Drinking from the Jury Pool

Monday, Monday. Where did the weekend go? Friday night brought us to the first football game of the season. They finally canned the losing coach of too many years and the fresh new face brought us a victory, which was a refreshing change. It's hard to have too many losses--even if the band is good, it doesn't do well for attendance. It was great to see some happy kids for a change--and a double-digit score.

The band performed well Friday night as well. The rain disappeared and a sunny sky replaced the dreariness just in time for the line of parents and miscellaneous marimbas and percussion instruments to make their snaky way to the field for the performance. It felt good to be back laughing with the other parents and sitting in the stands and cheering our kids on. It was like those 9 months away never existed. It's funny how we pick right back up from where we left off.

It's good that I had such a great weekend catching up as I'm in for a very special treat today--jury duty. Yes, that perennial favorite pastime of all time--sitting for hours, trapped in a room full of strangers, listening to Oprah blather on about her next brainwashing, and waiting and hoping not to be called in for questioning. Oh yeah, I can barely contain my enthusiasm. Criminy, does prayer work in these situations? I mean, does God really hear my prayers to get me out of there unscathed or is he silently chuckling up there, snickering that I'm suffering so?

So, while I'm dying in there, I wish you all a very happy Monday. May you be able to listen to your Ipods if you wish, watch a channel on TV that is of your choosing, take a nap if you are bored, and may you collect more than $17 for a day's work. I'll be sure to find some humor in the situation and report back to you all. I'm bringing a journal for notes--I'm sure that place is gonna be loaded with characters.

Keep your fingers crossed that I'm not selected.

Uncle Tim??! I know him!

Here's JD's Uncle Tim telling me to "Make it Work".

It's Sunday, which means it's family day. We typically hang out around the house and chill or just catch up on whatever. I usually have a "no friends" rule, so that we all just take one day out of the week where I can relax in my own abode without screaming Wii contests and Rock Band concerts blaring. It's kind of nice just being us for a day.

JD over at I do things so you don't have to proudly displays her family photos on her wall for everyone to see. I like my family, but I don't go that far. But I noticed something odd there in her collection--her Uncle Tim. I know him! I do. I even had my photo taken with JD's Uncle Tim.

Gees, it's a small world.

Momma Mia! How Can I Resist Ya?

I've been listening to a new radio station at work for a couple of weeks now. Being that I write a lot on my job, I cannot listen to wacky radio banter and expect the words that come out of me to sound sane. Come to think of it, I can't listen to inane wacky radio banter in any circumstance.

The station I listen to now is one of those nationwide corporate stations that is computer generated, so there is no time, temp, news, or obnoxious hosts who blather on about nothing. And although they play some great 70's, 80's and 90's favs, they tend to be on a giant loop and I hear the same songs each day--but sort of mixed up. I think they secretly just turn the loop on at different times so that your brain thinks it's a new mix each day. I usually like the songs, so that doesn't really bother me much. I just sing along and think "Didn't I hear that yesterday?". Yeah, probably.

I typically don't mind the repetition except for one song that is driving me nuts. It's my daily humjob--you know, the song that keeps running in your head long after it's over on the radio? Mine is "Momma Mia" by Abba. Kill me now.

I type singing Momma Mia. I write articles singing Momma Mia. I eat, pee, email, and make copies to Momma Mia. I come home and sing Momma Mia to the cats and nobody in particular. It's on a giant loop in my brain and it is driving me nuts.

Now my cube mate, Irene--she's another story. She's all "Turn it up! I LOVE Momma Mia!" and singing along with me and Jan or whatever his name is. She's digging that song and I want to rip my ears off. She's all happy back there in here cubicle clicking away in time to Abba, and me--well, I know the words now and I never did before. It is not a good sign.

I'm hoping by sending this song onto to your brain to loop over and over again, that it will somehow spare me another day of this. Please, someone stop the madness.

Momma Mia, I hate this song.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Marching Band Season. Ah, there is just something wonderfully geeky about the whole thing. And what's worse than band geeks? Band parents. Yep, and I wear that title proudly. Count me in the loser category when you've got the last 4 seasons of marching music on your Ipod. There is just nothing that compares to the drum line and twirling flags. Nothing.

Marching Season opens Friday night with the first football game of the year. I don't go for the game--I go for half-time. That's when the fun starts--the band takes the field. And the crowd of boisterous students don't even watch. But I don't care, I'm all about the band and that show that keeps changing and improving with every week.

Fall equals football. Football equals marching band. Marching band equals fun with the kids and other band parents. It is my life for the next 2 months.

It is a happy life.

G'Ma Phyl, fo Shizzle

The past few days have been incredibly stressful and my mind is weary. I've been "fighting the power"--otherwise known as school administration, in trying to get my kid out of a nasty teacher's class. I'm not going into detail here, but let's just say that switching teachers is out of the question, and my kid "sucking it up" or switching to a lower level class is the only available solutions to the situation. He'll " be a better student for it". Or so they say. Sigh. Again, may I reiterate that unions and tenure should be against the law? There is nothing more wonderful than a good teacher, and nothing worse than a bad one. I'm just saying.

In all of this, I turn to Phyl. Girlfriend has logged like a cabillion years working in various school districts and knows the ropes like a pro. My mom has a way of filling me in on the details on how best to maneuver about the system like Pac Man eating up all those little dots. We've heated up the phone lines like no tomorrow, and then continued the discussion shopping for the likes of purses and fall coats at the mall the other night.

So, as we were touching this bag and that one, Phyl starts telling me some story about turning in her "coin" at the bank. She was making more money on her coin than she did on some of her investments, she laughed. And what killed me is my mom's use of the term "coin". She totally didn't use the phrase "change" or "coins"--nope. My mother actually used the term "coin" like she was hangin' with Snoop Dog. The hell?!

Then yesterday, here we were, discussing the subject at hand (again) and she starts with "he's gonna take her off" or something similar. I don't remember the exact phrase because it caught me so off guard. So, while I'm all foamed up about the situation at hand, G'ma is dissin' the principal and telling me how's he's take up the issue behind the scenes with this dame. She was consoling me with hip hop lingo! My mother!

