Whine Flu and other treasures

Okay, who's tired of this Swine Flu business? I am. Big time. I think they ought to just call it Whine Flu because that's all everybody is doing these days. The news media, newspapers, school officials, and the peeps at work are driving me nuts with their freak out about the flu. My hands are raw from all the washing I'm doing and I am exhausted from trying to keep myself 6 feet from everyone. Can we all just quit freaking out already??! Geesh.

The Feds made a raid on our village hall today to check the records on water usage and knowledge of contamination. Our former mayor is hiding out in Florida while his son is left holding the bag. He's not innocent himself, of course, because he served as a trustee in all those let's-poison-the-little-people years. It's funny/not-so-funny to watch them dance now. Television cameras and reporters were camped out today and it is on all the news. I'll bet we even made national news. Go Weirdville!

I'm absolutely swamped at work and I'm forced to work a 5-day week. It's downright exhausting and I'm always amazed at moms who do this regularly. Work sucks--it just gets in the way of all the stuff I want to do. Who thought of this working stuff anyway?

I've been handed this meme this week. (Thanks, Lola) Like I don't have enough to do. Joe is better tonight--thank GOD! I don't think I could have handled another night of making lunches, that ranks right up there with working.

Here goes. I'm not tagging anyone, so if you want to do this one, jump in.

8 things I'm looking forward to:

1. VACATION! I miss my Cumberland Falls family.
2. Warmer weather. Not hot, just warm.
3. Marching band season
4. lying by the pool with a good book while on vacation
5. having both kids in high school this year
6. getting out of Thugs-R-Us Middle School
7. Not having to drop EC cards anymore
8. Having free time to write, post, and visit fav blogs

8 things I did yesterday:

1. Get annoyed with Whine Flu paranoia
2. Where do I begin with Joe and his major back injury
3. stopped at a knitting shop and bought yarn for a sweater
4. kissed the cats
5. laughed
6. bought a microwave oven without really looking at it
7. 4 loads of laundry
8. drove Em to school because the bus passed us by

8 things I wish I could do:

1. Quit cursing
2. lose some weight--like 10 or 15 pounds
3. quit biting my nails
4. publish a book
5. relax in the evenings
6. make the world better for my kids
7. have a lemon drop martini
8. keep that warm feeling from Cumberland Falls in my heart all year

8 shows I watch:

1. Survivor
2. Amazing Race
3. Project Runway
4. Flipping Out with Jeff Lewis (I heart him!)
5. Top Chef
6. Celebrity Apprentice
7. Spongebob
8. Hell's Kitchen (Gordon Ramsay swears more than me!!)

I guess I enjoy "reality" TV, eh?

Hey, did anyone catch the theme of "Smoking Jackets" popping up on certain blogs yesterday?? Like, say, on 5 certain Chicago area blogs???

Joe and his Smoking Jacket

Mr. Funny decided to cook up some jumbalaya for dinner that Merry sent us as a surprise yesterday. It was the beginning of the end.

Sheesh, that was exciting--to get a package chock full of Louisiana goodies on your front porch. Joe was beside himself. Well, we all were beside ourselves. Col and Em grabbed the spicy chips, Joe ran for the red beans and the "Slap ya mama" cajun seasoning. I was all over the pralines and the beignet mix. Hobbes was into the box, and out again. Then in again. Grace just walked away, disgusted at our gushing.

Joe was downright busting to make some of the stuff, so he fired up the Jumbalaya and grabbed some chicken and sausage to throw in. A piece of chicken fell on the floor and he, being Mr. Funny, yells "that's your piece" and reaches to grab it.

That's when God punished him. Yep. God defended my honor and gave Joe a big 'ol wretch in his back when he bent over. He yelped and screamed and fell to the floor. I thought he was kidding and did what I do best--I laughed at him. But he wasn't kidding. Nope. He pulled something good in his back and now he can hardly straighten up. He's looking like a Number 7 permanently, which really isn't such a good look. And he says it hurts.

So, I'm giving him some sympathy until I realize that I have to finish making dinner, tend to his heating pad, go pick Colin up, clean up dinner, take out the garbage to the curb because it it Garbage Night, finish the 3 loads of laundry that I have, and make lunches for tomorrow. Whew. I'm exhausted from just typing it--you should have seen me doing all that! Add in that I had to drive Col's girlfriend home too, stop for gas, hear that the one-year old microwave just died and now I had to take that out the curb (literally, not figuratively for you hip-hoppers out there), and run to Target to buy a new one.

Yeah, great timing there, Joe. Could he have not hurt his back when so much is happening?! Is that too much to ask?

So there he sits on the couch while I'm running around like a fool. He's all propped up with pillows, heating pad on his lower back, looking like he's Hugh Hefner at the Mansion with his smoking jacket on, waiting for the babes to wait on him. I wanted to freakin' kill him. I still do, except he looks like he just wants to die.

The problem isn't that he's hurt, it is the refusal to actually just sit and do nothing until it gets better. He insists on trying to fix the microwave--yeah, good luck with that. He keeps bending over to plug and unplug the darned thing, like it is going to make it magically better. He's hauling the giant extension cord in from the garage and ends up having to crawl on his hands and knees back into the house when his back cramps up again. It is his refusing to SIT and not make this worse. So, I'm having to yell at him to stop whatever he's doing, like he's 3 years old.

I have finally succeeded in forcing him to sit, so sit he does--in that we're-coming-in-for-a-landing-so-please-sit-in-an-upright-position pose.

I'm thinking homeboy isn't going too far from the couch tomorrow, although he doesn't agree. Why do I think I'm gonna have to stay home with him to babysit? Sigh. He's worse than the kids. Kill me now.

A Blog Death

"Did a large procession wave their torches
as my head fell in the basket?
And is everybody dancing on the casket?
Now it's over, I'm dead and I haven't done anything that I want
Or I'm still alive and there's nothing I want to do."

-- "Dead" by They Might be Giants

Um, Elizabeth? Hello?? Where did you go, Elizabeth? I miss Nut in a Nutshell. I do. And so do a lot of other people. I was innocently dropping my EC cards one day and you were no longer there. I clicked and received a message telling me you were gone. And I clicked again, thinking that I was mistaken. Click. Click. Click, again. Same message over and over again. Gone.

Nut in a Nutshell has been removed it said. And I stood there (well, sat there really) with my mouth open, my heart sinking, and my eyes disbelieving.

You shut it down I heard. Left us. Quit blogging. No warning. No good-byes, no "last post", no "Hey, I'm not gonna do this anymore" or "I'm off to Siberia with Raul, my new boyfriend". There was no "Stick it EC!" or "I gotta new job". No "my husband has had enough of my telling stories about him" or "my kids are embarrassed to death by this".

Nope. Nothing. No explanation.

So, now I'm feeling empty. I didn't get the chance to say good-bye or weep over the casket of a dead blog. I didn't get to drive in the funeral procession and blow stop-light after stop-light. I didn't get one of those nifty "funeral" stickers for the windshield of my car or get a free brunch. I didn't get to stand at the hole in the ground and kick dirt with my dress shoes. I didn't get one of those balloons that they let go at funerals now and I didn't get to blow my nose extra loud into my soggy Kleenex. I didn't even get to cry real-obnoxious like and make everyone stare at me. Geesh. I feel cheated.

I feel like a stilted blog lover--one who was left at the altar with no explanation. I just went to read and possibly comment, and I found your site bare. I think there was an empty cupboard there with it's doors left ajar, like you left in a hurry in the middle of the night.

I hope you are okay, Elizabeth. I hope you haven't stumbled upon anything bad or someone is ill. I pray that you are happy, healthy, and leading a normal blog-free life. Free of EC dropping, comment making, and the pressure of posting regularly, if not daily. I hope you are living like normal people do--not the life of a blogger, where every adventure, every word, every look is a possible post.

I imagine you on a sunny beach somewhere, lying in the sun with your little Blue Violet bikini on, cold drink in one hand...........and an extra one in the other. I see Pool Boy slathering lotion on your legs and you, in a giant hat, smiling like the dickens behind those extra-large sunglasses.

I miss you, Elizabeth. And so do others. I miss your blue violet avatar and your witty comments. I miss visiting your site with 2000 plus comments each day and your emails acknowledging mine--even if I was number 2039. I miss stories of those lovely children and I miss the fun. I miss. I miss.

I have a friend who sings "On Eagles Wings" for every dead hamster, fish, snail, bug, cat, etc. that dies in our house. It is a lovely version--a falsetto acapella sung loud and proud, making me cry, not from the beauty, but of the pain in my ears when she sings it. I imagine her today, singing with her head flung back, eyes closed, belting out such ugliness, but yet such beauty, in honor of the blog we all loved.....Nut in a Nutshell.

Good-bye, Nut in a Nutshell. Good-bye, Elizabeth.

( You may leave cards, flowers, donations for Elizabeth in the comment box below. If she doesn't see them, at least we know we have said good-bye in fine form. )

Basket 'O Hobbes

Hobbes Before:
Hobbes After:

I'm thinking homeboy needs a new basket. 'Ol tubby isn't fitting so well in his little kitty basket by the fireplace anymore. It's funny how in just 6 short months, Hobbes has gained like 47 pounds and acts like one of the big cats now. It's downright ridiculous that I actually refer to him as "the little kitty" still.

