thinking we are better than the next person, what good comes from it? Absolutely nothing.
There are way too many wonderful things life has to offer. Laughter with a family member or friend, trying something new and different, getting up early just to watch the sun rise, or staying up late and gazing at the vastness of the universe laid before us in a black sky. Making the decision to go for the dream, no matter what.
Understand this, in 150 years, nothing that you are worrying about now, will matter, it will be gone and the only one who will have suffered is you.
Spend your time in joy. God put an unfathomable amount of abundance in our lives. Stop worrying that there is not enough for you. There is, believe it, it is there for the asking and for the taking. The risks we take are far more rewarding than worrying about taking them.
Leave this place singing the song Frank Sinatra sang back in the late 1960's....
"Regrets, I've had a few;
But then again, to few to mention.
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption.
I planned each charted course;
Each careful step along the byway,
And more, much more than this,
I did it my way."
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
A Thin Line
Since 2014 is winding down, I've decided to once again break a resolution made many months ago.
It has been so long that I do not remember exactly what it was, but I believe it had something to do with not getting caught up in the messiness of the world.
But this thing in Ferguson, Missouri has me perplexed....
I will not go over all the details. I think anyone who has even briefly walked past a newscast or read a newspaper, or been on some social media site knows the story....or stories.
The governor of the "show me" state has already declared a state of emergency waiting for the outcome of whether or not the policeman involved will go to trial. The reports say regardless of the decision, rioting is expected. The local businesses are already boarding up their store windows and doors while still trying to do, or stay, in business.
I ran across an article posted by Gateway Pundit that stated "the Justice for Mike Brown Ferguson protest group released its list of potential targets following the decision by the St. Louis County Courthouse on the Mike Brown case."
This list has 70 targets of potential action. Seven of the names on the list are hospitals. Some are churches. The art museum is on the list, as well as shopping centers and the Lambert Airport.
At the end of the article there is a quote. It does not give the name of the person who said it, but this is how it reads, "Rioting and looting are the tools of those without a voice. The rioting and looting, while I didn't participate in it, was necessary. Without it we would not be standing here today."
Let me see if I understand this. If something makes me mad, I have the right to go into my local businesses, the places that actually help make my community a community, and trash their establishment. Also, while I'm there, I can take whatever I please. It may be a big screen TV or ten pairs of expensive shoes, but I'm mad and I have no other way, or means, to get my point across. I can burn, loot, pilfer to my heart's delight and further more, I'm not going to help clean up the mess.
A thin line between love and hate? This is a thin line between ignorance and downright stupidity and the line is just about obliterated to the point that one is indistinguishable from the other.
Regardless of the decision, what would happen if the people were silent? What would happen if they simply cried tears of joy or sorrow, went home, picked up the pieces and said, "let's not let this happen again. Let's do something that will bring about a change, a change for the better"?
Sound 'pie in the sky' to you? Fine. Please don't get upset then if one of the business owners, hospitals, churches, museums or any on the list of 70 feels the need to protect their business, or themselves.
It has been so long that I do not remember exactly what it was, but I believe it had something to do with not getting caught up in the messiness of the world.
But this thing in Ferguson, Missouri has me perplexed....
I will not go over all the details. I think anyone who has even briefly walked past a newscast or read a newspaper, or been on some social media site knows the story....or stories.
The governor of the "show me" state has already declared a state of emergency waiting for the outcome of whether or not the policeman involved will go to trial. The reports say regardless of the decision, rioting is expected. The local businesses are already boarding up their store windows and doors while still trying to do, or stay, in business.
I ran across an article posted by Gateway Pundit that stated "the Justice for Mike Brown Ferguson protest group released its list of potential targets following the decision by the St. Louis County Courthouse on the Mike Brown case."
This list has 70 targets of potential action. Seven of the names on the list are hospitals. Some are churches. The art museum is on the list, as well as shopping centers and the Lambert Airport.
At the end of the article there is a quote. It does not give the name of the person who said it, but this is how it reads, "Rioting and looting are the tools of those without a voice. The rioting and looting, while I didn't participate in it, was necessary. Without it we would not be standing here today."
Let me see if I understand this. If something makes me mad, I have the right to go into my local businesses, the places that actually help make my community a community, and trash their establishment. Also, while I'm there, I can take whatever I please. It may be a big screen TV or ten pairs of expensive shoes, but I'm mad and I have no other way, or means, to get my point across. I can burn, loot, pilfer to my heart's delight and further more, I'm not going to help clean up the mess.
A thin line between love and hate? This is a thin line between ignorance and downright stupidity and the line is just about obliterated to the point that one is indistinguishable from the other.
Regardless of the decision, what would happen if the people were silent? What would happen if they simply cried tears of joy or sorrow, went home, picked up the pieces and said, "let's not let this happen again. Let's do something that will bring about a change, a change for the better"?
Sound 'pie in the sky' to you? Fine. Please don't get upset then if one of the business owners, hospitals, churches, museums or any on the list of 70 feels the need to protect their business, or themselves.
Monday, November 17, 2014
Ridin' In Style
Allow me to introduce you to Mirge. Mirge is my car. She used to be called Mirage, but the 'r' fell off, so we just call her Mirge.
She is an absolutely no frills vehicle. No automatic windows or door locks, no cruise control, a simple AM/FM radio. She does have heat and she does have AC, both of which work quite nicely. Mirge has a ton of miles on her, over 180K, but she still purrs up and down the road and gets nearly 30 mpg.
The first time my grandkids rode in Mirge, they had no idea how to roll down the windows.
When we first purchased Mirge, she was a business car, we needed a way to get a driver from point A to point B without a lot of fuel expense. At that time she was known as Ol' Smokey. Whoever owned her before must have smoked three packs of cigarettes a day and never cracked a window. Maybe they were young and didn't know what the window cranks were for.
Mirge still stinks, but after the initial use of the heater, you kind of get used to the smell.
The only problem Mirge has is one front tire. It loses air. Not all the time though. It may stay up and intact for months on end and the one day you don't bother to check it, it will be going thumpity thumpity about two blocks up the street. This tire has been checked, balanced, rotated and what ever else needs to be done to a tire. It does not have a hole in it and the valve stem is not the culprit. It is just Mirge's way of being mysteriously finicky.
