Goodnight Frogs

As the air turns cooler, we start to ready the pond for winter. It's a time for slowing down, preparing for the cold slumber that is winter. Plants are pulled--put in containers for overwintering indoors, tossed into the compost bin, or clipped and sunk to the depths of the pond for hibernation with the frogs.

While the leaves wither and die, the frogs clamor for every possible beam of warm sunshine, hoping to catch one last bee or butterfly to prepare for a long resting period ahead. They don't mind as they, like the fish, go into hibernation mode--a period of little or no movement and no need for sustenance. Neon green frogs are now a muddy brown, chubby from eating at every opportunity. It's funny and sad to see them before they hunker down deep under ice and snow, and yes, I will miss and worry about them.

Winter is hard here and I am always saddened to shut the pond down for the winter. We brought the fish in for the winter already--they are in a tub in the laundry room. I dread the maintenance of having fish in the house and they dread having to be so visible to the humans, preferring to be hiding outside in their algae-filled oasis. Hobbes is the only one who loves to have them in, but that is only because it gives him one more place to drink water other than the water bowl in the kitchen.

I miss my two big frogs that left me this year and I wonder if I will still have the six come spring. I've learned the hard way to close off the skimmer so we don't have a repeat of the Great Frog Disaster '08, when 5 frogs decided to party in there for the winter. Uh, it wasn't really a great place to hibernate--they were permanently hibernated or otherwise known as dead. Ick. So, we sort of shut off the turnpike to death by blocking the skimmer.

The minnows will stay out in the pond all winter, keeping the frogs either company or full. They are hardy fellows as I learned last winter that the scallywags (who avoid the evil fish net) can actually survive the winter out in the pond. And being that I saw that we have like a hundred minnows out there, there is no way I could possibly bring them in. Summer out in the pond was good to this bunch, they were breeding like.....well, minnows.

So, although I'm not shutting the waterfall off just yet, I am shutting the pond down slowly. All too soon, the water will be still and the yard will be quiet. I will watch for the frogs and make sure the fish are fed as long as possible. We'll put the heater in another month or so to keep an air hole open for oxygen exchange. How they survive like that is beyond me, but it works.

I'll miss the pond pallies and I will watch and worry that they are safe during their slumber. It is hard to let Mother Nature take it's course when you a Mom. As much as I trust her, Mother Nature doesn't always look out for her brood like I do. She's a working mom and can't fuss over every sniffle, but that's okay--I'll help her out the best I can.

We Love Hobbes Tuesday

Then.......

Uh, now.

Somebody doesn't fit so well in the sink anymore. Or the sink got smaller.

Sweeping, Astro Style

I've learned a lot about this world of Marching Band Competitions in the past 4 years, none of which I even knew existed before Colin started as a freshman. Who knew that bands competed against each other? Or that there were actual judges, points, scoring, and Grand Champions? Who knew that you aren't penalized if you drop your flag or if you run a judge over on the field? I never even knew what a Drum Major did, more or less that they have their own little "gig" before they begin their performance. Gees, where was I all these years?

We've learned that you need to dress warm, pack coats, mittens, hats, blankets, and anything else you have to keep the chill at bay. We look like Nanook of the North heading into the stands, even though the sun is shining warm and the thermometer reads 70 degrees. No sooner does the sun go down and the dew appears on the grassy field, and soon, we are freezing our hinies off while we watch 6 hours of marching band madness. There is nothing chillier on your butt than some metal bleachers, I can tell you from experience. Bleacher seats are another mandatory item--I'm not joking when I tell you we look like pack mules loaded with gear to survive the evening.

The Marching Astros swept their category Saturday night, earning Best Drum Major, Best Auxiliary, Best Percussion, Best Overall Effect, Best Music, and First Place overall. We were in a small category, but the win was nothing short of fabulous just the same. The sight of the kids screaming with excitement on the opposing bleachers was fantastic and the orange and brown-clad parents on our side were jumping out of their seats.