But as pathetic as that extra-large tummy is, he still has, what we refer to as the "pet shop meow". Hobbes has the puniest, most pathetic meow that I have ever heard. I liken it to the lame meows of kittens who crave to be adopted at the shelter or pet store. I think they secretly practice being extra pathetic so someone will take them home. Hobbes completely mastered his and he still has it to this day. It's just so darned funny to see this moosey cat with a little puny meow coming out of him.

"Such joy in a wee ball 'o fur" -- Irish proverb

Five Pallies at Panera

Whew! Is it Monday already??! What happened to the weekend??? Where did the time go?? Thank Ja, it is finally warm, although this rain is getting me down a bit. If the grass grows any faster, I think we're gonna need to get a cow. But then Joe and the kids will expect fresh milk butter each day--I'm gonna have to rethink that one. Maybe a goat--like Kevin.

Saturday night brought me and the family to The Cell, but nobody told us (and the rest of the 30,000 plus crowd) that the temperature was going to drop 30 degrees in 4 hours. We froze our knuknicks off--whatever those are. Three of us brought coats, but one ultra-cool chicky only wore a hoody and froze her skinny bones. Good thing we made few purchases at the gift shop that we could layer on her bod. She made it through, but just barely. I'm not kidding when I tell you that we literally covered her with the two blankets in the back of the van to revive the color in her hands. Thank goodness I watched "Into Thin Air" about those peeps who died climbing Mt. Everest--I was tapping my inner Sherpa survival skills.

Sunday brought me to Aurora for the First Annual (?) Chicago Bloggers Get-Together. No, not the big expensive, highly touted one scheduled for July--just a little coffee and not-so-homemade cookies and chat one. Five of us gathered for a couple hours of blog chatting and chuckling.

Okay, so I bailed on the clown wig to freak out Lola, but we did share our New Thumbnails and New Toenails together. Megryansmom, AMalaysianAbroad, and SubjectiveSoup just kinda looked at us strangely so I had to explain the whole Toenail story again. It's a lovely story. Yeah.

It was a hoot to be able to talk "blogs" with someone who actually knows what a blog is and doesn't give you that strange far-off, what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about look. We chatted about EC and Today.com. We wondered about Nut in a Nutshell and what happened to Elizabeth. We chatted about meeting Rosie O'Donnell and the blogging lady (Dooce?) on Oprah. We laughed about weird posts and discouraging comments. We chatted and chatted until I had to leave--I promised Joe I'd be home by a certain time so he wouldn't think this bunch of strangers killed me in the Panera Bread parking lot and stuffed me in the trunk of a car. You know, you hear those stories on the news sometimes.

So, no, I wasn't murdered, I had a great time. It was lovely to meet such inspiring bloggers and writers. It was refreshing to meet someone who shares your interest and on some bizarre way--your life through a blog.

Thanks, pallies, for a wonderful day and such a positive experience!

I Heart Zombie Chickens

Man, there is nothing like an award, and I've been getting a load lately. I'm sorry to the pallies, but I'm really bad at taking the time and the blog space to dedicate to receiving and passing on awards. It's not that I don't get a kick out of them, I just am lousy at returning the graciousness, which my mother would bean me for. So, knowing that pallies, please forgive me when I don't always post my thanks here on 'ol Duck and Wheel and I'd understand if you bypass me in award giving.



That said, one of my fav pallies, Chuck, sent me the Zombie Chicken Award this week. This award reads:

"The blogger who receives this award believes in the Tao of the zombie chicken - excellence, grace and persistence in all situations, even in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. These amazing bloggers regularly produce content so remarkable that their readers would brave a raving pack of zombie chickens just to be able to read their inspiring words. As a recipient of this world-renowned award, you now have the task of passing it on to at least 5 other worthy bloggers. Do not risk the wrath of the zombie chickens by choosing unwisely or not choosing at all…"

Crap. That means I'm obligated to pass this on to five other bloggers who exemplify the Zombie Chicken attitude. These are my choices:

1. Casey -- a daily fav
2. Stacie -- a new pally
3. Veronica Lee -- tried and true pally and always cracks me up
4. Pricilla -- my very first goat pally (LOVE that Kevin!)
5. Daisy -- and Harley. Can a cat be a Zombie Chicken??!

Go forth in zombiehood, you chickens! Know that I visit your blogs daily to actually read what you post and enjoy a chuckle.

And you think they're talking strategy

"Hey, do you see what I see?"

"Yeah."

"They're here again?!"

"It's like the second time already and it's not even May yet!"

"No kidding. Joe must be making a fortune at his new job to afford those seats."

"Nah, I'll bet he mooches 'em off a friend."

"Yeah. Or gets them gratus from some lawyer dude. Those are some great seats they got."

"Yeah, almost as good as mine."

"Hope it doesn't rain for them."

"Well, there's a hint of it coming."

"Hey! Look like Lin's getting a cold beer!"

"Looks yummy. Do you know she has a friend who actually suggests that she drink coffee at the game??!"

"NO!"

"She knows better. She's a real fan--bratwurst, cold beer, rope-flavored rope, and her Konerko jersey on."

"I can't wait for the fireworks after the game."

"Yeah, me too."

"Uh, gotta run. The umps are getting impatient"

"Yeah. Me too."

"Uh, Ozzie?"

"Hmmmmm?"

"Go White Sox!"

Field Trip Hell

Woooo Hoooo?!! CardioGirl?!!! Look what Em got--some snappy new Converse. With sea creatures! Aren't they just fabulous? I broke down and got my 40-something year-old feet some bumblebee ones, but I'll save that photo for another day.

My pally, CardioGirl is known for her Converse low-tops--each day she posts a pair for us to admire. So, she kinda started the whole trend of them being the hot item for your tootsies. Thanks, CG, for awakening our feet to such loveliness.

I'm off on a field trip today. Yep, my very last field trip! Hooray! I hate field trips.

I hate the bus. I hate the creepy kids that I have to keep track of. I hate the other field trip moms. I hate the office ladies and their b*tchy attitude when I have to check in. And I hate how little time you actually get to spend at wherever the field trip takes me. And I really, really hate that bus. But I go, and I go with a big giant fake smile on my face. And a cute outfit on because it annoys the crud out of the other field trip moms.

Today's adventure takes us to the lakefront and the Planetarium. I usually like the Planetarium because they have this cool show where you lie back in really comfortable chairs and they light up the faux domed sky above with constellations and stuff. I love to see them light up the various stars and tell the stories of ancient times and beliefs of what the clusters of stars are supposed to mean. Most of the time I don't see the form until they connect the dots and I'm thinking "Where the hell did they come up with that??". But it is relaxing and I don't have to worry that someone has wandered off because I think they lock they doors behind you so nobody escapes during movie time. And it is quiet. And I can probably close my eyes for a second or two. And nobody will know. Except me and now, you.

Problem comes in when the teacher tells me we aren't going to the movie. Crud. Now I'm stuck looking at light-up displays and photos of planets and stars while I'm keeping the third eye poised for escapees. It's not so bad now that the kids are older, but I'm thinking the 8th graders from Thugs-R-Us Middle School are probably back to ditching the chaperone again. (There's only a month left at this school.... for FOREVER! Can you tell that I'm anxious to get out of there?) I'm hoping I just get Em and her friends for my group--I'm used to to their shennanigans, although that stupid giggling stuff really grates on my nerves.

So, after the 40 minute drive into the city, on a school bus (ack!), the 3o minutes of getting off the bus, getting organized, and then finally entering the Planetarium--I figure we'll have about 22 minutes to explore the vast building. That's when we spend another 30 minutes finding everyone again, boarding the bus and heading to the restaurant.

Em says we are going to Rain Forest Cafe for lunch. Give that teacher points for convincing the school board that this is actually educational. Or more fitting--fire that school board for actually allowing these kids to miss yet another day of teaching for a trip to a restaurant that has robotronic animals and waterfalls thinking that could possibly pass as a lesson for today.

I'm sure we'll probably spend more time at the Cafe than at the Planetarium, but who cares? I'll sit with the kids, cracking up about whatever and eat my lunch. It's supposed to be a lovely day--up into the 80's (!!) and we'll be by the lakefront. It sure beats doing laundry and vacuuming on the homefront.

Em was really excited to have me going with on a last trip together.

"Thanks for going, Mom." she says wistfully. "I can't wait--I love the Planetarium and all those plants."

Huh?! I look at her to see if she's joking. She's semi-not joking and I'm freaked out by this straight A, tied for #1 in her class, high honor roll kid.

"Uh, Em? It's the PLANETARIUM we're going to."

"Yeah. Don't they have like plants and flowers and stuff there?"

"No."

"Oh. That's what Hannah said too. She says it's all about planets."

"She's right, Em. Tell me you're kidding me..."

"Not really. But I don't care, I like planets too. What's the plant place called?"