The other day I needed to travel about an hour away from home. Since a recent arctic vortex had made the temperatures much colder than the norm, I decided that the possibility of having to put the never used spare tire in Mirge's trunk on, if the tire decided that was the day it would go flat, did not sound appealing. Especially if it happened on the interstate with cars whipping by me at 70 plus miles per hour. Having this cautionary vision, I asked my oldest daughter if I could borrow her vehicle.
Her vehicle is much newer than Mirge and has all the amenities that most new models offer. The first thing I learned was that her SUV, crossover, or whatever it's called, sits much higher off the ground than Mirge. I failed to raise my leg high enough to clear the floor board and went tumbling into the front seat. As my arm load of goodies flew into the passenger seat, I was extremely thankful I was still in their driveway, hopefully no one saw my graceful fail.
I sat in the driveway for some time, trying to figure out how to move the seat forward. At least adjusting the rearview mirror was an easy task.
It only took me 7 miles to figure out how to set the cruise control and another two miles to change the radio station. I discovered there was no play in the steering wheel so I kept my hands at the strategic 10 and 2 spot on the wheel.
When I arrived at my destination, I made sure to take the keys out of the ignition. I always leave them in a cubby hole in Mirge and never lock the door, if someone took her, they would bring her back. Clutching the keys with a death grip, for fear the doors might lock before I even got out of the seat, I exited the vehicle, shut the door and pressed the little button on the key fob that had a picture of a locked padlock on it. The doors locks clicked. I pressed it again and the horn honked. Oh, I do love that feature! I thought about doing that a couple of more times, but the parking lot was full and I thought someone might think I'd lost my marbles.
It was an enjoyable ride and someday, in the near future, I'm going to retire Mirge for a newer model. I will keep her though, because it is always fun to see the look of panic come across my oldest grandson's face when I tell him Mirge could be his first car.
But for now, Mirge and I will continue to putsy up and down the street.
She is an absolutely no frills vehicle. No automatic windows or door locks, no cruise control, a simple AM/FM radio. She does have heat and she does have AC, both of which work quite nicely. Mirge has a ton of miles on her, over 180K, but she still purrs up and down the road and gets nearly 30 mpg.
The first time my grandkids rode in Mirge, they had no idea how to roll down the windows.
When we first purchased Mirge, she was a business car, we needed a way to get a driver from point A to point B without a lot of fuel expense. At that time she was known as Ol' Smokey. Whoever owned her before must have smoked three packs of cigarettes a day and never cracked a window. Maybe they were young and didn't know what the window cranks were for.
Mirge still stinks, but after the initial use of the heater, you kind of get used to the smell.
The only problem Mirge has is one front tire. It loses air. Not all the time though. It may stay up and intact for months on end and the one day you don't bother to check it, it will be going thumpity thumpity about two blocks up the street. This tire has been checked, balanced, rotated and what ever else needs to be done to a tire. It does not have a hole in it and the valve stem is not the culprit. It is just Mirge's way of being mysteriously finicky.
The other day I needed to travel about an hour away from home. Since a recent arctic vortex had made the temperatures much colder than the norm, I decided that the possibility of having to put the never used spare tire in Mirge's trunk on, if the tire decided that was the day it would go flat, did not sound appealing. Especially if it happened on the interstate with cars whipping by me at 70 plus miles per hour. Having this cautionary vision, I asked my oldest daughter if I could borrow her vehicle.
Her vehicle is much newer than Mirge and has all the amenities that most new models offer. The first thing I learned was that her SUV, crossover, or whatever it's called, sits much higher off the ground than Mirge. I failed to raise my leg high enough to clear the floor board and went tumbling into the front seat. As my arm load of goodies flew into the passenger seat, I was extremely thankful I was still in their driveway, hopefully no one saw my graceful fail.
I sat in the driveway for some time, trying to figure out how to move the seat forward. At least adjusting the rearview mirror was an easy task.
It only took me 7 miles to figure out how to set the cruise control and another two miles to change the radio station. I discovered there was no play in the steering wheel so I kept my hands at the strategic 10 and 2 spot on the wheel.
When I arrived at my destination, I made sure to take the keys out of the ignition. I always leave them in a cubby hole in Mirge and never lock the door, if someone took her, they would bring her back. Clutching the keys with a death grip, for fear the doors might lock before I even got out of the seat, I exited the vehicle, shut the door and pressed the little button on the key fob that had a picture of a locked padlock on it. The doors locks clicked. I pressed it again and the horn honked. Oh, I do love that feature! I thought about doing that a couple of more times, but the parking lot was full and I thought someone might think I'd lost my marbles.
It was an enjoyable ride and someday, in the near future, I'm going to retire Mirge for a newer model. I will keep her though, because it is always fun to see the look of panic come across my oldest grandson's face when I tell him Mirge could be his first car.
But for now, Mirge and I will continue to putsy up and down the street.
Friday, November 14, 2014
The Week In Review
Today is Friday, November 14, 2014. On Monday of this week it was 68 degrees. This morning it was 15.
On Monday I learned a valuable lesson. After holding a leaf blower in your dominant hand, for two hours, it is not a good idea to reward yourself with a cold brewsky directly afterwards. The reason for this is because your dominant hand will still be vibrating from the two hour blower fiasco and you will waste above mentioned brewsky because it will be going everywhere except in your mouth. This side effect lingers for quite some time, it is also not wise to apply mascara.
The desk is clean and the ocean of paperwork completed. Most all of the envelopes even got mailed. Life is good.
After running a few errands and being in a happy, bubbly, chat everyone up I happened to run into mood, I noticed after I returned home that this was the one day I had not fixed my hair, nor bothered to comb it. At least there was not a pair of underwear stuck to the back of my hoodie, fresh from the clothes dryer.
There would be a lot of unwasted paper if there was a law forbidding junk mail.......but it is better than receiving bills.
Giving two young children a recent toy catalog, that arrived in the a fore mentioned junk mail, is a great way to pass the time. Arming them with ink pens, it is also a good way to get gift ideas. There is many a carefully crafted four year old's A by many items. She even went through it a second time, in case she missed something.......she didn't.