And then I lost it. I cracked up and said "Mom! What's with the lingo?!". To hear my mom using gangsta lingo like a pro was killing me. And she used the terms in correct form and syntax. G'ma Phyl was hip to the scene--go figure.

This is my life. Wacky kids, goofy husband, cat who thinks he's an ottoman, and my mother who is gansta at 70. Sigh.

I'm hoping she isn't sporting some grills the next time I see her.

The Waiting is the Hardest Part-- or so Tom Petty says.....

I figured out the other day what I am not good at--waiting.

I'm not very tolerant of waiting for phone calls, for someone to make up their mind, for the kids to come out to the car after they have called for a ride, or for standing in line. I go nuts waiting for someone to help out the lone cashier at a crowded store. I lose it when I've got to stand in a slow-moving line anywhere. And I absolutely refuse to stand there and wait just for the opportunity to try clothes on in the dressing room.

I will not wait in any line longer than 3 people unless I am absolutely forced to. I refuse to wait to purchase such things like bread and buttons--it reeks of Communism and I say so. And I grow impatient waiting in an exam room at the doctor's office for more than say 10 minutes. That crinkly paper and gown irks the bajeepers out of me, so let's get the show on the road.

As I stood there in line for the restroom the other night at the Sox game, I was growing crabbier by the second. Em was all "Chill, Mom" which made me even more crabby.

"Do you know what you are, Mom? Crabby." she had the nerve to announce to me on my birthday.

"Yeah, well, do you know what you are?" I responded all miffy. "Complacent. And a smart-mouthed brat."

"What does that mean?" she asks.

"It means that you love to stand in line. That this line of 50 women is perfectly normal and acceptable. I don't think it is acceptable that the men's line is non-existent and here we stand." I was going off like Lucy Van Pelt of Charlie Brown fame. "This is Communism. People should not have to stand in line for hours to pee. I'm just saying."

"It's not 'hours'. Look the line is moving." she points out hoping I'll quit the rant already.

"Whatever. Don't talk to me. Just keep the line moving." it was all I could do to end this happy line-stander from annoying me.

Now I understand there are certain situations that warrant a line, and I will gladly stand there. Like when I met Tim Gunn. I needed time to figure out what the hell I was going to say to him, so that wait was relished. Standing in line for a bratwurst at the game is okay too--but only because they have some smart beer vendors who appease me by selling me a cold one while I wait. I'll also stand in line at the Wisconsin State Fair for a cream puff because that line moves fast and your reward is just heavenly.

See? I'm not totally unreasonable.

Who's turning off the sun so early?

Has anyone besides me noticed that the days are getting shorter? My planters are starting to show the lack of sunlight, as the flowers are starting to get leggy and straggly looking. The pond temperature is cooling off and the hyacinths aren't multiplying anymore. And the goldfinches--sheesh, I can't keep them in food these days. Between the feeder and the coneflowers, those tiny munchers are voracious in their appetites.

I sat out in the yard last night, enjoying the quiet and the kitties wrestling little nothings. There weren't the sounds of neighbors doing annoying summer things like weed-wacking or leaf-blowing. There weren't screaming kids in the pool across the way or loud ATV's racing. It was like fall is upon us. And all too soon.

The kids are back in school and already, Colin has one teacher in particular that I'd like to murder. Without going into a rant here, I'll just make note that sarcasm and belittling of students are not features that wear well on an educator. Let's just say that unions and tenure ought to be against the law and we can fire teachers that do more harm than good. I'm just saying. So, I'm off to the school tomorrow to be the "squeaky wheel". Sigh. Here we go....

So, I prepare for longer days, cooler nights, and marching band. Fall is my favorite season, with its lovely colors, sweet leafy smells, and marching band competitions. I hate football, but love the games when the band performs at half-time. I love the smell of burning leaves--although that has all but been banished because it's bad for our breathing. I love fall coats and sweaters. I like seeing my breath on a chilly morning and frost on the pumpkin. I love fall--it's just plain and simple.

I know Summer isn't over yet, but in my mind it is. Goodbye hot weather (that we never really had) and air conditioning. Goodbye lazy days and not having to be anywhere. Goodbye yellow goldfinches and your endless appetites. Goodbye hummingbird. Goodbye mowing the lawn and popsicles. Goodbye weirdo neighbors and your freaky yard goings-on. Goodbye. Goodbye.

I think I'm ready.

It's my birthday.....and I'll cry if I want to

Yeah, it's today and I'm forty. Six. Ugh.

I feel like that chair looks--lumpy, uncomfortable, and held together by some butt-ugly rivets. It's weird what your body starts to do after 40, and every year after just adds some new surprises. Even if your mind says you are still 20, your body tells you, day after day, that 20 is looooonnnng gone. Sigh.

I had a good birthday kick-off--meeting up with Lola and hanging out at a couple of Starbucks last night. I say a couple because we planned to meet up for a big jalapeno/blueberry jam exchange, and I was at one Starbucks and she was at another. This was the one time I was thankful for texting. We finally met up and spent the evening giggling about everything from school idiots to fellow bloggers. We both escaped our crazy lives for a bit and just sat for a spell. It was so nice to just relax with a friend for a change.

So, after a fun night chatting with Lola, I'm off to chill with my other big pallies--the White Sox. Yes, Joe scored our fav seats (free!) for the big night, so I can see my Paulie and the boys up close. Yes! Nothing like a trip to the 'ol ballpark and a cold beer to celebrate another year. Okay, so I'm not wild--no fake plastic butts or anything--just hanging out watching the boys of summer.

Happy Weekend, pallies. Go look up those people you call "friend" and give them a call. Have a bonfire in the yard and smoke out the neighbors. Take a nap. Remember to breathe deep and stick your toe into the pool of relaxation a bit.