If you have never been, marching band competitions are full of rigid performance schedules, timed performances, and organized maneuvering of uniformed musicians, band parents loading and unloading equipment onto the field, and strict rules regarding movement of the audience members during a performance. There is a decorum to be followed and the silence of the crowd is something to behold. All is rewarded with the most incredible music and precision choreography that you can ever imagine. It is the highlight of my fall each year.

At the end of the evening, all of the Drum Majors come out and line up on the sidelines of the field to accept the awards. And as each of the awards were called, the stands erupted into screams and cheers as Ted, our Drum Major, proudly accepted award after award. It was incredible to hear our name after the dreaded silence following the announcement of each award.

At the end of all the awards, there is one award given for the highest score overall, combining all of the categories--Grand Champion. No, we didn't win that--but it wasn't like we weren't hoping. But this year, they had a special award for Best Overall Drum Major and our Ted won that, so he was the declared Grand Champion of Drum Majors. It was then that the crowd really exploded with cheers.

You remember Ted--Dream Kid. He's not only extremely talented in so many aspects of his life, but also the greatest kid too. I've adopted him as one of my own, although he doesn't know it yet--but I did tell his parents so. They didn't flinch when I told them I was adopting their son--I think they must get that a lot.

So, yes, Dream Kid wows the crowd and wins a scholarship for himself. And to see him win was like seeing my own kid win--I was hootin' and hollerin' like a nut. It's good to see a good kid get something he deserves and more.

We only have 3 competitions this year, down from our usual 4 or 5, so I'm a bit disappointed. It is really rewarding to see such talented young people do something so incredible. I wonder how I missed this all these years and didn't know this was going on in the world.

I also wonder at what age did sitting in bleachers for a few hours cause me to walk like an old woman the next day.

Drum Major, Is your Band Ready?

Hee Haw! The day finds me camping out on some chilly metal bleachers for seven hours while some incredible marching bands compete on a dewy emerald field. These are the days I wait for, when the crowd suddenly goes silent as the Drum Major does his bit and the band starts to perform.

I love marching band. I love the cadence of each band marching on and off the field. I love spectacular performances and the crisp look of the uniforms. There are colorguard in flashy costumes spinning the likes of rifles, flags, and sabres. And there are the crab-walking drumlines, the percussion kids holding their own in the pit, and nervous band directors pacing--not being able to do anything but watch his kids do what they have practiced for the past 3 months.

We will be at Wheeling today, loaded down with bleacher chairs, blankets, coats, orange sweaters, orange scarves, and other assorted orange what-have-yous like a pack mule. This is my life--the life of a band mom.

If you are going to be there, look for me. I know that many of you are band parents too, so I half expect to hear a "Hey, Lin!" from somebody one of these days. Just make sure you do it while there is no performance going on--I'd have to just silently wave to you.

Oh, and I forgot--Go Marching Astros!!

Ruthless the Calico Kitten

When my pally, Chuck, posted some photos of his barn kittens, I noticed two calicos in the bunch. Oh, my heart skipped a beat when I saw them, as it reminded me of my dear kitty, Ruth.

After a long string of hamsters, I had finally had enough and decided to move onto a pet that would last longer than 2 years. It was emotionally draining to have funeral services for a beloved fuzzy one every couple of years, and Ruth was my solution. Ruth was the most adorable calico kitten that my aunt was fostering for Animal Control. One look at her and I was smitten.

She was adorable enough, doing kitten things like sneaking behind Grace and scaring the crap out of her, scratching on the couch, and attacking everything and anything. In fact, her full name was "Ruthless" because she actually terrorized family and friends alike with her ability to chase us down and bite our legs. Although it was painful, it was funny, so we let her stay--we just learned to walk very slowly.

Ruth won over our hearts the instant she came here--she was sweet, cuddly, and always looking to get into trouble. Grace wasn't as thrilled as we were about her being here, but we figured they would get along some day. Ruth didn't care if they weren't friends, she followed Grace around like a little sister, jumping out from behind the sofa or the corner to make sneak attacks on Grace. I think Grace ran out of spit trying to teach that kitten her place, which never really happened.

Ruth didn't let Grace discourage her, she found friendship in a small Oranda goldfish, named Dottie.