Finally, if you are feeling down or just having a not so great day, go to Youtube. In the search bar type in "birds dancing to music". You will not be disappointed and guaranteed to put a smile on your face.
On Monday I learned a valuable lesson. After holding a leaf blower in your dominant hand, for two hours, it is not a good idea to reward yourself with a cold brewsky directly afterwards. The reason for this is because your dominant hand will still be vibrating from the two hour blower fiasco and you will waste above mentioned brewsky because it will be going everywhere except in your mouth. This side effect lingers for quite some time, it is also not wise to apply mascara.
The desk is clean and the ocean of paperwork completed. Most all of the envelopes even got mailed. Life is good.
After running a few errands and being in a happy, bubbly, chat everyone up I happened to run into mood, I noticed after I returned home that this was the one day I had not fixed my hair, nor bothered to comb it. At least there was not a pair of underwear stuck to the back of my hoodie, fresh from the clothes dryer.
There would be a lot of unwasted paper if there was a law forbidding junk mail.......but it is better than receiving bills.
Giving two young children a recent toy catalog, that arrived in the a fore mentioned junk mail, is a great way to pass the time. Arming them with ink pens, it is also a good way to get gift ideas. There is many a carefully crafted four year old's A by many items. She even went through it a second time, in case she missed something.......she didn't.
Finally, if you are feeling down or just having a not so great day, go to Youtube. In the search bar type in "birds dancing to music". You will not be disappointed and guaranteed to put a smile on your face.
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Playing With Pods
It was in the newspaper and all over the social media sites. Thousands of children have been treated for ingesting a common household product......laundry detergent.
The laundry detergent in these cases is the kind that is packaged in a 'pod'. A clear membrane that dissolves when it comes in contact with liquid.......or saliva. Many of these pods contain brightly colored liquids on one side and powdered detergent on the other. The colorful side is usually in a swirl pattern of two colors. This must make the dirty laundry very excited when placed in the washing machine with such sexy soap.
I understand that kids will be kids. I'm reminded of the time when Blanche was in high school and had a friend over. For some reason they thought it a grand idea to play pitch and catch in the house.....with a stick of butter. It was all fun and games until one long overthrow of the butter stick landed on Mother's new rug. I thought it was hysterically funny.....Mother...well,... not so much.
Back to the pods. As I read the article, I could not keep a thought in the back of my mind from raising its babbling head. Where in the world were these people keeping their laundry detergent pods?
Most new parents, and even those who have been around the block a time or two, learn early on that household cleaners and such belong either up high, out of reach, or in a locked cabinet.
The manufacturers of the pods have come under fire for all these accidents. Some have taken measures to help make the pods safer for children...........Excuse me?
The last I knew, very few children do the laundry, especially those who are not even a year old. These things are not toys! They are laundry detergent!
One grandmother gave a nine month old child a pod because she thought it was a teething apparatus. Again, the question is raising. Did they keep the pods on the kitchen table? Are they so pretty that parents are displaying them in a bowl, like a bunch of fruit? Maybe they didn't have a table to eat off of and just use the washer and dryer as a multi-tasking piece of furniture. The pods must sit right between the salt and pepper.
Perhaps adults are using the pods as a focal point for meditation, spinning them while focusing on the bright swirling colors, then forgetting to put them up out of reach, because they are so relaxed and stress free.
I think parenting-sense just left the building with Common and Elvis. Someone saw them headed to the laundromat.
The laundry detergent in these cases is the kind that is packaged in a 'pod'. A clear membrane that dissolves when it comes in contact with liquid.......or saliva. Many of these pods contain brightly colored liquids on one side and powdered detergent on the other. The colorful side is usually in a swirl pattern of two colors. This must make the dirty laundry very excited when placed in the washing machine with such sexy soap.
I understand that kids will be kids. I'm reminded of the time when Blanche was in high school and had a friend over. For some reason they thought it a grand idea to play pitch and catch in the house.....with a stick of butter. It was all fun and games until one long overthrow of the butter stick landed on Mother's new rug. I thought it was hysterically funny.....Mother...well,... not so much.
Back to the pods. As I read the article, I could not keep a thought in the back of my mind from raising its babbling head. Where in the world were these people keeping their laundry detergent pods?
Most new parents, and even those who have been around the block a time or two, learn early on that household cleaners and such belong either up high, out of reach, or in a locked cabinet.
The manufacturers of the pods have come under fire for all these accidents. Some have taken measures to help make the pods safer for children...........Excuse me?
The last I knew, very few children do the laundry, especially those who are not even a year old. These things are not toys! They are laundry detergent!
One grandmother gave a nine month old child a pod because she thought it was a teething apparatus. Again, the question is raising. Did they keep the pods on the kitchen table? Are they so pretty that parents are displaying them in a bowl, like a bunch of fruit? Maybe they didn't have a table to eat off of and just use the washer and dryer as a multi-tasking piece of furniture. The pods must sit right between the salt and pepper.
Perhaps adults are using the pods as a focal point for meditation, spinning them while focusing on the bright swirling colors, then forgetting to put them up out of reach, because they are so relaxed and stress free.
I think parenting-sense just left the building with Common and Elvis. Someone saw them headed to the laundromat.
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
The Product Review
"It ain't easy being green" Kermit the Frog
I'm all about saving the planet. I try to do my best to leave a small footprint behind. I do not buy into the global warming theory, which has been conveniently changed to climate change, but I will agree that the weather is a bit different than when I was a kid. Not that I lived during the Ice Age, although my grandchildren may beg to differ.
One day, while shopping in the place that put most small town businesses out of business, I came across a "green" product. It was automatic dishwasher gel, guaranteed to be safe for Mother Earth.
It was a large container, 72 ounces. The price was pretty good too, for that amount, so I bought it.
My review is as follows:
Not only does it not contain anything to harm the planet, it contains nothing to clean the dishes. I truly believe you could brush your teeth with this stuff and suffer no serious side effects.
When using this product, it is necessary to run the dishwasher for at least half of a cycle to make sure that whatever is stuck on the dish is good and waterlogged before ever adding the gel. Then, it is necessary to choose the longest, pot scrubbing, blast the hell out of them cycle the dishwasher has available.