Windshield Wipers Slappin' Out a Tempo

My commute to work is congested--to say the least. I travel one of the various main thoroughfares that runs straight north and south from one end of Chicago to the other and passes directly through Midway Airport. Cicero Avenue is jam-packed all the time--even in the wee hours, it's just one of those roads.

Driving Cicero is a two-hands-on-the-wheel, don't-take-your-eyes-off-the-road kinda drives there and back each day. There are 3 lanes of traffic in either direction to maneuver about, pot holes the size of Brooklyn to dodge, and pedestrians that cross wherever the hell they want (crosswalks are for sissies, apparently). Think "Frogger" traffic--that's my drive to and from work. Ugh.

Coming home from work Wednesday, I notice the dude in front of me at the stoplight is really getting into the music in his beat-up minivan. Dude is pulling a Stevie Wonder--head swaying, body going from side to side, hands (and arms) full out clapping. Geesh, he was really into it. I even turned down my talk radio to see if I could hear what was so danceable. No luck, dude didn't have it cranked--he was just really enjoying his music. He looked like he was attending a revival in his own vehicle. Really.

As the light turned green, his car revved up and sped off from the line on the road--all the while, he's still clapping. Full-out gunning hoopty, homeboy was still Stevie Wondering down the road! How the hell he was steering that vehicle was beyond me, even your knees couldn't maneuver like he did, but there he was, cruising like a party on wheels. His arms were still doing the full-clap, so unless he had a third arm, I don't know what was steering.

Light after light, dude was still doing his bit, although I'm sure the song had to change in the interim. Unless he had it on loop, dude was really enjoying whatever music he had on. Which made me curious--what did he have on that would promote such intense full-blown car dancing? And what was making him so darned happy? And how did he manage such speed and maneuverability while he was partying in his car down Cicero Avenue?

After awhile, and it was a long while, dude pulled into a turn lane and left me. I turned to look at him as I passed, and he was still going strong. He was singing and clapping, swaying and dancing in his clunker--happy and oblivious to the mass of congestion that surrounded him.

My initial thoughts behind him were "Crap, I gotta get around this dude", but that soon turned into admiration for such joy in a stressful commute. Maybe that's what it takes to be happy and to ignore the commuting hell that surrounds me each day. Oblivious to honking horns, dodging cars, truck brakes hissing, and 6 lanes of non-stop steel, homeboy was dealing with it in his own happy way. God bless him. Okay, so it was a bit dangerous, he was happy.

So, I take his message with me this weekend--learn to relax and block out the negatives that too often consume our lives. Take the drudgery and mix in a little wackiness to make it all bearable. Breathe deep and let go of your cares--even if it is for a moment. Turn off the electronics and go look at a flower--up close. Watch a bee do the work while you chill. Be silly and laugh hard with your family. And car dance until the gas runs out.

Blue-Eyed Children of the Corn

After spending nearly a whole day trying to master a few basics in Photoshop Elements, I was starting to doubt myself. Things I was doing "just because I could", I wasn't sure I should be doing. Things I wanted to do I couldn't figure out in the time frame of a day. Sheesh, who knew this Photoshop thing was so darned complicated?!

So, tell me if you like this effect or not. The household is split on this one--some thinking this is too "Blue-eyed Children of the Corn" and others saying it's cool. And no, Hobbes did not vote, so all you Hobbes followers will just have to think on your own on this one.

Should I also keep the collar of Lily's dress in color too? Or just her eyes? Is it scaring you? Or do you just love those blue eyes? Help your pally out on this one, please.

By the way, those were Lily's shoes I posted the other day. And her bandaged legs. Isn't she the cutest thing?

Rebellious Love

I don't have many rules for the cats of my life, but why do they have to test the one or two that I do enforce? All surfaces in my house are pretty much fair game to the four-footed--except the countertops. That just grosses me out when I have paw prints where I prepare my food. Ick, ick, ick. But with the passing of Henry suddenly last fall and the welcoming of my stripey goodness, I just sort of look the other way when Hobbes goes up there. I'm not wasting one single minute of his cat life yelling at him--it can be suddenly and heart-wrenchingly cut short at any time. I learned that the hard way. So, on the countertops he sits.

The other ultimate "no's" are the living room furniture and my drapes, pooled on the floor, in the family room. Just one look at either cat in the living room and they skeedaddle. No words are even necessary--they just know it is off limits. Of course, they go there when I'm not home--I find the fur (the calling card of cats) all over the sofa. Ugh.

As for the puddled drapes in the family room--uh, well, Hobbes sits on them too. At first I just found his orangey goodness stuck here and there on them, but it soon escalated to full fledged poufs resting where the cat used to be. Sigh. I guess I'm not winning this battle either. I'm 0 for 3 here, folks.

The final straw was Sunday late afternoon, fresh from a little snack and exhausted from a full day outside, Hobbes was mewing loudly in the family room. Frustrated that he was now in for the night, he was announcing his displeasure--and loudly. Worried that the racket meant something serious, I went running, only to find him sitting there waiting for me. Once I arrived to see what was up, Hobbes turned and led me to the window, and he proceeded to plop down, smack dab on top of the puddled drapes. It was if he was testing me--would I or wouldn't I remove my pally from my beloved eggplant colored draperies?

I didn't. I couldn't. I could fire up the vacuum and roll the sticky-roll to remove his orange fur easier than I could lift that ottoman from his bed of rebellion. Sure, it would take a ton of effort, and ultimately, those fine orange hairs would still outsmart me and remain. So, the only response I could muster was to grab the dreaded camera and snap away--hoping that he would grow tired of my attention and leave the warm nest of drapes.

He never left. But I got this sweet photo in return.

Random Thoughts and Journeys

I finally figured out that if I add my days off from work onto the weekend, I can actually cope like a normal human being. Okay, so I'm a slow learner, I'm just so proud of me that I figured out how not to be so darned stressed out. I got done with the chores and still had some time for me and what I want to do. It's a nice feeling.