"The Botanic Gardens, Em."

Criminy, it's gonna be a long day.

Me and my underpants are saving the Earth

Earth Day, schmearth day.

Maybe I'm just a tad bit jaded from being poisoned by our water supply for, oh, the last 25 years, but I just wasn't into all the hub-bub that was Earth Day yesterday. I think it's like the Hallmark holidays--a lot of surfacy "I love the Earth", but the day hasn't really made an impact on anyone. Well, maybe movie stars who want more air time, but that's about it. I don't know a single person who did anything different yesterday to save the Earth--just ask the 20 million people alone in their cars, jamming Cicero Avenue on my way to work.

Yeah, I save the Earth as much as, or perhaps more than the average Joe. We compost, I hang my clothes out to dry on line (when and if it ever warms up to actually dry the clothes and not just freeze them solid), and I try to walk and bike a lot of places in the summer. We try to turn down the heat and not use the air conditioner and I have actually priced a water barrel (gasp!). I raise frogs to send out into the world and I actually have a bunch of those little knit bags for our purchases--although they don't work so good when you forget them under the seat of your car.

I think beyond putting our cans in one blue tub and our paper in another, the average person doesn't give a patooey about their carbon footprint, nor do they know what the hell that even means. We drive everywhere and we don't think twice about our output of our daily garbage. We are only Earth conscience as our comfort level dictates, we aren't making major changes if those around us aren't.

Car pool? Are you kidding me? Who wants to work on someone else's schedule?

Forget watering the lawn or washing the car? What???! And let the neighbors see our brown grass and filthy car?

Hand-mowing the lawn without the beloved gas powered mower? Might as well get a goat.

Wash my whites in cold? What??! And not have my whites all bright? People will talk.

Heck, I catch crap because I hang my laundry out. I have one neighbor who has made cracks about that for years. I did the neighborly thing--I strung the line from one telephone pole to the other to antagonize her--it looked like the Flagship Laundry Motherload in my yard! Yeah, I showed her. I hide Joe's underpants in there--nobody has to see the undies. What's the big deal? There are whole communities here who ban clotheslines--now how can that be saving the Earth, eh?

Earth day is a great idea, I remember all that "Save the Earth" stuff in the 70's too. And what happened? We went right back into our ways of consumption in the 80's. Until we see honest changes in our environment, I don't see Mom and Pop down the street making any actual changes in their daily lives. And the current wave of suggestions from the likes of Gwyneth Paltrow aren't realistic, nor are they hitting home. Maybe she and Poprah would be better served selling some of their 7 homes and reducing the size of the places they reside--then tell me how much energy I'm wasting in my tiny abode.

So, I'll continue on with my miniscule and lame attempts at going "green". I'll try to car pool with Laura to work on some days, walk to local stores, and avoid my air conditioner. I'll remember to use my little knit bags and recycle, etc.--you know, all the stuff I'm supposed to do. And when you see my undies flapping in the breeze, just know that I'm doing my part for the Earth and sticking it to the neighbor at the same time.

Holy Bike Pump!

Okay, so I wonder why I'm weird? My birthday raincoat and matching babushka says it all folks. So, what's scarier--the fact that I actually received raincoat for a birthday present? Or the freaky patterned chair holding the rest of the birthday booty? Sigh. This was my life. And my face says it all--WTF?! A raincoat???! And look at the rest of the crowd sitting around watching me try it on while someone took pictures. Who needs to get a life here people?

I remember my childhood as one of creative play and tons of neighbor kids to hang around with. There was always somebody around to do something with, and you didn't have to go far to find something to do. We typically hung with the same kids everyday, but there were those times when you actually had to go out into the Front Yard to find someone to hang with. Moving to the Front Yard was like going to another state for us, and it was sort of frowned upon by the grown-ups. You know, there were cars and stuff---scary times, I tell you. So, when we were really little, we would just hang with the kids on our side of the block.

My brother's best friend, for almost his whole childhood, was our nextdoor neighbor, Petey. No, not Peter or Pete--Petey. And he had a brother, Paulie. I think adding an "ie" or a "y" to the end of your name back then was mandatory, as I remember most kids had that going on--Richie, Evie, Linny, Eddie, Jimmy, and Dickie. Do kids still do that nowadays? 'Cuz I think they should.

Petey was just always around. We would eat dinner and Petey would peek into the window to see if we were done. No sooner would we finish, he was back again. Hanging out in the yard, Petey was hanging with us. If we got out the bikes, Petey would too. If we were building a fort, Petey would dig out Daddy Pete's hammers. He seemed to be a brother of sorts--just always there. So, my brother Steve, Petey, and I would somehow always end up doing stuff in our backyard, just the three of us.

We'd play army, where we would all don army helmets, grab our rifles, and shoot faux Germans and "Japs" back in those politically non-correct days. We would sit in our nail-ridden fort like it was the Taj Mahal. We'd make mud-pies in the ditch behind the house and whip them at the back of the garage. We'd play "Mod Squad" and run around the yard fighting crime. All of this seemed pretty sane, until I tell you about playing "church".

We'd dig in our dress-up hamper that my mom kept stashed with old curtains and bedsheets. Steve would cut a hole in a sheet, put a big cross on the front and throw it over his head. He always got to be the priest, I don't know why. I think he was just bigger than Petey or I, and I guess that makes you the priest.

We'd put a table out and another cross-laden sheet over the top of that. There were cups of water for the wine, and bread.......well, for the bread. Petey and I were always the altar boys, which we didn't seem to mind very much. There was some honor in being the altar boys in those days.

The kicker was our cross for when we entered the "church" and started the procession. We'd take an old bike pump, pull the "t" handle all the way up and hold it in place by keeping one finger on the air spout at the end of the hose. And we would walk, "cross" held high, solemnly up the aisle to the altar.

I don't remember the details of the service, I just mostly remember the air pump cross. Dang! Talk about creative! But it completely cracks me up that we three goofs actually played church. Can you even imagine kids today doing something so stupid?! We actually played church more than once. And we liked it.

Can you see the neighbors watching three kids in a yard playing church?! There's me, acting all holy like the altar boy I wasn't allowed to be. Girls were not allowed to be altar boys back in the day. And there's my brother--Mr. Big Shot Priest.

And the best part? Petey. He went along with the whole thing. He was the altar boy and did altar boy things. He walked solemnly and held the cross high. He just did what we did although he had no idea what was going on.

Petey was Jehovah's Witness.

Almost Hydrangea Season

Can you smell it burning?

Note to Spring: Spring? Where for art thou, Spring?? Why do you evade us so? We love you, Spring. Come back to us. Please.

I'm thinking today, which makes it extra hard to write. I sat down last night and the metaphoric cow was dry. I had nothin'. No good stories, no funny pictures or quips from the kids. No tales from Weirdville. No funny photos from the past. The tank was on empty....and still is. Sigh.

I'm thinking about how great it's gonna be to bring Garrett's popcorn to work today, for a little fun munching with the cube-mates. How, when anyone brings food to work, no matter how bad it is, people will flock to it and eat it. Why? Because it beats working any day. Food is a diversion at work, plain and simple. People at work will eat anything.

I'm thinking about how ridiculous I look with a huge cat scratch across the bridge of my nose this morning. Hobbes decided to play last night when I was helping him with his collar, and swipe--got me on the nose. Yeah, it looks great this morning and no, make-up does not hide it. I'm sorta the mom version of G.I. Joe with that big 'ol scar across his face. I'll bet I scare people at work today with this look. Maybe I can throw my weight around a bit, ask for a raise, demand that someone else do my filing. It will be my ode to Scarface. Gees, I hope nobody calls me that today. That wouldn't be so funny.

I'm thinking about how some people can let their blog go for a day and not fret about a day-old post sitting there, waiting for straggler comments to appear. I just feel so guilty making you people read a post twice, or perhaps not at all. Like this post is going to be entertaining?? Nah, but it counts, doesn't it? How do you deal with writer's block? I typically post a photo, but I'm even struggling with that today.

I'm thinking about how Em went to her first high school band night last night. It was the "welcome to band" at the high school and she went to meet everyone and get introduced to the world of The Marching Astros. It's gonna be really weird to have the kids both be in the same activity for the first time in 17 years. Both will come and go at the same time, be at the same place, and experience the same activity. I sat here looking at Joe last night, who had this weird smirky grin on his face.

"It's gonna be you and me all alone next fall," I say, kinda sad.

"Yeah." he's all weird-smiling. "Yeah, just you and me."

And it kinda creeps me out because I know what he's thinking. Great. I've got a whole Marching Band season with Joe wanting to "do it" because we're alone? Criminy. That's a lot of alone time. I'm thinking maybe too much so, but for some reason, I think Joe's making up for lost time. Sigh. Kill me now.

I'm thinking about all the yard work that needs to be done and the weather just isn't co-operating. The waterfall needs to be restacked, the pond topped off with fresh water, the flagstone moved. I feel like we are at a stand-still with anything out-of-doors, and I'm growing weary of the cold.

I'm thinking I need some inspiration for a story.