Even after this, there is usually a dish or two that is still dirty.
So, for my final remarks, if it says "green" on the label, you are much better off just washing them by hand. When it takes a weeks worth of shower water plus a couple loads of laundry water to do one load of dishes, the only thing green is the money spent on the next water bill.
I'm all about saving the planet. I try to do my best to leave a small footprint behind. I do not buy into the global warming theory, which has been conveniently changed to climate change, but I will agree that the weather is a bit different than when I was a kid. Not that I lived during the Ice Age, although my grandchildren may beg to differ.
One day, while shopping in the place that put most small town businesses out of business, I came across a "green" product. It was automatic dishwasher gel, guaranteed to be safe for Mother Earth.
It was a large container, 72 ounces. The price was pretty good too, for that amount, so I bought it.
My review is as follows:
Not only does it not contain anything to harm the planet, it contains nothing to clean the dishes. I truly believe you could brush your teeth with this stuff and suffer no serious side effects.
When using this product, it is necessary to run the dishwasher for at least half of a cycle to make sure that whatever is stuck on the dish is good and waterlogged before ever adding the gel. Then, it is necessary to choose the longest, pot scrubbing, blast the hell out of them cycle the dishwasher has available.
Even after this, there is usually a dish or two that is still dirty.
So, for my final remarks, if it says "green" on the label, you are much better off just washing them by hand. When it takes a weeks worth of shower water plus a couple loads of laundry water to do one load of dishes, the only thing green is the money spent on the next water bill.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Thank You
Today, in the USA, it is Veteran's Day.
Scrolling through Facebook, there are many, many pictures of service men and woman posted by family and friends.
Looking at these pictures, I'm struck by how young they all were, when they decided to serve. Eighteen may be the age of legality, but eighteen is still just a child.
Thank you for being so brave. It must have been hard to leave. For some it was probably the first time you were ever away from home.
Thank you for making the decision that you were willing to put your life on the line, for duty and for honor, because you believed in your country.
Thank you for being able to fly our colors any time and anywhere on this soil.
Thank you for your sacrifice. Some did not make it home and those who had to leave their fallen comrade had to dig deep to find that courage.
Thank you for the opportunity to watch our children and grandchildren play out side, ride their bikes, take walks with friends, all without fear.
From a woman's point of view, thank you for the freedoms we so take for granted. Thank you for the opportunity to dress as we wish, drive a vehicle by ourselves, choose an education if we so desire, start a business, run for office, marry our soul mate, vote, write, publicly speak out, all without a thought of retaliation.
To the Army, Navy, Air Force and Marines, THANK YOU from the bottom of our hearts.
Scrolling through Facebook, there are many, many pictures of service men and woman posted by family and friends.
Looking at these pictures, I'm struck by how young they all were, when they decided to serve. Eighteen may be the age of legality, but eighteen is still just a child.
Thank you for being so brave. It must have been hard to leave. For some it was probably the first time you were ever away from home.
Thank you for making the decision that you were willing to put your life on the line, for duty and for honor, because you believed in your country.
Thank you for being able to fly our colors any time and anywhere on this soil.
Thank you for your sacrifice. Some did not make it home and those who had to leave their fallen comrade had to dig deep to find that courage.
Thank you for the opportunity to watch our children and grandchildren play out side, ride their bikes, take walks with friends, all without fear.
From a woman's point of view, thank you for the freedoms we so take for granted. Thank you for the opportunity to dress as we wish, drive a vehicle by ourselves, choose an education if we so desire, start a business, run for office, marry our soul mate, vote, write, publicly speak out, all without a thought of retaliation.
To the Army, Navy, Air Force and Marines, THANK YOU from the bottom of our hearts.
Monday, November 10, 2014
Inspired Procrastination
What is inspiration? It can come in many forms.
A book can inspire. Sometimes inspiration comes in dreams or just a thought, perhaps from somewhere on high.
People can inspire. A good word from a friend, maybe even something as simple as a smile from a stranger.
Even procrastination can be inspiring.
The top of my desk has not been seen for nearly a month. Stacks of paper, bills and stuff has accumulated into a small mountain range.
Each time I stroll past it, I hear small, tiny, squeaky voices. The voices say things like, "Please! Do something with me!", or "pay me, pay me!". Once I'm sure I heard something like, "Help! I'm drowning!"
With my inspired procrastination I have accomplished many things. Several loads of laundry have been washed, dried, folded and even carried upstairs. The neighbors leaves were blown into a pile, nearly a block long. It was windy that day and they burnt quickly and to perfection. The vacuum has been used.....twice.
Yesterday I was so procrastinatly inspired, I washed all the kitchen windows.....inside and out.....even the screens.....even the area between the windows and the screens. They look very nice, it is no longer foggy in the mornings.
Even my business has been helped by all this inspired procrastination. New customers and new ideas have been rolling in. That is a good thing.....even if it does help to add to the ever growing, nearly snow capped mountains.
This morning I did it. I cleaned off the desk. It looks rather nice, there was not even any room for the dust to light. It is most refreshing to walk by and see that the mountain range is gone, a thing of the past.
It did not take nearly as long as I thought it would. I simply picked up all the stacks and piles, one at a time, and carried them to the island in the kitchen. It is much bigger than my desktop so now the mountains look more like an ocean....a lovely sea of white, with a tinge of color showing through the waves.
I will probably take care of it, later today, in case I happen to be inspired to cook something.
Let's see.....how many coupons do I have in order to get a free pizza?
A book can inspire. Sometimes inspiration comes in dreams or just a thought, perhaps from somewhere on high.
People can inspire. A good word from a friend, maybe even something as simple as a smile from a stranger.
Even procrastination can be inspiring.
The top of my desk has not been seen for nearly a month. Stacks of paper, bills and stuff has accumulated into a small mountain range.
Each time I stroll past it, I hear small, tiny, squeaky voices. The voices say things like, "Please! Do something with me!", or "pay me, pay me!". Once I'm sure I heard something like, "Help! I'm drowning!"