The first year we opened the pond, Dottie was part of our original fish couple--Big Fish and Dottie. Each morning, as I went out to feed the fish, Ruth would come "help" me. I'm not sure if it was the fish that she loved, or the floating fish food flakes, but she would go nose to nose with Dottie when I fed the fish. Dottie would come up for her breakfast, and Ruth would gently touch noses with her orangey friend each and every day. It was sweet to see a friendship in an unlikely pair.

Dottie was especially friendly and would come up for her food at the mere sound of my voice, and Ruth, she would come running when she'd hear the "Good morning, Dot!" from across the yard. They were adorable together, and I think they were really friends beyond all that fish food munching they did.

Ruth didn't live much longer than the hamsters she was elected to replace. Three days after Christmas, Ruth couldn't breathe and she had to be put down due to a lymphoma that she had in her chest. She was just 1 year old. The emotional goodbye that we were avoiding with the hamsters nearly broke our hearts in saying those very words to our Ruth. I still get very emotional thinking of her.

What Ruth taught me was friendship--an odd thing for a calico kitty. Although never successful, she never gave up trying to be Grace's friend. When she was rebuffed and spit at, she backed up and gave Grace her space. And then she attacked from behind. "No" just wasn't an answer for her.

And when all else failed, she went out on a limb and made friends with someone you would never expect--a fish. No, she never batted or attacked Dottie--it's almost like she knew it would harm her. She was gentle and sweet with a little orange fish who trusted Ruth to be kind. And it made me smile seeing the two friends together.

So, my thought is about friendship today and how very important it is to not only have a friend, but to be a friend. We all have those people in our lives who we just cannot be friends with--but that is okay. Accept them for who they are and back off a bit. Maybe a swipe or two of fun every now and then is okay, but it is probably best to just walk away.

But don't ever give up on friendship--there is a tried and true pally out there for all of us. Treasure those friendships that you have and work on making new friends. Being friends isn't always easy--there are obstacles that may stand in our way of being a good friend like time constraints and hectic schedules, but it can be done. And we have to work at it daily--like Ruth and Dottie.

So, happy weekend, pallies. Go, make a friend or visit those you hold dear. Turn off the computer and call that friend you haven't seen for a bit. Be a good friend to someone or perhaps make a new friend--it can be done if you want it so. Laugh hard and breathe deep, my friend.

"Dangerous Breed" Warning

If you are an owner of a dog that belongs to a 'dangerous breed' category and you also have a child or a visiting small child please take this as a warning.

Don't leave your dog with a small child unattended under any circumstances!!!

Only one little moment was enough for the following to happen.

See the photo below.....





Sincerely,

The Dog


--Thank you to my Aunt Laurie, who provides this and other chuckles, plus the best kittens ever, to me and my family.

I'm-Not-Ever-Really-Wordless-Wednesday

Patty, from The Maaaaa of Pricilla, and I have a barter agreement going. I send her a weekly package of recordings from some of my fav TV listings (Jeff Lewis' "Flipping Out", "Top Chef" and "Project Runway") and she sends me my fav goat soaps. Somehow I think I'm making out like a bandit in this agreement--little does she know how addicted I am to her glorious soaps.

When I opened my package, I found a couple of frog-shaped soaps that made me laugh out loud. Okay, so she enclosed some cat-shaped soaps too--but they aren't Hobbes-shaped. That would take one pretty large mold and lots of supplies to make one ottman-shaped bar. I think she would lose money making those.

So, I was so excited by my frog soap that I ran out to the pond to snap some frog soap photos. I actually tried to float the little dude on a lily pad, and as I went to snap the photo, he started sinking under the water! Yikes! I had to grab him quickly or I was going to lose him.

Thanks, Patty, for the soap and the laugh.

Jerry & Kate on a Date??!

I've posted this photo of me and Jerry for two reasons:

1. It makes Fain jealous that I'm movin' in on her man,
2. I do NOT look like Kate from Jon & Kate Plus 8.

Really. Do you think I even resemble that woman? I don't. But apparently everyone else does these days. Do people actually look at a person beyond their hair? Sigh. I'm telling you, if one more person comes up to me........