The Kitten Stash

I've heard of parents who snoop on their kids--you know, go throught their bookbag, rifle through their drawers, read their facebook and emails, and peek into journals looking for some lead that junior is into mischief. I'm kinda guilty of doing some things, but I don't snoop intentionally--I'm just a neat freak who happens upon things.

Ask anyone--I'm goofy about cleaning. Before the current days of working outside the home, my housecleaning day was Thursday, come hell or high water. Nothing, no how, no way would interfere with housecleaning day. Don't even ask.

"Do you want to go to lunch Thursday?" a friend would ask.

"Nope! Housecleaning day!" I'd chirp back, all proud-like because that's MY day. To which the other person would just look at me goofy and just kind of change the subject. Well, okay then.

I like to clean house. I do. I love the smell of a clean house. I like when I can walk barefoot around the laundry room and no wayward kitty litter sticks to my feet. I like that the bathroom mirror has no smudges or that the towels are freshly laundered. I like knowing that the pillows are poofed and the couch cushions are free of cat hair. There is just some peace in all of that for me. So, I'm a loser--so be it.

I love my Oreck vacuum cleaner like it was my child. I love how it follows me around, doing what I ask of it, never missing a crumb, never letting me down. It picks up the dreaded kitty litter and doesn't spit it out the back like all the other vacuums before it. It sucks up cat fur off the couch, it makes dust bunnies disappear, and it has power like no other vacuum has. No, I do work for Oreck, nor do they pay me for this post--I just love my Oreck. Ask Fain--she's witnessed me and my Oreck doing our daily morning dance and hasn't fully recovered.

Once a year, typically in early Spring, we start the Wash Down. Every single room of my tiny abode is stripped down and scrubbed. Walls and ceilings washed, closets organized, furniture cleaned and polished, beds dismantled and bedding refreshed. Curtains are taken down and cleaned, pressed, and re-hung. China cabinet emptied, all china and crystal cleaned and returned to it's place. It's like Mr. Clean took over--and it drives people nuts. I know of nobody who cleans like this every single year, and Joe reminds me that every single Spring. Good try, Joe. Get scrubbing.

So, as I was tearing apart the kitchen for it's cleaning and re-painting, Joe moves the china cabinet and finds this (see photo).

I'm horrified that this disgusting mess has been brewing for a year now, under the china cabinet. But what was even more horrifying was that we stumbled upon the cat's secret lair of cat toys.

"Aha! So that's where Sea Urchin went!" Joe exclaims, finding the long lost fav cat toy. (If you have cats or dogs, you have a tendancy to name the toys--it is a weird phenomenon amongst pet owners, just ask them.)

"And there's like 17 milk rings back here!" Joe's still yelling excitedly.

Me--I was already getting the Oreck into action. If there's dust bunnies somewhere in this house, and I'm there....in a jiffy. They must be removed and I fire up the Oreck.

So, like the snooping mom who just busts her kid, I'm busting Hobbes. And Henry. And Grace. I found the secret stash of the cats, the place they hide all of their toys. Poor Hen gets the blame too because milk rings were his favorite--and he lost them by the dozen. And now I know where. It was kinda sad, actually. Here's Hen's milk rings, and he's gone now.

Joe quickly collects the stash, puts it in a baggie and saves it for another day. He's still cracking up about how much junk happened behind the cabinet in a year's time while I'm just wrapping up the cord to my sucky pal.

Maybe my kids have secrets in their rooms that need to be exposed--but I don't think so. They know Mom and her Oreck are on duty.

My Third Eye

'Ol Gladys doesn't have to look to far today to find some adventure here in Weirdville. Sitting at the end (and I mean the end) of my driveway is the Chicago Tribune with the major headline that our Mayor here in Weirdville has been knowingly poisoning us with tainted drinking water.

In order to save the village and the residents some change, Mayor Chet decided to skimp on the water bill and mix well water with our Lake Michigan water. Okay, so that's a great plan Chet, except the well water wasn't treated and it is tainted with chemicals from a local dry cleaner's leaking disposal system. So, Chet knowingly has been foiling the EPA for the last 20 plus years, telling them they weren't using the contaminated well, when he was intentionally doing so. Now we have all been drinking and cooking with water that has known carcinogens in it.

The chemical perchloroethylene (or PCE) is a dry-cleaning solvent that has been associated with liver damage, neurological problems, birth defects, and cancer. When leached into the soil, it turns into vinyl chloride, which is so toxic that there is no safe level of exposure according to the EPA.

Yeah, well, okay then. So, where do we go from here? Can't move--it's too late and the damage has been done. They've capped the well and the EPA never felt this dangerous to notify the residents here about what they've known for 20 years. Why? I don't know. Maybe 11,000 people just don't matter.

My only consolation in this, the only way I could sleep last night, was to remember my frogs. Yes, the goofs that provide endless entertainment and photo opportunities in my life. They are my saving grace in all of this devastating news. They are the reason I can comfort my terrified children today.

Frogs are notoriously the barometer of the health of our environment. They are disappearing in great numbers because of their uncanny ability to represent the health of the ground and waters that surround us. Being that they breathe through their skin, they are extremely sensitive to the environmental issues and volatile conditions that threaten all life forms. When there is a minute infraction on the earth, my frog friends are the first to report the subtleties that most of us are oblivious to.

Directly behind the offending dry-cleaners and subsequent well, lies a creek that is loaded with bullfrogs. I ride my bike nearby and stop to admire my frog friends on many an occasion and knowing what I know about frogs, their sizes convey to me that A) they continue to breed, and B) there are frogs that live for years in said waters.

I also have frogs living, and have for years, in my pond which is fed by the same contaminated water that we drink and cook with. There are my frogs who are years old, plus the visiting frogs that come and go from my pond. I have snails and fish that have lived years in the same pond and I have never seen anything funky in the way of birth defects, lesions, cancers, or strange deaths in any of these creatures that eat, breathe, and sleep this water.

It may be small, but I am counting on my pond pallies to comfort me in my panic. I am terrified for my children and grandchildren. What have we been exposed to?? What will this mean to all of us in the future, healthwise? I am hopeful that the exposure has been minimal and that my frogs have told me that it hasn't been as bad as they are saying. I hope. I hope.

I just keep thinking of the Simpson's with the fish with the 3 eyes swimming in the waters shadowed by the nuclear plant. No, none of my fish have 3 eyes, but the proposition is a reality and a scary one at that.

I also keep thinking about the Mayor's visit to my home during one campaign run years ago. When questioned about village elections, school board and trustee nominees, Mayor Chet told me in these exact words:

"I know more about things than you do. I'm looking out for you and you should vote like I tell you to vote."

Yeah, apparently he did know more than I. And he chose to poison all those who weren't supposed to question him. Good to know he was looking out for us.

Breakfast - Rated XXX

I was off yesterday and had about a bazillion things to get done. I started with coffee and a quick check on the blog around 6:30 and got the laundry started--that pile just never seems to end. Ugh.

Walking through the kitchen with my sheets in my arms, I notice a car pull up and block my next-door neighbor's driveway. The engine is running and he's apparently waiting for someone. I stop to watch what's going on because A) I'm the Official Gladys Kravitz of the block, B) The kid next door is already at school and his dad doesn't really come by unless it's to pick him up, and C) Any action beats the laundry action I'm about to endure, so I watch for entertainment.

And entertainment it was!

So, the guy gets out of his car and heads towards the back end of the vehicle (and yes, he left it running and blocking the neighbor's drive--so he's in a hurry). All of a sudden, a white mini-van pulls up and stops dead in the middle of the street behind him, it is smack dab in front of my house. I recognize the car and woman as a mom from around the block. I don't know her personally, but I know that she lives on the next block because I see her blow through the stopsign day after day.

As she stops, dude pops in the front seat, leans waaayyy over and they start making out! And I'm talking MAKING OUT! Like she had to put it in park 'cuz her hands were all over this dude and his were all over her! They weren't making out like they were a married couple, I tell you. Nope. This was "lover" stuff. This wasn't some "Oh, good-bye honey. Have a nice day at work." kinda make-out session. It was a "I'd do ya if we weren't in the middle of the street in Weirdville in a mini-van at 8:00 a.m. and the neighbors are watching" kinda make-out session.

I'm standing there in my jammies, arms loaded with bedsheets, my eyes are like saucers, and my mouth is hanging on the floor. I cannot believe what I am witnessing--right here in Weirdville! It's ten minutes to 8:00 and some dude is getting some action right in front of my house! In a mini-van! With a MOM!

So, I do the neighborly thing and I call Darla--she's my pally right across the street, she loves this stuff as much as I do. I let the phone ring a couple of times and her son picks it up--she's off babysitting. Damn! What good is excitement like this if you can't share it with someone?? So, I tell Greg all about what's going on (and still is) in between our houses and he doesn't care. Gees, it was a buzzkill.

I hang up the phone and it is still going full tilt! After a few minutes, I feel sort of guilty for watching, but I cannot break away from the whole Wisteria Lane Drama that is transpiring for the neighborhood to see. I mean, if you are going to do this sort of seedy stuff, wouldn't you at least find a parking spot? Or a secluded place somewhere? Really. Around the block from your house?!?! In the middle of the street?! In broad daylight?! That's some kinda lust those two had going there.