With my new found chill time, I actually had time to finish my summer sweater that I started back in May--just in time for Labor Day! Hooray. I'm hoping it stays warm enough to wear it more than once or twice. I guess it isn't the finished product, but the process that is so darned rewarding--I haven't knitted a garment in years.

I also sat down to figure out my Photoshop program that I got for Mother's Day too. (Gees, I think May must have been a very inspiring time for me with all that I took on.) With some sweet photos of my extended family on the hard drive, I got up the nerve, got out the book, and worked nearly the whole day on the darned things. Okay, so there are like 14 pictures in the end--I learned how to do a few things here people. Again, the theme of the importance of the journey reigns.

I'm on medication for my throat, and although there doesn't seem to be any major improvements, every once in awhile I can swallow--which is nice. The general consensus is reflux, but there doesn't seem to be any major relief in sight, even after 4 days of medication. I'm hoping it is a long-term med thing--that I'll need to be on it for a bit before there are some changes. I have more doctor appointments scheduled, but I was wishing for a more simple solution--like the medication WORKS. Gees, I sound like my grandma here crabbing about her bursitis. Sorry.

Frog population in the pond is up to FIVE! Yes, five little frogs sitting in the pond--sounds like a song, doesn't it?? Geesh, it is great to look out and count them amongst the lily pads and hyacinths. It takes so very little to amuse me.

Bad day for nature yesterday. On the way to the dermatologist, a small flock of sparrows decided to swoop in front of my car. Yeah, it wasn't pretty. I've never had them actually fly into my car, which they did and it wasn't pretty. There were a couple of little white bellies flipped into the air and a thunk or two. Buzzkill. There was nothing I could do--I comforted the kids by telling them of Japanese Kamikaze pilots back in the war. And I thought of Elizabeth, doing a face-plant trying to save her bird friend the other day. Some days, you don't win.

Driving through a marshy area, we spied a turtle making his way across a very busy road. We watched in horror as car after car dodged the little dude. We freaked, turned around to help him, but by the time we got there--yeah, no. Homeboy was squished and so were our spirits. Sometimes, you get points for trying and I told Em we earned them on this one. We were all bummed. Not a good nature day.

It's gonna be a fun/rough year. Col went for his Senior pictures today and I did everything I could not to cry. The guys also traveled to two colleges for visits this weekend too. Sigh. It's inevitable--Col's going to college. Don't get me wrong, I'm excited for him, but geesh, do they have to grow up so darned fast??

Do you see the theme? It's the journey, pallies. It's the trying to save the turtle. It's the mastering of the knitting and Photoshop. It's the excitement of getting ready to go to college. It's the taking of the meds, hoping against hope this one's gonna work. It's about the life in the pond that continues to amaze me. It's all about not paddling and going for the ride--and enjoying it. I'm working on it, can you tell?

I Picked a Peck, I Swear

The back 40 (feet, not acres) is mostly perennials, but on the side of the house is Joe's garden--you know, with vegetables and herbs. And even that is on the small side--one tomato plant, one pepper plant, oregano and basil. Does that even count as a garden? Or is that a plot? I'm not up on my farming lingo. But I'm not asking, because our farmer friends would laugh at what we call a "garden".

We used to plant a whole lot more, but we would be knee deep in tomatoes when the rest of the world was too, and we'd be freezing more tomatoes than the poor freezer (or us) could hold. So, now we have just skimmed it down to a few measly plants that I don't have to worry about it so much. And we aren't overloaded with produce that nobody is gonna eat.

Except the pepper plant didn't get that memo--homeboy is going NUTS. We've got more hot peppers than Peter Piper. Geesh. Every single time I go out there, I'm picking like 4 or 5 more peppers. Apparently the side of the house is the place to grow hot peppers. Who knew?

Who exactly is going to eat these peppers is another issue. We make nachos or tacos like once a month, so I don't know what I was thinking planting hot peppers. And what else do you really use hot peppers for? Jardiniere is yummy on beef sandwiches, but I'm not making that--I kind of like the skin on my hands. Salsa is nice, but nobody here likes it that hot. And I'm not really up on what else you can do with a billion hot peppers. It's not like I can open a stand with one product--hot peppers.

So, I'm re-thinking the garden for next year already, making note to scratch the hot pepper plant for next year. What to replace it with? What one plant would you want to put in and have a cabillion of--zucchini? Nah. Green peppers? Nope. Watermelon, pumpkins, green beans? Nope, nope, nope.

I'm at a loss here, but what I really need a cabillion of I can't find the seeds for--a money plant. And I know that there are plants called that and I actually had one last year. It's little seed pods form a cute little circle that is supposed to look like a coin (not really), but it was fun to tell people that I have a "money plant". I put it right there on the side of the house and tended to it regularly. And like the "real" money in my life, that sucker dried up and died, never to be seen again.

Auf Wiedersehen, Weiner Dog!

As with any visitor, Day 6, 7, or 8 starts to grate on your nerves. Things you do on a daily basis begin to become annoying and even the sound of someone eating or even breathing starts to wear thin. Under the best of circumstances, living with another being is trying--even if that someone is very cute.

I looked out my front door yesterday, only to find Sammy the Weiner Dog heading slowly down the sidewalk, away from our house. Somehow he escaped the backyard and was making his escape. Apparently, someone had enough--and it wasn't me.

I fly the door open and stand there with my arms held wide, aghast. "Really?!" that's my new phrase. "You're leaving ME??!" Unbelievable. "After I give you treats for just looking at me, lifting you on and off my bed for a WEEK, and being so nice to you?!" I'm doing this dramatic bit for the dog who has turned meekly to look at me. Well, and the neighbors too, apparently. I am absolutely appalled that the dog is sick of ME and not vice-versa.

He put his little head down, ears folded, tail tucked in and slowly, slowly started to come back. But he wasn't happy about it. He was done with us. Done with the cats, done with the lack of dog fun, and done with our house in general. He was ready to go home and he was going there all on his own--except he was going in the wrong direction.