With my inspired procrastination I have accomplished many things. Several loads of laundry have been washed, dried, folded and even carried upstairs. The neighbors leaves were blown into a pile, nearly a block long. It was windy that day and they burnt quickly and to perfection. The vacuum has been used.....twice.
Yesterday I was so procrastinatly inspired, I washed all the kitchen windows.....inside and out.....even the screens.....even the area between the windows and the screens. They look very nice, it is no longer foggy in the mornings.
Even my business has been helped by all this inspired procrastination. New customers and new ideas have been rolling in. That is a good thing.....even if it does help to add to the ever growing, nearly snow capped mountains.
This morning I did it. I cleaned off the desk. It looks rather nice, there was not even any room for the dust to light. It is most refreshing to walk by and see that the mountain range is gone, a thing of the past.
It did not take nearly as long as I thought it would. I simply picked up all the stacks and piles, one at a time, and carried them to the island in the kitchen. It is much bigger than my desktop so now the mountains look more like an ocean....a lovely sea of white, with a tinge of color showing through the waves.
I will probably take care of it, later today, in case I happen to be inspired to cook something.
Let's see.....how many coupons do I have in order to get a free pizza?
Friday, November 7, 2014
The Picture
"A picture is worth a thousand words"
Exact origin uncertain, early 1900's
The story, that was told to me, about this picture is as follows:
The person who took the picture was attending the funeral service of a young child. While at the cemetery, the person noticed the sky was beginning to darken, with large black clouds rolling in. The person raised their camera and took a picture. It wasn't until afterwards, when the picture was developed, that they noticed what looked like the image of a robed figure, with possibly the image of a small child under the figures' arm.
This picture was given to me by a friend. This friend was grieving the recent loss of his own child, trying so hard to come to terms with what life had dealt. The picture gave him hope, gave him comfort.
May it do the same for you.
Thursday, November 6, 2014
In The Kitchen With Maw
They called her Maw. Maw Troutwein. I do not know what her first name was. If she was alive today she would probably be somewhere around 130, or so, years old, maybe older.
I never knew her. She was gone before I was born, but being a late in life child and having two WAY older sisters, they remember her. Maw wasn't family, at least not blood family, she was a mother in law to one of our father's older sisters. When you are a kid, blood ties really don't matter, if you are a "maw" to someone else, you can be anybody's "maw".
One of my favorite stories of Maw Troutwein was her kitchen table. She always had a variety of 'eats' on the table. These goodies could range from cake, cookies, butter, cream and some things unrecognizable. These items were always on the table and when the meal was over, she would cover them with a cloth.....and they would set there.....until the next meal.....or the next day.....or maybe the day after that. If you showed up between meals, being the gracious hostess, Maw would whip off the cloth and offer whatever lay beneath. My sisters always said they politely refused to partake.
This story reminds me of when Mother would talk about digging cooked sausage patties, that had been covered in lard, out of a crock, that was in the cellar, all winter. Or taking the leg of hog out of the shed, that had been packed in salt, when it was fresh off the porker, and wrapped in newspapers. She would say that after the mold was scraped off, there would be a nice cured ham. She also said that sometimes the mold had no end and that ham would have been considered a loss.
Maw, or any of her family that I'm aware of, didn't die of food poisoning....neither did Mother.
A young 20 something friend of mine jokingly told me she would never eat at my house. Well.....I think she was joking. The reason for this was because I did not see anything wrong with food, that had been cooked, sitting out for a while. We were discussing the hamburgers she had just cooked on a grill. There were several left and she said she would feed them to the dog because they would not be fit to eat. We enjoyed a nice banter about this and I explained that I believed they would be fine. She told me that her generation had been told differently and that information alone made her generation believe they would get sick if they were to eat it.
I've pondered her statement for some time. Belief is a powerful thing. Not that I would want to eat the tuna salad or deviled eggs, that have set on the picnic table on a hot sunny day, for an hour, but it seems a shame to waste food.
Different strokes for different folks. For now, I'm going to head back to the kitchen and bag up all the sausage and bacon I cooked this morning.
I will plead the fifth on whether or not I have eaten a piece of pizza.... that has set in the box.... on the stove..... all night long.
I never knew her. She was gone before I was born, but being a late in life child and having two WAY older sisters, they remember her. Maw wasn't family, at least not blood family, she was a mother in law to one of our father's older sisters. When you are a kid, blood ties really don't matter, if you are a "maw" to someone else, you can be anybody's "maw".
One of my favorite stories of Maw Troutwein was her kitchen table. She always had a variety of 'eats' on the table. These goodies could range from cake, cookies, butter, cream and some things unrecognizable. These items were always on the table and when the meal was over, she would cover them with a cloth.....and they would set there.....until the next meal.....or the next day.....or maybe the day after that. If you showed up between meals, being the gracious hostess, Maw would whip off the cloth and offer whatever lay beneath. My sisters always said they politely refused to partake.
This story reminds me of when Mother would talk about digging cooked sausage patties, that had been covered in lard, out of a crock, that was in the cellar, all winter. Or taking the leg of hog out of the shed, that had been packed in salt, when it was fresh off the porker, and wrapped in newspapers. She would say that after the mold was scraped off, there would be a nice cured ham. She also said that sometimes the mold had no end and that ham would have been considered a loss.
Maw, or any of her family that I'm aware of, didn't die of food poisoning....neither did Mother.
A young 20 something friend of mine jokingly told me she would never eat at my house. Well.....I think she was joking. The reason for this was because I did not see anything wrong with food, that had been cooked, sitting out for a while. We were discussing the hamburgers she had just cooked on a grill. There were several left and she said she would feed them to the dog because they would not be fit to eat. We enjoyed a nice banter about this and I explained that I believed they would be fine. She told me that her generation had been told differently and that information alone made her generation believe they would get sick if they were to eat it.
I've pondered her statement for some time. Belief is a powerful thing. Not that I would want to eat the tuna salad or deviled eggs, that have set on the picnic table on a hot sunny day, for an hour, but it seems a shame to waste food.
Different strokes for different folks. For now, I'm going to head back to the kitchen and bag up all the sausage and bacon I cooked this morning.
I will plead the fifth on whether or not I have eaten a piece of pizza.... that has set in the box.... on the stove..... all night long.