This went on for, oh, 10 minutes, when finally they part. She speeds off for work or something, and he wipes his mouth and crawls back into his car and drives off too. And poof! It's all over. No excitement left but a squirrel crossing the street. And Grumpy Old Guy getting his paper. I wonder if he saw the Smoochies?

When Em gets up, I tell her the story. She's all cracking up and wishing she had seen this too, and I ask her who that woman is.

"Oh, that's Frankie's mom," she says.

"Well, it looks like Frankie's getting a new daddy."

It's all about the teeth, baby!

Hey, look who's the relief pitcher at the game--it's the dude I had my picture taken with at Sox Fest! Remember him? I lovingly refer to him as "Chops" because he has some lovely teeth--well, and a really nice bod too, but that grosses my kids out when I talk like that. So, I just innocently comment on how nice his teeth are, and like any parent who has dished out the mega cashola for braces knows, I can really admire that in a handsome young man.

"Hey Lin, there's your boyfriend!" Joe says all excited like.

"Yeah. But he's not my boyfriend, " I say back, "I just rubbed his back and he did the faux hug in return."

My interaction with Chops was really one-sided. I'm all giggly and "hey, good luck this season" and stuff and he puts his arm around me for the photo but doesn't actually put his arm around me. It was all air, baby. Like an air kiss, but it was an air hug. Bummer. You know your an old lady when the good looking guys are giving you air hugs. Sigh.

Then Col points to the JumboTron and I see this:

See?!! He does have a nice set of chops, doesn't he??

Okay, so he stunk it up big time as a relief pitcher that day, but he looked nice on the field. In his uniform. With a good bod. And a nice set of pearly whites. Sigh.

Utopia at Bay

There's that moment when you first enter the park, that you leave the warm sunlight and are suddenly plunged into the darkness of the concourse. Your senses are overwhelmed by the smell of popcorn, the excitement of fans anticipating the game, the vendors loudly hawking beer or hot dogs, and the rush of cool air that comes with the circulation of the air in and out of the field area. As we slowly make our way through the ticket-takers and happy crowd, we see the field, ever so green in the distance.

This is one of my most favorite things in this world--walking through the concourse approaching the emerald fields of baseball. It is the promise of a lovely day, the warmth of the sun, and the fun of watching a good game. It is spending time with the family, of just relaxing, not having to do anything but sit on my bottom and watch the Boys of Summer. The contrast of a cold beer in hand and the warm breeze on my shoulders can't be beat.

Isn't this a metaphor for this winter? I feel like we have been in the cold and snow for too long this year, and still, we are lucky to approach 50 degrees even this week. Come April, we are hopefully heading into the concourse of Spring--the darkness of winter leaving, the brightness of Spring directly ahead, if only we'd get there already.

Spring with it's promise of flowers and of green grass, the warm breezes and delicious smells of the earth returning to life. It's just ahead, almost in our grasp--it feels like we're walking and walking and never getting there. It's like the nightmare where you cannot dial the phone or you keep running and your feet aren't making headway. I want to be at Spring already!

Semi-wordless Wednesday

It's tennis season! Col's team plays no matter what the weather--apparently rescheduling is a bigger pain than playing in 20 degrees below zero wind chill or ankle-deep snow. So, onward the matches go and onward I go with them.

Tennis season starts in March, which is not exactly tennis weather as far as I am concerned. Every year, I trudge to the courts, parka zipped to my chin, hat on under the hood, gloves on my frozen fingers, folding chair and blanket wrapped around me like a sausage in a pancake. I look like an explorer heading to the Antarctic, bundled up for sub-freezing temperatures. But I have learned the hard way--cool breezes at home are blizzard-type winds over at the courts. There is nothing to stop the cold winds from blowing--and blow they do.

This year seems to be particularly nasty, we haven't been over 40 degrees for a single match this season. Joe and I trekked out to a meet 45 minutes away one Saturday morning, only to find the freezing winds unbearable after a half hour. The tennis players are not allowed to wear gloves for safety reasons and the boys' hands were red from the cold. We huddled with our coffee mugs behind a 3 foot high evergreen, and shivered like Nanook of the North. Nothing helped--we were frozen. Being the good parents that we are, we bailed. Yep. Left the meet. Drove 45 minutes home.

The Greenhagen Move

When I was a Senior in college, me and 3 friends (Joe, included) made the trip down to Ft. Lauderdale for Spring Break. Yeah, it was that long ago. I think Ft. Lauderdale city officials put the kabosh on Spring Break in their lovely city about a billion years ago--but this was right before it ended, so you know it was fun. That's one of those stories you don't tell you kids about--we just talk about how wild it was back then. I think today's Spring Break's are worse in comparison, we used to just get drunk.

Anyway, we did the 24 hours in a car thing. In preparation, Joe washed the Smelly Mobile, slathered Armour-all on the seats and the interior, and packed the cooler in the middle of the back seat. We picked up our friends, Todd and Marnie, and headed for the Sunshine State.

It was 24 hours of hell. Greenhagen (Todd) insisted that we listen to nothing but The Beach Boys the entire trip. Marnie smoked like a chimney and had a penchant for high octane alcohol. Joe and I hooked up--but not the "hooking up" of today's standards, we were just making-out because we were newly going out. There was none of this "sexting" and stuff back then, and I was not a wild gal, so it was tame. rated PG kinda love. This trip was going to be a long one.

It was a typical Spring Break week. We stayed in some really divey places, sleeping on cockroach infested floors, bums knocking on our door in the middle of the night, and sharing the one blanket amongst four of us. We nearly froze to death in Daytona Beach and insisted on moving on to Ft. Lauderdale, even though it meant leaving our pally, Curt, there with a bunch of frat boys.

We found a nicer place to stay in Ft. Lauderdale, but our room had no dressers--not that we cared. We just wanted a shower and a bed for a week of laying on the beach, drinking, and partying--who cared if the room was furnished?

There are few things I remember from that week--

* NEVER Armour-all the seats of your car. Never. We slid around with that cooler at every turn, stop, or slow-down. What idiot would slick up their seats anyway? Joe. Joe would--so it looked nice. He was an idiot.

* Don't park you car anywhere near the upper balcony of a hotel. Joe smugly reminded us of this rule when the dudes in the room next to ours were leaning over the balcony, puking on the cars in the lot.

* Apply sunscreen in a thorough manner. Joe looked like a blotchy mess all week--with intemittent sunburn and pale skin everywhere. My forehead was burned to a crisp. We were a lovely couple.

* Pick your travelmates wisely. If you are unsure if you like someone at the start of the trip, you will hate them at the end of the trip. Guaranteed.

When we got back to school, Joe dropped Greenhagen off at the front of the dorm. Joe popped the trunk, Greenhagen grabbed his bag, and that was the last that we saw him.........for TWO weeks. Not kidding. The last we saw of him was his backside, in high gear, getting away from us. And here I thought he annoyed me! Apparently, the three of us were just too much for him. Joe still refers that as the "Greenhagen Move".

Em's coming home from her 4 day trip in Washington D.C. and a very long bus ride home. She's texted (calling is not "cool") me a dozen times, giving me updates like:

"We're at Arlington! We aren't allowed to text here"-- which is the early stages of the trip

"We didn't sleep a minute on the bus ride down....too noisy" --telling me she got there safely.

"Lots of drama...we're fighting" --translates to "We are getting tired and nasty and turning on each other"

and my personal favorite...

"We went to the Capitol Building, had a tour and had our picture taken with Bob Dull!" --which I thought was ironically accurate.

They were heading home tonight and I received one last text from Em. She writes that they're tired, ready to come home, and everyone is fighting and/or generally being nasty.

Joe laughs when I relay the message.

"Why do I think there is a whole bus of 8th graders who are going to pull a 'Greenhagen'?" he chuckles.

Yeah. I'll be amazed if anyone is speaking to each other by the time they unload that bus. There is something about riding in a vehicle for 24 hours that somehow destroys friendships. But, it's a rite of passage, a must-do, a growth experience. I'm glad she went and learned the hard way.

I'm preparing for her homecoming--I'm going to be really quiet, not ask any questions, and prep her room for about 3 full days of sleeping.

Finding Colin

Man, we had good seats for the game yesterday. Fifteen rows up from the visitor's dugout, closer to homeplate than the Twin's hideout. Thank you, Lawyer Dude, who provided us with some lovely season ticket seats for our Easter celebration. We were in serious foul ball territory, and you really had to keep your eye on the ball, for there were many an occasion yesterday I thought we'd be scrambling for a souvenier. No such luck, but you can see we were all hoping it would come our way.

While Em's off on her trip to D.C., Col is the Only Child. Not a huge fan of parents these days, Col prefers to spend his solitary status holed up in his bedroom. Hooked up to the I-touch and laptop simultaneously, he rarely peeks out except to eat. And then, it is more of a Grounhog Day sighting--short and quick. Any sighting of the dreaded mom and dad, and he's gone.