Tomorrow Sammy's family will be home. We'll go drop him off late in the day so that when his family comes home, he is there to greet them with barks and submissive peeing. (I learned it's best that he does that bit in his own house--smart me.) He's had a nice week, but we aren't his family even though we try really hard.

There weren't any major problems, stories, or even kitty encounters. Pretty much Hobbes and Grace just give him the stink eye, and Sammy cowers. Boring. They rule the roost and he knows it, so I don't even have funny pictures or adventures to post. Yawn. It was a week of just hanging out with pretty much no drama or excitement.

So, we say good-bye to our short-legged pally and send him home. As we open the gate to his yard, he works himself into a frenzy and heads straight for the door. He doesn't want to sniff his own grass or make one last potty stop--nope. Right in the door and heads straight upstairs to do god-knows-what. I personally think he hides under the bed in case we change our mind and take him home again.

We all stand there, open mouthed, waiting for a little lick or a gentle good-bye hug--but it never comes. He turns his back to us, refusing to acknowledge that we were his loving family for a week. He won't even come if we call him to give one last pat on the head. He's done with us and he wishes we'd get the message.

So, we shut the door behind us and head for home, dogless. I wash the bedding and put the kitty food and litter back down on the ground. Grace and Hobbes sniff about, looking for his squatty bod, happy to see him gone. Life returns to normal--for Sammy and us.

Apparently we were grating on his nerves.

The Problem With Paddling

Loaded up with swimming gear, sunscreen, waterproof shoes, life vests, and inner tubes, 36 of us scrambled down an incline to jump into the cool river. "It'll take you two hours," the guide who drops us off says, "and I'll meet you at the end". And she proceeds to tell us about the turns in the Big Southfork river and how to stay to one side when we come to the shoals. Okay. Sounds like a breeze, let's go.

Because there were so many of us, we got spread out pretty quickly over the river. Charlie stayed with a big bunch of kids, Chris had Jack, Cynthia and Rich were holding hands as usual, and the rest of us tailed behind in smaller groups. It was peaceful and quiet--well, besides us all hootin' and hollerin', I mean.

The river there was cool and slow. Once we scrambled awkwardly into our tubes, it was easy to settle in and relax. There were deep sighs and lots of "Isn't this great?"s. It was heaven, pure heaven.

I started to notice that we weren't really going anywhere fast doing this and started to paddle a bit. Everyone was really far ahead and Joe began to paddle too. The small group that we were in started to paddle as well, just so we could keep up and enjoy the ride together. Even still, we were moving really, really slow.

Soon, we floated through one turn in the river and then another. There was a really beautiful rocky shore and a lovely trestle bridge that we went under. The scenery was incredible and we commented on how there is probably some cool wildlife here if we hadn't scared it all away with our booming crowd. We watched reeds dancing in the shallow waters and hawks soaring over head. We laughed as Chris realized that Jack, sitting on his back, was peeing on him as well. Yeah, it was darned near perfect--if only it would move just a tad bit faster.

We had a few scary moments when we realized that we were at the shoals and had to paddle like heck to steer away from the rocks. Tom was there making sure the tubes didn't overturn and we all made it through the rapids relatively unscathed. Rich flipped, Sheri saved her dad's life, and we moved on--well, we heard about it the rest of the trip though. Fain flipped too, but she just popped back in and kept going--albeit a little soggier.

About 45 minutes into the trip, we noticed our guide and all the tubers ahead of us on the shore. "It can't be over," Joe was saying "it's supposed to take 2 hours". And we sort of panicked thinking that it could possibly be over. "Maybe they're just stopping for a swim" Fain says hopefully.

And that was it. It was over. Our sweet 2 hour ride was over in 45 minutes. It was such a buzzkill, it was disappointing. We climbed out of the water and sat on the shore, sad that ride on the river was over too quickly. Even the kids wouldn't get out of the water--wanting the event to go on and on. The guide was rolling her eyes at the wacky city folk who rushed through what should have been a lazy 2 hour ride on a very slow river.

As we looked back on our adventure, we realized how much we all paddled. We all paddled to get our tubes moving, to make the ride fast--like our lives at home. We're used to moving and moving fast, so our "ride" has to be the same way--fast. Too fast.

You see, I think we spend our days looking ahead to see what the river of our lives is bringing. We stretch our necks to see past the shoals and beyond the next stretch of water. We anxiously await and prepare for the rapids and sometimes we paddle way too fast to get to it all. We paddle to control the river, thinking that somehow we can control where we go and how we get there, when in reality, that river would have taken us there in its own time.

And that's where the mistake lies. We shouldn't have paddled. We should have closed our eyes, kept our arms on the warm sides of the tube, and watched the dragonflies landing on our knees. We should have floated, unassisted, taking the bluffs in for the beauties they were and closed our eyes to the waters ahead. We were so concerned about the rapids that awaited us, that we neglected to lean back and let the warm sunshine smile on our faces.

So, that's the message I take with me now--don't paddle. The river's gonna take me on it's own course and in it's own time. I don't need to rush it and I certainly cannot change it. Yes, I can prepare for the shoals and the rapids, but worrying about what lies ahead doesn't make it any different. They're there waiting for me, but in the meantime, I'm gonna float. And float slow.

Don't paddle, pallies. Enjoy your weekend and let the river take you where it will. Breathe deep and trust your journey.

The Bat-Signal

Like the skies in Gotham City, there was a subtle signal sent out over the blogosphere for a little help today. Okay, so Batman can't save Jess, but perhaps a little love and prayers sent her way will help her during a rough patch.

Jess, who writes the blog Connor's Song, has just received news that her husband was seriously injured during his service in Afghanistan. Hit by an IED, Jeremy was severely hurt and was being evacuated to Germany for surgery on his legs--which as of today, have varying degrees of injuries depending on who you talk to. Day 1, Jess was told he was lucky to have his legs and that his heels were crushed and his ankles broken. Day 2 is a bit more optimistic--they are saying it is only one leg and it's not too bad. She's not quite sure what to expect on Days 3 and 4. I'm sure every phone ring is torment.