Monday, November 3, 2014
And Then There Were Seven
It's official. My 32 year old daughter is a grandmother. Now before you get yourself in an uproar, wondering what part of the country we are from and lamenting, "Oh! The shame of it all!", she is a dog grandmother.
Their beloved 3 year old Jack Russel terrier, Josie, had her first litter of puppies.
The gestation period for this small breed of dog is short, 62 days. That doesn't leave much time for picking out the nursery colors.
The entire family had been on pins and needles, waiting for this blessed event. My daughter had an out of town business meeting scheduled during the proposed due date and figured it would happen while she was gone. It did, but in the long run, it was probably just as well that she missed it.
As instructed, I stopped in to check on Josie's condition. I felt sorry for her, she was nearly as wide as she was tall. When she sat and tried to lift a hind leg, she would roll over onto her back, licking mission unaccomplished. She looked like Humpty Dumpty.
On this particular morning, she did not greet me. I found her in her kennel, door open, but she wasn't coming out. I trotted down the stairs to my son in law's office and told him the time was drawing near. Much activity ensued from this point forward.
One corner of the toy room had been cleaned out and they had brought in a birthing/whelping box, large enough to accommodate a Great Dane......maybe two. My son in law removed Josie from her small, safe, blanket filled kennel, shut its door and placed her into the giant box. She was not impressed, but since it was surrounded by child restraint gates and chairs, she had no choice but to stay in it. Deciding it was probably going to be awhile before any action, I left.
Later in the afternoon, while I was in a nearby village, running some errands, I got the phone call. "I think your daughter's water just broke!".....my son in law's exact words. I assured him I was on my way.
When I arrived at the house, the first pup had already been born. I was shocked at the size of this newborn puppy, I was expecting something like mouse size. I looked around the room. There were piles of newspapers, stacks of clean towels. I asked where the boiling water was.
Most new mothers are whacked on the head with the Mother Wand from the moment of birth. Josie was no exception. She began the licking and gnawing process as if she had done this many times before. I thought about how wonderful it was, that animals usually know just what to do. I also thought about how wonderful it was that we humans lack the licking and gnawing instinct.
It was about this time that their home turned into Grand Central Station. There was an endless stream of neighbors, children, friends, family and anyone who may have been driving by at the moment, filing in to see the new arrivals. This was when I knew it was a good thing that my daughter was out of town. Believe me, the Queen of Hearts would have had somebody's head.....on a platter.
Somewhere around 7 o'clock in the evening, the 7th pup was born, 3 females and 4 males. Josie was exhausted, the pups were well and accounted for. Even the smallest, already dubbed Runtly, was doing fine.
My human grandsons are going to have a hard time letting these puppies go to new homes. Especially the oldest. He will have walked through the door into teen-hood before the pups will be ready to leave. He spends a lot of time, sitting along side of the box, IN the box, holding and talking to these seven little wonders.
If you are unfamiliar with this particular breed of dog, let's just say they have a lot of boing and bounce. I figure in about 4 to 5 weeks it will be like living under roof with a small herd of pygmy goats. Maybe it won't be so hard to see them go.
Their beloved 3 year old Jack Russel terrier, Josie, had her first litter of puppies.
The gestation period for this small breed of dog is short, 62 days. That doesn't leave much time for picking out the nursery colors.
The entire family had been on pins and needles, waiting for this blessed event. My daughter had an out of town business meeting scheduled during the proposed due date and figured it would happen while she was gone. It did, but in the long run, it was probably just as well that she missed it.
As instructed, I stopped in to check on Josie's condition. I felt sorry for her, she was nearly as wide as she was tall. When she sat and tried to lift a hind leg, she would roll over onto her back, licking mission unaccomplished. She looked like Humpty Dumpty.
On this particular morning, she did not greet me. I found her in her kennel, door open, but she wasn't coming out. I trotted down the stairs to my son in law's office and told him the time was drawing near. Much activity ensued from this point forward.
One corner of the toy room had been cleaned out and they had brought in a birthing/whelping box, large enough to accommodate a Great Dane......maybe two. My son in law removed Josie from her small, safe, blanket filled kennel, shut its door and placed her into the giant box. She was not impressed, but since it was surrounded by child restraint gates and chairs, she had no choice but to stay in it. Deciding it was probably going to be awhile before any action, I left.
Later in the afternoon, while I was in a nearby village, running some errands, I got the phone call. "I think your daughter's water just broke!".....my son in law's exact words. I assured him I was on my way.
When I arrived at the house, the first pup had already been born. I was shocked at the size of this newborn puppy, I was expecting something like mouse size. I looked around the room. There were piles of newspapers, stacks of clean towels. I asked where the boiling water was.
Most new mothers are whacked on the head with the Mother Wand from the moment of birth. Josie was no exception. She began the licking and gnawing process as if she had done this many times before. I thought about how wonderful it was, that animals usually know just what to do. I also thought about how wonderful it was that we humans lack the licking and gnawing instinct.
It was about this time that their home turned into Grand Central Station. There was an endless stream of neighbors, children, friends, family and anyone who may have been driving by at the moment, filing in to see the new arrivals. This was when I knew it was a good thing that my daughter was out of town. Believe me, the Queen of Hearts would have had somebody's head.....on a platter.
Somewhere around 7 o'clock in the evening, the 7th pup was born, 3 females and 4 males. Josie was exhausted, the pups were well and accounted for. Even the smallest, already dubbed Runtly, was doing fine.
My human grandsons are going to have a hard time letting these puppies go to new homes. Especially the oldest. He will have walked through the door into teen-hood before the pups will be ready to leave. He spends a lot of time, sitting along side of the box, IN the box, holding and talking to these seven little wonders.
If you are unfamiliar with this particular breed of dog, let's just say they have a lot of boing and bounce. I figure in about 4 to 5 weeks it will be like living under roof with a small herd of pygmy goats. Maybe it won't be so hard to see them go.
Thursday, October 30, 2014
Just One More Thought
More thoughts on thoughts, at least for now, and then I'm going to go find my happy, silly self.
There is a lot of focus on hate, even to the point of having to make anti-hate laws. Making laws will never change the way people think, it doesn't work that way.