We dragged him to the game yesterday, just the three of us. Like old times, before Em was born. Col and I used to be pallies--but that's when he was really little and you could "pal" around with your kid. Now a teenager, I don't want to be his pal--just his mom (evil as I am) who keeps him focused on school and being a good kid. Both are not a struggle, so I am thankful for that. It is the pal status that I sort of miss--he can hardly talk to me anymore without snapping my head off.

So, it was nice to spend some time with Col, watching the game, perusing the gift shop, and cheering for the home team. He surprised Joe and I by belting out some encouragement for the Boys of Summer--a voice we rarely hear anymore. I treated him to an overly expensive jersey from the gift shop and offered to buy him "rope-flavored rope"--that candy they sell at the park that is supposed to be licorice. He declined, but we shared a bonding moment laughing about how absolutely horrid that stuff is.

The three of us sat, bundled up like Eskimos, watching the White Sox beat the Twins on Easter Sunday together. Spending time with my increasingly independent teenage son was the highlight--a rare treat before he enters his Senior year of high school and then off to college. I understand his breaking away, so I embrace and encourage it. It's not a bad thing, on the contrary--it is just bad for me, I will miss him being here. Like the dad in Finding Nemo, I am slowly learning to let go--letting my little Nemo find his own way in the world, even though I want to cling to what was.

The ride home was quiet--I was catching flies in the backseat, Col and Joe softly discussing the game in the front. It was a nice day--a good day for catching up and re-grouping. A day for reconnecting with my son who is changing and growing into a fine young man every day. Okay, so he went straight to the bedroom when we got home--at least we had a few hours together.

Happiness is Paying-It-Forward (well, and warm sunshine on your belly)

I was going to be all brilliant and impressive with my picking the winners of the Pay-It-Forward Challenge and then it all went south. Initially, I thought the comments would be numbered as they appeared and I would choose the comments in this order: 4, 13, 08 --to coincide with my blogging anniversary date. "Oh, that Lin! She's brilliant!" I'm sure you're thinking, but it didn't all go the way I planned.


I had some pallies stop in and comment just to send love and then I chimed in, and then somebody else (who already won somewhere else) commented, and then I chimed in again--and before you knew it--it was all screwed up. And pretty much, I did it to myself with all my commenting back to the comments. Sheesh. I hope I get points for creativity to start with.


So, in the end, I did the highly tested, super-confidential, ultra-fair, put-your-name-on-a-slip-of-paper-and-draw-it-from-a-cat-bowl method. Col was thrilled to pick 3 names out the the bowl (free from cat food, I might add), even though I had to knock on his door and beg to be let in. I have to admit, it was a great excuse for 20 seconds of teen/mom bonding, so I have that going for me. If it wasn't for the Big Contest Mess Up, the only other contact I have with my teenage son is kinda like the Sasquatch sightings--fast, fleeting, and searching for money or food.


And now (drum roll) .....I will announce the big winners......


In no particular order:


1. Merry - Cheese and Chocolate !


2. Danny - Positive Real Estate Professionals (and more!)!


3. Sherri - My Life in the Fishbowl !


Congratulations to the Pay-It-Forward winners!! Please send me your address via email and I will get the package in the mail next weekend.

Please be sure to forward some kindness to 3 other people--it does not have to be a monetary thing. Petula creatively offered free advertising on her blog as their special treat, and you know these days with everything going on with ads, that is a great thing! So, think hard and spread some love, pallies!!

I'm sorry to those who did not win, but you can still take it upon yourself to send some love to 3 deserving peeps. Hold the door for someone, give that lady the change she's looking for in the bottom of her purse at the store, surprise a friend with a card--whatever. Kindness never fails.

Where's the Kitty?

We're on a painting spree this weekend, trying to finish the chores so that we can spend Easter Sunday with the Boys of Summer (?!). Joe has a connection with the new job that periodically lays some cool White Sox opportunities on us, and this weekend is no exception. Tomorrow, cold or no cold, we'll be sitting a few rows up from the visitor dugout, drinking beer (no coffee, Chuck!) and eating a bratwurst instead of Grandma's lamb cake. Of course, I'll have my winter coat on, but that's not deterring me. Go White Sox!

So, Col's off to a tennis match an hour and a half away (too far for me to go sit in the cold), Em's on her trip to Washington D.C. , and we're stuck painting for fun. Sigh. Funny how the cats think this is major entertainment.

If you have cats, you know what fun any changes in the house can be. An empty bag on the floor, a new box opened, furniture moved, or piled up blankets mean major fun for the fur guys. Since we painted the ceilings yesterday, the furniture that could not be moved out was covered with plastic and that was highly entertaining for Hobbes and Grace. They spent the majority of the day playing "Where's the kitty?". Okay, so it's clear plastic--was it really all that hard to find each other? Really.

Today is Day 2 of painting--Joe's neck is stiff from the ceiling painting yesterday and I feel like I've got rigormortis. We're both hugging the coffee mugs as I type, secretly praying the other guy doesn't suggest we "get moving".

Hobbes and Grace are already in the Hall of Plastic--a.k.a. the living room. Sigh. It's gonna be a long day.

Hey, don't forget to read yesterday's post if you want in the Pay-It-Forward.

Paying-It-Forward

Did you ever notice how you can be with 100 nice people, have lovely times, share 200 laughs, and it can all disappear with one jerk? Why is it that one idiot can stifle all the happy inside? Em has this teacher and he is a jerk. I had a run in with him as she was leaving for her trip, so I'm working hard to remember he is one (big) jerk and there are millions of nice peeps to outnumber him. Ugh.

As I wrote yesterday, I will be celebrating one year of bloghood on Monday. I'm happy with how far I have come--posting nearly every day, writing as I post (no more over-thinking a post and copying in onto the blog), and enjoying every part of this crazy world known as blogging. I had absolutely no idea this whole world existed before April 13, 2008. I have made some really incredible friends and have learned so much. I cannot imagine my life without the blog now--it would be downright boring.

A couple of weeks ago, Jo over a Life's Perfect Pictures took on a pay-it-forward challenge. The idea is to spring some happiness and good cheer upon 3 people and they must agree to pay-it-forward--to bring some of their own happiness and good cheer to 3 others. It goes on and on until everyone gets a little pick-me-up, a little happiness into their lives. Except of course, Jerky Teacher--he will just receive the stink-eye from me from now on. That is my special gift to him.

Jo sent me the loveliest basket of treats--a floral notepad, some floral post-its to match, some very soothing Calgon shower gel, candles, and New Toenail's favorite--a pedicure set!! I would show a picture of the basket except I dismantled that sucker immediately and used everything--I was very excited, you see. There was this adorable card with such nice things written inside stuffed in the basket, and it just filled me with warmth. How lucky I am to have such a nice new friend! I sailed for the rest of the day with a stupid silly grin on my face.

So, in honor of my anniversary and of my friendship with Jo, I would like to carry on the Pay-It-Forward challenge. I thought long and hard about the best way to do this, so here it is.

I'm going to pay-it-forward in two ways:

1) I'm looking for those pallies who are interested in participating in paying-it-forward to 3 other bloggers. Leave a comment here saying that you're in, and I will select 3 lucky peeps to receive my gift. Please only comment if you want to share the love--no sending dead flowers to Jerky Teacher on my behalf, please. And also--I'm trying to keep costs down somewhat, so if you live in Antartica or Siberia (you know--outside the U.S.), you'll have to find the love in your local area--postage here is a killer! There is a highly secret, very complicated method in which I will choose the winners and they will be announced on Monday.

2) I bought my special gifts from my favorite Etsy sellers to kinda support their efforts as well. Inside your box, you will receive some special surprises, but also expect something from Pricilla and her goat gang at http://www.gethappygoatsoap.com/. Be sure to click on her name and see the adorable goats who make the milk for the soap, as well as the adorable new little guy, Kevin. Included in the package is another fav--Jasmine at Mea Culpa's Body and Bath Creations. Her lotions look so good, you may want to eat it--but I wouldn't because it would be nicer for your body on it, not in it.

I hope that tempts you a bit to join in! And while you are blog-hopping, be sure to stop in and congratulate my pally, Sherri, who celebrates her First Anniversary with me. Isn't that weird that we both started blogging on the very same day?!! Ooooohhhhweeeeeooooooh. (That's my scary ghost music)

So, comment away, pallies. I'm shutting this bad-boy down on Saturday night because I'm sure you will all be at Grandma's on Easter Sunday eating Lamb Cake and will be too stuffed to visit blogs. And besides, Jesus would not appreciate you fighting for prizes on a Holy Day of obligation.

Chuck Rocks It!

My one year anniversary of Duck and Wheel With String is on Monday. Yep. One year of blogging--quietly at first, not so many followers, fans, or readers. It was more of a personal challenge and a "creative" outlet.

One year later finds me posting nearly everyday, adding pictures by my newly found photography hobby, and meeting some really great people. My evenings are no longer filled with TV, but instead, Joe and I sit with dualing laptop and computer, visiting blogs and comparing chuckles over what we find in BlogLand. There was a whole world out there that I didn't know existed--and although I'm slow, I finally found it. And some incredible bloggers too.