I'm at the Walmart about two weeks ago and while I'm waiting for my prescription, a new pally waiting with me tells me that I look like Kate. I was at the post office today and a dude next to me leans over and says "Hey, where's your eight?". Not making that up.

I've had it happen more than once or twice now in the past month, and I tell you, it is really getting annoying. I mean, I've had this 'do' for some time now--before 'ol Kate was around at least. So now, while Jon and Kate have their faces plastered on every tabloid, I'm dragged into this silliness.

I've got two options I figure: I can tell these people that they are idiots or I can get my hair cut.

I'm going with the smarty aleck comments back at the knuckleheads, as I just got my hair cut and colored a week ago. And I don't have the same cut as Kate--mine is a bob and doesn't have the sticky-up part in the back like she does. I have also worn my hair like this for some time now. I guess I could cave and get a new 'do', but I like this one.

"Victoria Beckam" I tell the guy at the post office. "Victoria Beckam started the 'do' before Kate was even on the cover of People". I think I stumped him with the name and almost did a "You know, 'Posh Spice' " but I figured he was confused enough. I laughed it off and made some snarky comments about 8 goldfish being more than enough but he wouldn't let it go. He followed me into the parking lot--one ear in his phone, his mouth going on about Jon & Kate. Sigh.

I liked things better when Jon & Kate were married and nobody watched the show.

Who Are the People in Your Neighborhood?

Do you have "Everyday Friends"? You know, the people that you encounter in your daily routine that you sort of know, but you don't really know--like the UPS man, the pharmacist, or the chicky who pours your coffee at your morning stop. I can chat it up big time with these folks, sharing a laugh, or telling them a story, all without ever knowing their name.

I have lots of Everyday Friends. Maybe because I like to talk or perhaps I'm just friendly, I don't know. I just end up chatting it up with the likes of the check-out gal at Walmart and the manager dude at my local Hallmark store. I actually go to shop at these stores looking for my pallies, and I think they like it when I come in too.

I once had a pharmacist pally at the Target near my house. At the time, I was on prescription iron pills and pre-natal vitamins for the anemia I was battling. Whenever I would come to pick up the prescriptions, he would always ask me (jokingly) when was I "due" and would proceed to tell me how I "didn't show". He would wink, telling me it was all in fun, and I would make some wise-acre comment back each and every time I went there. He was sweet as pie and I would love to go get prescriptions because, well, he was a pally.

I actually cried real tears when I heard that he didn't make it through a routine surgery--I felt like I knew this guy even though I don't think I even knew his name. Try explaining that one to your family. I had lost an Everyday Friend.

My mailman had been with us for years, when one day he dropped the bomb on me that his route was being changed. Juan and I have chatted a lot over the years--well, you know as much as the mailman stops to chat.

Juan and I talked about his love of the hot weather and disdain for the cold. I would leave him a cold bottle of water on those super hot days and he would hunt out my mailbox around the yard when we had construction on the front of the house. He popped in to inspect the new family room after construction and I would tell him wacky stories of the people who replaced him while he was on his day off.

We compare cool vacation spots and he gives me updates on where he's going year after year. I live vicariously through Juan and his vacations. He's on this quest to see the United States, and I encourage him by giving him tips to the cool places we've been. I love to hear about his trips and I tease him year after year that I'm going with him. I think maybe Juan and I could kick butt on the Amazing Race. Could you see the post under our names on the screen--"Mail Carrier and Customer"? Geesh, it would be hilarious, wouldn't it? Imagine if we won.

Anywho. Juan gets his route changed last year and I'm bummed. New mail carrier is BORING--won't even say "hi" or anything. Imagine my delight when, months later, I was parked on the other side of the 'hood waiting for one of the kids and I see Juan delivering his mail.

"Juan!" I'm yelling out my car window and waving like a fool. I think I scared him.

"Hey!" he yells back. "I'm going to DC next week!" and I laugh.

Everyday friends. You can't beat 'em.

Just a few weeks ago, I spy Juan across the street--back in our 'hood. I stopped my bike and yell to him--I do a lot of yelling to Juan, apparently. He comes over and he tells me that he got his route back, the other dude retired.