Think of all the things we hate. Some hate cold weather. Some hate differences they do not understand. We hate the neighbor whose yard is an eyesore. We hate wars. We hate to hear bad news, unless it is about the above mentioned neighbor. We hate disease, especially the big C. We hate this and we hate that.
What happens with all that hate floating around? I believe it fuels the fire.
Using a light/dark analogy, look at it this way. When we have good, happy, love filled thoughts, we can place a white hat on those thoughts. Those kind of thoughts are bathed in white light. But, when we have bad, hate filled thoughts, the bad guys in the black hats, there is a darkness that we harbor and attract.
When we say we hate disease, such as cancer, which we think of as dark, black and ugly, are we fueling that darkness with the amount of hate we give it? Does it feed off of that hate? What would happen if we embraced it with thoughts of love?
God is referred to many times as light. The light of the world, a light for our path. If we were to think of ourselves as being encircled in the bright white light of the love of God at all times, would there be any room for darkness?
The darkness of the blackest cave can be overcome by the light of a single match. There is no place for darkness to hide in the light of unconditional love.
Shine your light on all things.
There is a lot of focus on hate, even to the point of having to make anti-hate laws. Making laws will never change the way people think, it doesn't work that way.
Think of all the things we hate. Some hate cold weather. Some hate differences they do not understand. We hate the neighbor whose yard is an eyesore. We hate wars. We hate to hear bad news, unless it is about the above mentioned neighbor. We hate disease, especially the big C. We hate this and we hate that.
What happens with all that hate floating around? I believe it fuels the fire.
Using a light/dark analogy, look at it this way. When we have good, happy, love filled thoughts, we can place a white hat on those thoughts. Those kind of thoughts are bathed in white light. But, when we have bad, hate filled thoughts, the bad guys in the black hats, there is a darkness that we harbor and attract.
When we say we hate disease, such as cancer, which we think of as dark, black and ugly, are we fueling that darkness with the amount of hate we give it? Does it feed off of that hate? What would happen if we embraced it with thoughts of love?
God is referred to many times as light. The light of the world, a light for our path. If we were to think of ourselves as being encircled in the bright white light of the love of God at all times, would there be any room for darkness?
The darkness of the blackest cave can be overcome by the light of a single match. There is no place for darkness to hide in the light of unconditional love.
Shine your light on all things.
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Oh Baby, A Whole Lot of Thinkin' Goin' On!
"The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results"
Unknown
A recent book, that has become one of my all time favorites, E Squared by Pam Grout, stated that we have over 6000 thoughts everyday. That is a lot of thinking. You would think that with all those thoughts pouring out into the universe every single day there would be a cornucopia of new ideas saturating the planet.
Unfortunately, about 98% of those thoughts are the exact same thoughts we thought the day before......and the day before.....and the day before that.
The premise of the book is that thoughts are powerful. That they can influence not only our lives, but our surroundings and the lives and surroundings of others. Somewhat like the Law of Attraction. We get what we think about most. For those who scoff at this idea, or call it New Age nonsense, here is another example, that has been around a whole lot longer than anyone reading this: As a man thinketh, in his heart, so is he. Proverbs 23:7
So what are those 5880 thoughts that we repeat each day? Are they a direct reflection of where our lives are at the present moment? Do they help us to repeat them day after day? Are those thoughts getting us to where we want to be? If we constantly think about a lack of something, say money, do we attract that lack into our lives unknowingly? Is there a reason we were told, "Do not worry"?
Consider this. What if we changed the way we think about ourselves and the world as a whole? Could we not only cure, but eradicate disease? Could we think our way out of war? What could the endless possibilities be?
If we could turn off the constant babble in our brains, by a switch located somewhere behind the ear, or maybe just set our brains on a platter for an hour or so, imagine what would happen. Imagine what we would hear. There was a reason the Psalmist wrote: Be still and know that I am God.
Think about that.
Unknown
A recent book, that has become one of my all time favorites, E Squared by Pam Grout, stated that we have over 6000 thoughts everyday. That is a lot of thinking. You would think that with all those thoughts pouring out into the universe every single day there would be a cornucopia of new ideas saturating the planet.
Unfortunately, about 98% of those thoughts are the exact same thoughts we thought the day before......and the day before.....and the day before that.
The premise of the book is that thoughts are powerful. That they can influence not only our lives, but our surroundings and the lives and surroundings of others. Somewhat like the Law of Attraction. We get what we think about most. For those who scoff at this idea, or call it New Age nonsense, here is another example, that has been around a whole lot longer than anyone reading this: As a man thinketh, in his heart, so is he. Proverbs 23:7
So what are those 5880 thoughts that we repeat each day? Are they a direct reflection of where our lives are at the present moment? Do they help us to repeat them day after day? Are those thoughts getting us to where we want to be? If we constantly think about a lack of something, say money, do we attract that lack into our lives unknowingly? Is there a reason we were told, "Do not worry"?
Consider this. What if we changed the way we think about ourselves and the world as a whole? Could we not only cure, but eradicate disease? Could we think our way out of war? What could the endless possibilities be?
If we could turn off the constant babble in our brains, by a switch located somewhere behind the ear, or maybe just set our brains on a platter for an hour or so, imagine what would happen. Imagine what we would hear. There was a reason the Psalmist wrote: Be still and know that I am God.
Think about that.
Monday, October 27, 2014
To Blog or Not To Blog
So far today I have not heard from my proof reader. I have a vision of her throwing spit balls at my picture propped up on the end of her desk.
Maybe she thinks I'm resting. I guess I'm supposed to be resting or taking it easy, but geez, that's really boring.
One day last week, I was the lucky recipient of an out-patient surgery procedure, so yeah, I'm supposed to be sort of resting.
Out patient procedures are the kind where they herd you in and herd you out, in, hopefully, less than a day.
They always like for you to be there early. I think that is because they secretly hide and giggle because they know you will bust your butt to get there on time......so you can wait.
I was fortunate enough to not have anything seriously wrong with me. Of course, I didn't know that the day before so I spent the entire day before feeling sorry for myself and crying. Crying always does such wonderful things for the eyelids, mine always looked like I just climbed out of the ring with Sugar Ray.....and I didn't win.