I am amazed at the kindness, the encouragement, the positive words, and the friendships that I have made in the past year. Michelle was writing this week about her difficulty with time flying by, how she thinks it all going too fast, and how she misses some loved ones. The past is growing larger each day and she struggles with the speed in which her life is going. But I had to counter that with the Positive Polly "But look at what you have gained in those years" comment. We are nothing without our past, our departed loved ones, the changes in our lives, the growth we have accomplished. It's all perspective, I say. She probably wanted to kill me and my Pollyanna attitude.

I'm thankful for the friends I have made this year--all new and all really wonderful. One of my newest pallies is Chuck over at Secondary Roads. I found him through his sister Clara's blog when I popped over one day, and I have stayed ever since.

Chuck is warm, god-loving, and incredibly devoted to his family. He is not quiet about love for his wife, Sylvia and his extended family. He boasts of his granddaughter's talents in the classroom and in the pool playing Water Polo. There are stories of the earth around him, the warmth of his faith, and the kindness of the world. There is never a negative, never a rant, never a bad word for anything or anyone. He is a soft place to land every single day.

What you don't know about Chuck is his wicked sense of humor. For some reason, he checks that on the blog, but it comes through loud and clear in his emails. An incoming email from Chuck is a first-click for me--always cracking me up in some way. I knew he was a pally the instant he figured out my Farkel reference in my email address--most people don't know who the Farkels are, more or less the Laugh-In TV show that they were created on. Chuck not only got it immediately, but filled me in on the finest of details about my referred family.

Chuck teases me about my Violet avatar--you know, the little "ugly" statue smelling a handful of flowers that represents Duck and Wheel to the world. We discuss, at length, the appropriateness of lampshades as head apparel at parties and the politics of blogging social sites. Chuck holds "what's this picture" contests sometimes and appreciates my "creativity" in my answers. He made my "button" for me (new on the side!)yesterday, secretly knowing that explaining to me how to make it would lock up my brain cells for eternity. He is a gentle, rockin'-sense-of-humor kinda guy who's blog is a little spot of sunshine in each day.

I'm glad for the friends I have made this year and Chuck is high on the list for fav pallies. I am going to start displaying (right next to my EC box) my pallies now. I'm thinking it will be a "Pally of the Week", so as to give them the "advertising" too. I'm not sure I like this alternating paid ad/EC clicking hard-to-earn ads, so this is my little protest per se. But it is a gentle protest, I'm weary from battling the world.

Please click on and visit these blogs--you will find the most incredible people and blogs there. Go visit Chuck and comment on his posts, you won't be sorry.

He is what is good in this world and I call him friend.

1-800-FIXY-CAT

Thank goodness for Handy-Cat!

Most people call someone when the furnace starts making that clicky-I-don't-wanna-kick-on noise. Not me. Nope. I've got Joe and Hobbes--furnace repair dudes extraordinaire.

We had this problem one other time and paid the very expensive guy to come out and look at it. Joe was hanging out in the family room next to the fire place, while I chatted it up with Repair Dude. That's where Joe's Catholic school training comes in--he goes and prays, while my Public school let's-fix-it attitude, kicks into high gear.

I'm talking to the guy, peeking in and asking all about the furnace, when he takes it apart in front of me and shows me (and then, Joe) how to clean the part that was acting up. So now, when 'ol Clicky starts doing its thing, Joe can go in there and save me a couple hundred bucks.

Joe got an assistant last night--and why do I think the cat wasn't holding the flashlight?

Okay, everybody in front of the paneling........

While I was digging through photos for my last post, I found this--Classic Lin.

Ahhh, remember the good 'ol days when you dressed up for a party? When you put on your best dress, pointy party hat with elastic strap, and uncomfortable shoes? Nothing says party better than a bunch of toothless cousins, pallies, and your brother with his eyes closed.

Check out the babe with the "thumbs up"--she's the one in the center on the last photo. Damn. Girlfriend steals my limelight every freakin' time.

I'm very disappointed that not one person mentioned my brother's socks in the photo below. I thought for sure CardioGirl would be all over those bad boys. That is some look, isn't it?

Going Home

Born in the early sixties, I was at the tail end of the Baby Boom and if my hood was any indication of that era, "boom" is an excellent word to describe the times. Every house on my street had at least two kids and the street was rockin' as everyone was nearly the same age. Everyone hung out together and you never had to be bored or alone. And the best/worst part of it-- I was born into a neighborhood of boys......and lots of them.

If I guess, I would say there were about 20 boys within a block of my house, all within a year or two of my age. There were a few girls, but they were sparse and definitely not part of the "gang", I was included only because I had a brother.

When Steve went out, so did I. When he played "hillbilly tackle" with the guys, so did I. When we got a game of "American Bison" (a homemade rollerskating/tackle game on the asphalt) together, I was in. Movie night in the garage, football by the factories, crawfish hunting in the prairie, Competitive Hopscotch, and Monkey Piles on the lawn, all included me--the lone girl in this mass of testosterone.

Was I the little sister--the one everyone adored, cute little thing tee-heeing at the boys? The fragile lovely female that all secretly adored? Nope. I was referred to as "Puffy" for my entire awkward pre-teen years forward. I was the lumpy, drag-along, one-of-the-guys kinda gals. Think of "Anybodys" in West Side Story--although I wasn't so hard-core on being a tomboy. I just did what they did--but I drew the line at spitting.

I have the most incredible memories of growing up on that block. We were a block that was unbelievable--a mass of good kids who all got along, raised on good values and fresh air. We hung out on the corner to plan our next adventure, not to get into trouble. We didn't drink or do drugs--instead we played whiffleball in the empty lot on the next block and made up our own games. We played "two-block it" and ran around the neighborhood. We showed home movies in the garage with Mike reading Reader's Digest jokes in between rolls. We made banners for White Sox Banner Day. We made Polish cannons out of cans and sat out under the street light to just talk and laugh. We'd hide out in the bushes while my brother dressed up like Resurrection Mary (a local "ghost" who hitchhikes by the cemetary) and waved at cars. Sure, he had a full beard, but we powdered that sucker up good for effect. We did everything and nothing. We were just good kids hanging out, growing up, and having a good time.

It was unbelievably good and I get glassy-eyed revisiting those times in my head and in conversation. It was white bread fun, but fun just the same. I can't believe how honest and good it all was, and I wonder sometimes if it was just me, idolizing the innocence of my youth.

I met up with some of the old 'hood Saturday night. Someone got a few pallies together and we all shared a beer and a ton of laughs. We shared the same stories and reminded each other of things others had forgotten. The memories were suprisingly the same--how we never got into trouble, how creative we were to entertain ourselves, how free we were, how we were always outside, and how much fun it truly was. We weren't fantasizing this idealistic youth--it truly happened.

I smiled until my face hurt, seeing everyone again, laughing about old days, and cracking up about how old we are now.

"Do you feel old?" David asked me.

"Only my body on certain days," I tell him. "but I still feel like 15 in my mind".

"Yeah, me too" he said quietly.

It's weird to see the neighborhood "kids" as Police Sergeants and Vice President of Controllers of major banks--I still see them as the kids they were. Maybe their bodies have changed and we've all gotten older, but I still see the "Mike! Mark! Dave!" that their mom used to yell out the door.

As Joe and I walked through the parking lot, I worried that they would not recognize me after all these years. We figured it had been about 15 years or so since the last wedding where we all saw each other. Everyone says I look the same, but I think they are just being polite.

I open the door, the sea of faces turn to see who it is. It is quiet for a too-long pause and I hear .....

"PUFFY!!!! "

Yep. Home, again.


And no, that isn't me in the center of the photo looking all cute-like. I'm the dork on the left.

Opening Day is Tomorrow!

"Oz! Dude! Tomorrow's Opening Day!"

"Yep."

"What's the plan? Who's playing Center?"

"I dunno. Wise. Maybe Anderson. We're still working it out, Joe."

"Pitchers? Who's up for tomorrow?"

"You'll have to wait and see, Joe."

"Oz, who ya thinkin' for third? I'm kinda worried about Fields. I used to like him more before, but he's gotta improve himself."

"Yeah, Joe. Thanks. "

"Oz, did you want to talk to Lin about any of this? She's all hyped up for the game tomorrow."

"Uh, no, Joe. Thanks. She's nuts!"

"Cheers, Oz. Here's to White Sox baseball and a winning season!!"

Death by Tape

Whew! What a week! Glad this one is over. Lots of things going on, lots of places to be, and lots of running to be done--is everyone like this lately or it is me?

Amongst the hair cuts, dentist appointments, meetings, typical kid transporting, car repairs and sitting with a friend at the hospital, add in the big fundraiser for the band today. Every year they host a craft fair that is a huge money-maker--it just takes some volunteer time for a couple of days. Not a big deal, but it just didn't help the already over-the-top have-to list for this week.