Confused by the contradicting reports from a land very far away, Jess is trying to keep it together for Jeremy and their little guy, Connor. She is optimistic and hopeful it is the latter of the two reports, but is preparing for the worst--trying to mentally move the furniture in her apartment to make room for another wheelchair in their lives.

Connor's Song is a beautiful blog--full of promise, hope, and optimism for a little boy who has some difficulties. Well, a lot of difficulties actually, but Jess will never tell you that. She writes of every challenge, but never gives up hope. She rejoices in the little milestones, as well as the overcoming of major hurdles. She is endlessly upbeat, even now, when she receives the news of her injured husband as she's getting her teeth cleaned.

Please pop over and give Jess, Jeremy, and Connor some love and prayers. She needs that Bat-Signal today, and I think we are pallies to do it.

Semi-Wordless Wednesday: Stealing Fain's Man

This whole Fain and Jerry thing has been going on long enough--I'm moving in. Well, trying to anyway. And then Cheri's gotta join in as well. Sigh.

The whole week of vacation, Jerry was the object of our affections. Fain and I fought for his attention, snuck in secret dances, and generally pulled him this way or that trying to be his favorite gal. Fain went on morning hikes with Jerry while I was still sleeping. I grabbed a little dance and some photos with him while Fain was calling the square dancing. I found a place next to him on the couch at the Lodge--and then Fain's gotta squeeze in on the other side. It was pretty much a tug-o-war over Jerry all week. Although I don't think he minded much.

Okay, so his beautiful and understanding wife, Pat, was pretty much run over by me and Fain, she is such a good sport. She just smiles when we knock each other over to sit by Jerry and laughs when we fight over who he loves best. In the end, there is only one winner though. And it's not me, Fain, or even Cheri.

Lucky Pat.

Weiner Dogs for Everyone!

We always look forward to having Sammy the Weiner Dog come stay with us and his family thinks we are nuts. They are endlessly thankful that we take him each year when they go on vacation, but they don't understand why on earth we would be willing to do this. Duh!

I took my dog pally out last night and we hiked the 'hood. Sheesh, that dog walks slow and he's gotta smell everything. Who knew there were such great things going on in the ground every 3 feet? So, being that I had lots of time to think while Sniffy McPeester was doing his thing, I made a mental list of the Top Ten Reasons to Dog-Sit a Weiner Dog. They are:

1. He barks back at Yip Yap the Non-Stop Barking Dog - It's my annual get-even with the jerks next door who let their dog bark incessantly. I let Sammy go over there for a Bark Fest, which FINALLY gets them annoyed enough to call Yip Yap in. The kid actually had the nerve to come out last year and tell Sammy to be quiet. Really.
2. My spelling is getting a workout - words like W-A-L-K, R-I-D-E, and T-R-E-A-T cannot be mentioned without a certain somebody getting all freaky. It's best to avoid these words unless you are including the dog in those activities.
   
3. Walks, every night! - Sammy is forcing me to get some exercise--albeit, very slow exercise. He has short legs, you know.
4. He entertains the cats - The kitties are jumping on furniture and countertops to tease the poor thing.
5. Every night is like having a pajama party - That bed is loaded with bodies--cats, dogs, people, snoring husbands....
6. Someone thinks I'm great - The dog follows me EVERYWHERE. Which is great until around Day 6. Then, not so great.
7. People actually yell "Hey! Look at the Weiner Dog!"
8. It makes me grateful that I don't have to clean up poo in the yard ALL the time!
9. I get my dog "fix" and then he goes home - He's cute with absolutely no responsibility or vet bills. Plus, no writer's block when you add a dog to the mix!

And the final reason it's good to dog-sit the Weiner Dog:

10. It's just so darned fun to say "Weiner Dog"!

Weiner Dog A Go-Go

What do they say about the best laid plans? Oh yeah, don't make 'em--or something like that.

Our weekend plans of spending some time with my sister-in-law, Julie and her daughter, Emily went south on Friday morning. Okay, so we've only been planning this weekend together like forever, but somehow, in one instant all the plans were bust--just like my mother-in-law's pelvis.

Joe's mom crashed and burned at the Y on Friday. After her swimming workout, girlfriend was goofing around in the locker room snapping towels at the other chickies and then she wiped out after she popped out of a locker to scare one them witless.

Actually, I think she just slipped or something, but my version is just so much more exciting isn't it? Either way, poor Bev is laid up at the hospital now with a broken pelvis (owie!), ten staples on the back of her head, and 6 stitches over the right eyebrow in the front. She's okay, thank goodness, but she certainly gave everyone a scare.

So, needless to say, Julie and Emily bailed on us to help Bev out and we were just thankful that they were there to help her and Grandpa. Whew! It will be a long healing process, but she was very lucky it wasn't worse. We are all grateful for that.

In the meantime, Sammy the Weiner Dog came to stay with us for a week or so. It's been interesting, as Hobbes has never met Sammy, nor any other kind of Weiner Dog before. He charges Yip Yap the Non-Stop Barking Dog at the fence, but that is about the extent of Hobbes' dog repertoire. I wasn't sure if he liked dogs, was scared of dogs, or if he thought he was a dog. It was going to be interesting.

Interesting it was. Hobbes decided Sammy freaked him out, even if Sammy is terrified of the kitties and keeps his distance. There was lots of posturing on Hobbes' part--raccoon tail pouffed, tail arched, ears lowered, and nails sharpened for action. He hid behind the ottoman hoping Sammy didn't see him, but his 47 lbs of stripey goodness is awfully hard to miss. Even if he flattens out.

Sammy got reign of the bed, miffing Grace who was scooted off to find another place to sleep. Hobbes was nowhere in sight for bedtime, but reappeared at 3:45 am to check the dog out. This was lovely because it entailed dresser leaping, bed jumping, and floor rolling in front of a dog that is too short to jump off the bed and eat him. Poor Sammy just whimpered helplessly, hoping I'd wake up and save him.