I had asked the doctor if I could drive myself home after the procedure. I got a big fat NO for an answer. I thought it might be rather fun, who knows where I would have ended up.
My husband and I drove for an hour.....in the fog. I thought about placing a couple of wet tea bags on my eyelids during the ride, to reduce the swelling, but since I could not wear any makeup or fix my hair I figured puffy lids were the least of my worries. I was supposed to bathe with an antibacterial soap too, but I didn't have any. So, I rinsed off with a solution of 3% food grade hydrogen peroxide......I may have been foaming.
Coming out from under anesthesia is always fun. The last time I had a procedure I woke up pain free and talking like a physic woodpecker. All the other patients in the recovery room were moaning and groaning except me, I felt like a million bucks. When whatever I had for pain began to wear off and I had to ask for something, the nurse planted that hypodermic needle in my thigh with a vengeance.....she had listened to me long enough.
This time, I just woke up, no pain, no big deal and not too chatty. But, before the O.R. team put me under, I did sing them one of my birthday ditties. When I started on the second verse, that was the last thing I remembered. I really do think they enjoyed my humor.
And so, I have blogged.
Maybe she thinks I'm resting. I guess I'm supposed to be resting or taking it easy, but geez, that's really boring.
One day last week, I was the lucky recipient of an out-patient surgery procedure, so yeah, I'm supposed to be sort of resting.
Out patient procedures are the kind where they herd you in and herd you out, in, hopefully, less than a day.
They always like for you to be there early. I think that is because they secretly hide and giggle because they know you will bust your butt to get there on time......so you can wait.
I was fortunate enough to not have anything seriously wrong with me. Of course, I didn't know that the day before so I spent the entire day before feeling sorry for myself and crying. Crying always does such wonderful things for the eyelids, mine always looked like I just climbed out of the ring with Sugar Ray.....and I didn't win.
I had asked the doctor if I could drive myself home after the procedure. I got a big fat NO for an answer. I thought it might be rather fun, who knows where I would have ended up.
My husband and I drove for an hour.....in the fog. I thought about placing a couple of wet tea bags on my eyelids during the ride, to reduce the swelling, but since I could not wear any makeup or fix my hair I figured puffy lids were the least of my worries. I was supposed to bathe with an antibacterial soap too, but I didn't have any. So, I rinsed off with a solution of 3% food grade hydrogen peroxide......I may have been foaming.
Coming out from under anesthesia is always fun. The last time I had a procedure I woke up pain free and talking like a physic woodpecker. All the other patients in the recovery room were moaning and groaning except me, I felt like a million bucks. When whatever I had for pain began to wear off and I had to ask for something, the nurse planted that hypodermic needle in my thigh with a vengeance.....she had listened to me long enough.
This time, I just woke up, no pain, no big deal and not too chatty. But, before the O.R. team put me under, I did sing them one of my birthday ditties. When I started on the second verse, that was the last thing I remembered. I really do think they enjoyed my humor.
And so, I have blogged.
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Cobwebs, Lady Bugs & Mud
Today I believe I have walked through 1043 cobwebs. It did not matter if I had walked from the house to the garage in three minute intervals, each time I went, I walked through cobwebs.
During those moments of exploration, I flailed my arms and beat off 1093 lady bugs. OK, so they really are not lady bugs, they are Asian Beetles. Asian Beetles are somebody's great idea to get rid of some other pesty pest in soybeans. They may do what they were brought here to do.....BUT.....come harvest time they are nothing short of a menace. Since they no longer have a soybean plant to cling to, they cling to the doors, windows, and one's self, trying to get inside where it is warm. They stink, they bite and they are just an all around un-useful pest as far as I'm concerned.
If you have ever driven late at night during harvest time, when the temps are still what is considered mild in this part of the country, you have probably experienced windshield slaughter. That is when you have possibly smushed every insect, within a 10 mile radius, on your windshield. If said smeared bugs are allowed to dry on said windshield, it takes nothing less than a putty knife to get them off.
So I'm thinking......why not contact one of the automobile paint places and suggest to them to add cobwebs and bug guts to their paint. Not only will this solve the problem of rust spots on your vehicle, but the body will actually last longer than the engine. This will cut down on landfill space and make steel last umpteen times longer than originally expected.
Now for the mud. It's dang near election time....mid term elections that is. Since we have to make rules and laws for lack of common sense, why not make one that says: "If you can't say anything nice, then don't say anything at all!"
Plead your case. Tell us why we should vote for you. Show us how you will make things better. BUT, whatever you do, do not bring up your opponents dirty laundry!
We all have skeletons in our closet......before too long....someone will be rattling your bones.
During those moments of exploration, I flailed my arms and beat off 1093 lady bugs. OK, so they really are not lady bugs, they are Asian Beetles. Asian Beetles are somebody's great idea to get rid of some other pesty pest in soybeans. They may do what they were brought here to do.....BUT.....come harvest time they are nothing short of a menace. Since they no longer have a soybean plant to cling to, they cling to the doors, windows, and one's self, trying to get inside where it is warm. They stink, they bite and they are just an all around un-useful pest as far as I'm concerned.
If you have ever driven late at night during harvest time, when the temps are still what is considered mild in this part of the country, you have probably experienced windshield slaughter. That is when you have possibly smushed every insect, within a 10 mile radius, on your windshield. If said smeared bugs are allowed to dry on said windshield, it takes nothing less than a putty knife to get them off.
So I'm thinking......why not contact one of the automobile paint places and suggest to them to add cobwebs and bug guts to their paint. Not only will this solve the problem of rust spots on your vehicle, but the body will actually last longer than the engine. This will cut down on landfill space and make steel last umpteen times longer than originally expected.
Now for the mud. It's dang near election time....mid term elections that is. Since we have to make rules and laws for lack of common sense, why not make one that says: "If you can't say anything nice, then don't say anything at all!"
Plead your case. Tell us why we should vote for you. Show us how you will make things better. BUT, whatever you do, do not bring up your opponents dirty laundry!
We all have skeletons in our closet......before too long....someone will be rattling your bones.
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