Last night, Joe and I volunteered for set-up night. We were delegated the task of "taping" the floor for the crafters areas. Sounds easy enough--you just measure out the various sections of the gym floor, divide up some spaces according to the 8 x 10 booth grid, and mark the corners with little "T's" or "L's" and account for the aisles.

Yeah. Except the gym has 3 sections of various sizes so you have to have 3 different floor plans and a whole bunch of people doing this. It entails one giant map, a couple of extra-long measuring tapes, blue painter's tape, and (this is the tough part) some peeps who can actually do the math to figure it all out. Oh yeah, I also learned from last year that heavy duty knee pads help a ton too, if you are old and rickety like me.

So, the evening was like a bad Polish joke: How many people does it take to figure out the spaces? Apparently we did not have enough.

It was Joe, Wendy, Scott, and me on one team. It was a bad team--we could not figure out the math for the life of us. We all took charge at various points, did the math on paper, planned it out, conferred with the other three, and then proceeded to do it wrong--like 4 or 5 times. We were complete idiots. I can't tell you how many times we measured, re-measured, taped, removed said tape, and taped again. All the while, Mr. P was standing there just staring at the 4 idiots.

Okay, so we had fun while we looked stupid. There were the knee-pad jokes, the "I need a couple more inches" jokes, the "we're stupid" jokes, and the "How come nobody else seems to have problems?" jokes, and finally, the "Who signed up for this?" jokes. Our brains were smoking from overuse, our heads pounding from the lame Barry Manilow "Sings Other People's Hits" CD that was cranked in the gym, and our bodies aching from all that stooping and standing for a couple of hours.

"I have to leave at 10:00 to get Em, " I say to the group. The clock reads 7:14, but at the rate we were going, I was afraid we'd be there all night. Mr. P was chuckling, but I wasn't really being all that silly at that point--I was seriously wondering how many hours it would take 4 people to do their section of the gym.

Today's job is clean-up. Joe and I go back around 3:00 to help the crafters move their unsold wares back to the vehicles, pack up the tables and chairs, and sweep. The worst part? Removing all that tape on the floor that we worked so hard to put down 18 hours before.

Train Spotting

Joe's taking the train into the city each day now. He used to drive for an hour, stuck in traffic, dodging construction, delayed by traffic jams and gaper's blocks. Now he reconnects with his zen and relaxes for 20 minutes on the train each day. He comes home calm and refreshed instead of frazzled and stressed out--what a nice change.

The nice thing about the train is that I can drive him there and keep his car for the day if need be. It's great for Col if he needs a car and it is just so darned convenient. The station is about 10 minutes away and I pop in and out to drop him off or pick him up. I love to come a minute or two early and people watch while I wait for Joe to get to the car.

So, while I sit there staring at peeps, I silently crack up at everyone's "style" as they get off the train. And being that humans are creatures of habit, everyone has the same disembarking style every single day. These are a few who crack me up:

1. Fat lady--Whoa! Big mama leavin' the train! She can bearly climb down the sky-high steps and then she takes off--she's arm-swingin' and her little legs are a-flyin'! There seems to be a mad dash theme to get to your car first here, and Mama's making a break for it! Look out for whomever is in her way. But I'm thinking that if she walked with such gusto everyday, she wouldn't be quite so large.

2. Slow Fat lady--She is a beautiful black women who is dressed to the nines. She has class, and slowly, carefully climbs down the steps of the train. She wears nice clothes, nice shoes, and a well-fitted coat--she is not running for the life of her. Slow Lady takes her time, and acts like the lady she is.

3. Working Mom--She's middle-of-the-pack getting off the train. She waits for a few peeps to get off and then makes her push. Her attire consists of a suit or skirt with non-matching gym shoes. She is serious about her commute--gotta get home to continue her working day. Oh, and her purse is the size of Manhattan--she's a busy woman.

4. Weird guy--I'm not sure this dude works or if he does--where. He looks like a bum (maybe he is?!?!) with his ratty old clothes and newspaper folded under his arm. I'm almost thinking he takes the train into the city to bum change off folks. Maybe that's his job--he lies in some doorframe with the newspaper over his head and begs for cash all day.

5. Joe--He's like the last dude off the train and he gets off smiling like a little girl. He LOVES going into the city each day and he LOVES his new job. So, he meanders off, taking his time walking to the car. Of course, I want to kill him, but I crack up seeing him walk over. He has his "murse" and computer bag--he's all commuter-like and proud to be taking the train. He is a loser. But a happy one.

6. Running Man--Oh, he's my all-time fav! This dude can hardly wait for the train doors to open an inch.....and he's OFF! He takes off, backpack a-flailin', running like a fool for his car. Apparently he wants to beat the traffic that was generated by the train, so he runs like a 8 year-old runs out of school. He looks like a complete idiot. If his wife was there to see him, she would kill him. I'm sure of it.

"Hey! Can't you run like that dude?" I ask Joe pointing to Running Man. And we both enjoy a snicker.

So, add the train station to my new place to hang out to watch peeps. Although not quite as strange as The Walmart or LaundryLand, there are some interesting folks here. And the best part......I can take photos from the car! :)

Does anyone know why none of my advert clicks are registering on Entrecard? I'm at zero for over a week now while my ads are running and my drops are sky-high. I know the ads are working, they just aren't being counted and I have no stats on clicks per ad.

The Collar Protest

Someone told me a long time ago that I have "authority issues". When I was first told that, my knee-jerk reaction was "What the hell do you know?!" , but I soon realized that it was true. That one comment was over 20 years ago but it sticks with me--it struck a deep cord apparently, or I would have dismissed it as I do most critical comments.

How I became this way, I do not know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that my dad died when I was seven years old. Maybe it was that my mom was this super-strong woman in an era when women were first getting their independence. Maybe it was that I'm just a stinker and nobody's gonna tell me what to do. Who knows. It is what it is.

I have no tolerance for people who do not stand up for themselves--remember the line at the doctor's office? I don't understand doormat mentality and am frustrated by those who stand and complain when they should be standing and defending. Fight for yourself, fight for your kids, fight for what is right, fight for your rights--that's sort of my mantra. Stand up for what you feel and think--even if that means standing alone. And I do..... a lot.

Teaching and encouraging your kids to stand up for themselves is another story. I've taught and encouraged both kids to protect their rights, to help those who can't do the same, and ask questions when they should be raised. Col is a little more timid in his self-defense, but Em is a "go get 'em" kinda gal. She is more like her mom, fighting the world of injustice and wrongs everywhere--all the while wearing a smile and cracking up. We are happy injustice fighters.

Our house tends to be a little loud sometimes, as everyone has an opinion and is free to voice it freely--within reason. Everyone can, and should be heard, and they are. If you bring to the table a reasonable request or legitimate argument, everyone has the same opportunity for change in our house. If I say no to something and Em brings on a good debate--it has the opportunity for a change in the final answer. It's a good thing to be able to vocalize your opinion and debating skills are honed. But my kids are also 14 and 17--we aren't talking smart-mouthed 4 year-olds here.

So, what to do when the cat asserts his independence?

One of the cat rules around here is that you have to wear a collar. If you go out the door, you have to wear a collar that tells the world that you have a home.

Now, that doesn't sound unreasonable, does it? Being that we go through cats lately like some people go through Kleenex, I think it fair that the neighbors see that the new cat in the hood belongs to someone. That way they don't get all huffy thinking we have another stray. And you can blame me when there is poop-poops in your garden or footprints in your newly poured cement driveway. Okay, so there are like a watillion stray cats around here, but it is MY cat that does all these terrible things. Or so they say. Whatever.

So, Hobbes has to go through this training period of getting used to wearing a collar. We tell him he has to wear it before going outside and gently pop the sucker on when opening the door.

The first few times are interesting. You'd swear it was the crown of thorns for the way he reacts--all hopping around, making those gagging sounds. He shakes his head, rolls on the ground trying to get it off, scratching with his hind legs trying to pry the beast off his neck. It's all very dramatic-- very "taming of the beast" and all.

What was initially a not-so-good idea suddenly turned into "okay, whatever" when the weather was warm and sunny. There is something about temperatures in the 60's and 70's that make a kitten not mind his pale orange collar with a tinkly bell not so very much. He'd doopty-doo out the door, not even thinking he was being held down by the "man" in the house. "Who cares if I hafta wear a stupid bell? I'm OUTSIDE!" is his thinking.

All's fine until the weather turns again. Now that it is back to cold and gloomy, homeboy decides that this collar stuff is for sissies.

I find the collar everywhere--under the couch, on the kitchen counter (where we aren't supposed to be--collar or no collar), in the bathroom, by the door. Hobbes has asserted his independence and his fight for freedom of speech (or meows).

No outside, no collar. There is no budging the dude. He ain't wearing the collar if he ain't goin' outside.

So, when does the cat have a right to speak his peace? When does he get the idea that he's in control here? Did we have a discussion on this? Do we have a discussion on this?

I admire his spunk and let the little guy have his say. I put the collar on the table by the door, waiting for Spring weather to reappear with his wanting to go out. He wins this battle--for now. Let him have his opinion on this collar thing.

Only I can have a radical cat.