Save him I did at 7:00 am, when I finally gave up trying to sleep through 4 hours of this silliness, and got up, only to step in a puddle of pee in the kitchen. I'm not sure if it was Sammy, who I lifted down earlier in the night, or Hobbes, who was scared peeless that the dog was checking out his litterbox for warm kitty yummies. (Dogs like cat poo for some icky reason) Either way, I was lucky it was on vinyl flooring in the kitchen. I didn't grumble too much. Yeah, right.

Things have settled down a bit. Hobbes has sort of learned that Sammy isn't going to eat him and that dog food is pretty yummy stuff. We sleep with Sammy where my feet should be, Joe is where Joe should be, and I'm all scrunched up with Hobbes between me and the side of the bed. There is no moving for me, but everyone else is happy. Sigh.

And only one more week to go.....

It's a Major Award!

I typically hate awards, but this one I gotta post. Lola of Lola's Diner, pally of the blogosphere, thinks it's funny to tag me every so often--ugh. But this one is sort of an honor from her--so I'm grabbing it. Honors don't come too often, so thanks, pally. Sometimes it's good to think your blog is f*cking fabulous--even if it isn't. I try, though--does that count??

Here are the following Instructions and Rules:

1. You have to pass it (the award) on to 5 other fabulous blogs in a post.
2. You have to list 5 of your fabulous addictions in the post.
3. You must copy and paste the rules and the instructions below in the post. (easy Below)

Instructions: On your post of receiving this award, make sure you include the person that gave you the award and link it back to them. When you post your five winners, make sure you link them as well. Don’t forget to let your winners know they won an award from you by emailing them or leaving a comment on their blog.

My choices for this incredible honor are:

1. Chocolate Covered Daydreams - Girlfriend has always got it going on!
2. Diary of a Mad Bathroom - I think she would think this is a huge honor too.
   
3. Margo from Life in the Short Lane - Even if she writes about bikinis, I honor her.
4. Jen from Learning the Art of Slow - This is one of my new favs.
5. Aria from Aria'z Ink - Another new fav with a good sense of humor.

Here's my addictions:

1. Mom Blakeman's pulled cremes - You won't know what the hell I'm talking about unless you live in eastern Kentucky. Or you have a "dealer" named Fain. Yummmmm! I love you, Mom Blakeman. I do. You make some fine candy there, girl.
   
2. Jeff Lewis and "Flipping Out" - New season beginning on Tuesday, August 18 on Bravo. This show is my guilty pleasure. Wait! No, I'm not guilty about loving Jeff Lewis--he is hilariously self-absorbed! Can't wait!
3. Cumberland Falls - Where friends become your family and your status in life doesn't matter a hooey. It is magic up there in those mountains. Pure magic.
4. Cursing - addictions are sometimes bad, right?? Okay, so here's the bad--I curse. A lot. I'm always "working on it" without success. I give it up for Lent every freaking year and I last about 3 hours before ruining it. Sigh.
5. Blankets - I always have to have a blanket on me while I sleep. Always. Even in summer when it is hot. I love to have a blanket. Weird, I know.
   

Okay, so love or hate me--there you go.

Thanks to Vanilla over at String to Short to Tie and Natalee over at Raising Normal Kids--they both showered me with awards and love recently. It's nice to get those awards, but it is just so hard for me to remember to post and redistribute them! And I've always got a story to tell, so I hate tying up the space with major awards--yeah, like I get a bunch. Sheesh. Go visit these pallies and give them some blog love for me, okay??

Square Through Four Hands Around

It's Friday and that means chill time. I'm off to enjoy the weekend with a dear sister-in-law Julie, and my super-cute niece, Emily--can't wait. As usual, I will encourage you to turn the computer off and relax too. Go sniff some flowers and watch the bumblebees. Maybe even annoy your neighbors a bit by turning your music up just a little too loud and open a cold one or two. Sit in the grass with your kitty, or your goats, and look at the clouds passing by. Enjoy, pallies, and breathe deep.

I'll leave you with a little treat--me square dancing on vacation. That's me in the yellow and Joe is my original partner. He has absolutely no rhythm whatsoever, so you can see why I change partners so often. But in the end, that's who I go back to--there's no better than Joe, I guess. Even if he can't "weave around the ring" worth a crap. He actually asked me last night what a "promenade" is. Sigh.

Shout out to my pallie, Angie, who took the video and her daughter, Abby, who posted it on YouTube. This is the sole time I will forgive Angie for renegade filming.

Squirrel!!

It's the one thing they agree on.


There are two posts today--check out the next, a tad more somber, one too.

Shovelful of Sorrow

Times are tough and there is no end in sight. We are all skimping and trying to make ends meet, losing jobs, and wondering how we are going to deal with this cruddy economy much longer. I heard a story today on CNN which put it all into perspective for me. It tells of a family who lost their 15 year old son to cancer and didn't have the money to bury him properly. With a $5000 bill looming, the father dug his own child's grave to save $300 on the cost of burying him. Please check out the heartbreaking story here.

So when you think things are bad, just think of him. Suddenly, my problems are dwarfed in comparison and my heart aches for this man and his family. Can't even imagine.

A Frog Smile

Do you know all those people who say that when something bad happens, it happens for a reason? Or we all grow stronger from the challenges we face? I hate those people. I do. I personally like to wallow in my misery, feel sorry for myself, and pretty much bitch and complain about whatever drama is happening at the moment. I thoroughly enjoy it. I do.

Okay, so all those really annoying Pollyanna people were right this time--it was best that my two big frogs moved on this spring.

There, I said it. Okay, take the moment to gloat, happy people. Alright, your moment is over. Moving on....

Things have changed a lot since late spring when the big guys hopped away. A timid little frog emerged once he realized the gigantors were gone and is now happily sitting in the warm sunshine, not afraid that he might be eaten by much larger pallies. Some of the tadpoles have blossomed into fine little frogs, and two more tadpoles are working hard on moving the eyeballs to the top of their heads and sprouting arms. That's tough stuff for tadpoles, so it takes some time.

And while we are on the tadpole subject-- does anyone remember how many tadpoles I threw in the pond? 'Cuz I don't and I think I've got more tadpoles in there than I bought. I've got 2 little frogs who recently turned and there are two more tadpoles that I've spotted. I swore I only bought 2 tadpoles, but I'm quickly losing the memory here folks. I'm lucky I can remember my name, more or less how many silly tadpoles I bought from the garden store. Man, it's tough to get old.

Add to all of this tadpole/frog frenzy, that Em brought home a new frog pally from a big outing at the pee-wee golf place near our house. Apparently, the froglets were turning (into frogs) and there was no way for them to climb out of the steep incline of the faux pond there. There was no plants or anything for them to hold on to, so they were literally drowning--frogs can do that. If they don't have a place to rest, they tire and drown. And they can't catch food in order to live. It sounds weird, but it's true.

So, there's Em and her friends saving frogs at the pee-wee golf place instead of playing pee-wee golf. (She's definitely my kid--can you tell?) She was mortified at how many of them were dead, but she managed to bring a little one home to our little frog sanctuary. She released him in the pond and he's now happily living a dream frog's life over in Weirdville.

While I was really sad at the big frogs departing, none of this could have happened while they were here. Reality is that big frogs eat little frogs--and little frogs know it. We would not have introduced more tadpoles to the pond had the big guys still been here--because we would never have seen them, even if they survived. So, there's your blessing--new life has begun, one life saved, and lots of new joys are happening out there.

There are four frogs and counting, currently. I'm working on getting them used to us so I can take some photos, but so far, only the rescue is desensitized to human noises and doesn't hop away when we appear.

Life begins again. After the rain, the sun shines. Two big guys hop away and a little frog smiles. It is life in the pond.

The Giant Orange Ottoman

I had to step over Hobbes laying on the bathroom rug as I was doing the unthinkable--weighing myself after vacation. Yeah, no. Not a good thing, but I figured I had to face reality one of these days.

So, after I nearly fell over from the numbers that registered, I did the next unthinkable--I weighed Hobbes. Yeah, no. He was not really happy about that and neither was the scale. It was bad enough I was on there, but now I had to hold his 47 pounds of stripey goodness to see his numbers.

Yikes. Homeboy's gotta get some diet kitty food. And homegirl is joining him on his quest for thinness. Hobbes isn't really 47 pounds, just 15--but 15 is too much for a kitty. So, we'll be working on that before I have to haul his butt to the vet come fall for his annual check-up. I can hear the lecture a mile away. And I can't even imagine squeezing his fat butt into that little kitty carrier and lifting it to get him there. Ugh.

I like Hobbes' thinking though--in his mind, he is little and uh, flat. When you play "Where's the kitty?" with him, he squishes down all flat-like so you don't see him. Okay, so he's 15 freaking pounds and he's orange! Does he really think nobody sees him?? My favorite is when he does this in the grass--he looks like a giant orange ottoman in the grass. Yeah, nobody sees him in his camouflage stripeyness.

Here he is on the side of the house staging a major attack on Grace. Notice his flat self, all ottoman-like and stealth, while Grace is clueless as to where Hobbes is. Grace has one wicked sense of humor, doesn't she? Actually, I think she's just wishing Hobbes would magically disappear like poor old Ruth and Henry. Buzzkill, Grace, buzzkill.

Things are gonna get interesting around here later this week when Sammy the Wiener Dog comes for a visit. We dog-sit once or twice a year for Sammy, and this will be Hobbes' first experience having Sammy here. It will be 10 days of fun with these two figuring each other out and Grace rolling her eyes and sucking her teeth at the two of them. Stay tuned.

Sleeping ought to be the killer, as Sammy likes to sleep with us on the bed when he comes. And so does Grace......and Hobbes. Yeah. 10 days may be a really long time.

He Gone

I was all excited when Joe said that we had some seats for the White Sox/Yankees game for Friday night. I knew Clayton Richard was pitching, and being that he has the nicest teeth (and bod) on the team, I was all up for that one. "Chops", as I lovingly refer to him, is just so darned lovely to look at--who wouldn't be excited for this game??

And then some buzzkill pally told me he was traded at the last minute for the 3:00 pm trade deadline. What?! Are you kidding me?? For Peavy, some not-so-cute dude on the disabled list?! What is Kenny Williams (White Sox GM) thinking??! What am I going to be looking at for the rest of the season? Sheesh.

So, we went to the game, excited to see the Yankees play and to finally enjoy a warm summer evening at the ballpark. It wasn't nearly as fun without Chops, but I survived.

Man, it was a crazy night. Five dudes behind us were so freaking schnockered that they were slurring their never-ending curse words and spilling beers on the backs of our legs. Em's sweatshirt sleeve was soaked with beer and my neck hurt from turning around and glaring at the dudes. If they would have dumped a beer on my kid, the party would have been over. They never did, lucky guys.

My boys creamed the Yankees, which was a blessed miracle, but it sure was a wild game. Tons of hits by both sides, home-runs, and a successful double-steal by Pods. There was lots of action both on the field and in the capacity-filled stands. Those Yankee fans are some fans. Wow. I kept wondering if my pally, Joe, The Crotchety Old Man, was watching, but I think he's only got the Stained Glass channel in rehab. I doubt he's got Yankees coverage there.

So, as much fun as we had, I still miss Chops. Em and I had the opportunity to get our photo with him earlier in the year, but I was so smitten, I couldn't even open my eyes. I'm gonna have to Photoshop some eyeballs in on that photo one of these days--if I can figure out how to use it. And in the meantime, I'm gonna have to start watching some Padres games. Sigh.

Goodbye, Chops. It was fun while it lasted.

Semi-Wordless Weekend

Take a cue from Hobbes and just hang out this weekend, pallies. Be sure to turn the computer off every now and then and get to know those folks who live with you. Maybe even call a friend--remember them?? Better yet, go outside and lay in the grass--barefoot. Let the sunshine see your piggies.

Happy Weekend.