"Yeah, he wouldn't say 'hi' to me, Juan. He was crabby." I report.

"That's what everyone is saying." he tells me. So, I guess my Everyday Friend is a lot of people's Everyday Friend. But that's okay, I'll share him.

So, life is back to normal now. Juan delivers my mail, I wave at him when he's getting the mail out of his truck a few blocks over, and we chat every now and then.

He's going to Niagra Falls and to Toronto next. I got the full report as Juan was delivering mail across the street. Yeah, this time he yelled to me.

Friday Night Lights

This is what my weekends consist of currently--marching band and football games.

If you would have told me 30 years ago that I would be sitting in the bleachers as a band parent, I would have chuckled. Who knew that being a mom could possibly be so much fun? Or that being a band mom could be so darned rewarding? Sheesh. I used to snicker at the band moms that carted marimbas on the sidelines or hid tape recorders in their satchels to help in any way possible. The only think dorkier than band kids were band parents--and now I embrace that title with my every being.

There is nothing in my life that I have enjoyed more than watching this marching band perform in it's precise unison. There are goosebump moments from the moment they take the field until their final formation. Flags spin (thanks for cluing me in, Jodi), the drum major does his bit, the sousaphones explode with hidden flash-powder, and the drumline--well, they aren't crabwalking this year--they are in front in the "pit", which is completely bumming me out. I love a crabwalking drumline more than any other part of the band. And no, my kid isn't even in drumline.

I am disappointed by the mere 3 contests this year--we typically compete 5 times, so we are a few contests short. Bummer. Homecoming is late this year and is taking an important competing weekend away from us. Priority comes for the football team schedule and what team they might possibly beat for the Homecoming game--the schedule was actually rotated to accommodate a possible win, believe it or not. Sigh. Some things never change. Football just seems to trump band every time. Who cares that the band took 3rd in state last year and the football team could hardly win one game? Ugh.

So, I take every single performance and absorb like a sponge. This year is momentous to me because Em is in colorguard and Col is playing the trumpet in the same band for the one and only time. I'm giddy with excitement and enjoying every single note. And my body feels every single ache and pain from sitting in the cold damp metal bleachers.

And that is when I realize that I am a mom. I wallow in someone else's accomplishments and haul a multitude of coats. I don't mind that the piccolo section is dancing in front of me and I can't see the game--I enjoy seeing the girls being silly and having fun. I pass out music and pick up water bottles. I push heavy percussion equipment through the mud and sit in the cold to cheer on the Astros. I am but a enabler for a very talented group of performers and there is nothing but grunt work for me. I wear orange and brown--even if orange isn't my color.

It is my life and I do it without complaint. I am a band mom.

It's Cocktail Hour at Duck and Wheel!

If you know me, you know that my platform, should I ever be crowned Mrs. America, is to bring back Cocktail Hour into the homes across America. Ah, the good 'ole days when the youngsters were required to mix a highball for Mom and Pop while they relaxed before dinner. I'm all about that one. Who isn't?

Whew! It's been a week! And when it's crazy like this, there is only one thing to do.....

Cocktail Hour at Duck and Wheel!

Forget the lemonade stand, we are turning that beast into a rolling cart of booze. And who doesn't need a little cocktail at the end of a busy week? Even if you don't drink, come along and we'll chuckle as we secretly spike your lemonade, and then giggle about it while you aren't looking. And yes, there are snacks too, but they aren't all fancy or anything--it may just be chip and dip because I'm pooped, remember?

Okay, so I'm bummed I only have 10 stools to pull up to the booze cart, so if you decide to crash the party (and yes, party crashers are welcome!), you'll have to sit on the grass next to Hobbes, or lean on the bar--which I'm sure some of you are already used to doing. Anyway, don't be crying if I didn't send you an invite, you are all welcome to attend, I'm just 'linked' out by the end of 10 names, okay?

Todays party-goers include:

1. DG from Diary of a Mad Bathroom: Oh, why do I think DG is going to be one wild gal at a party?? I call the seat next to hers!
2. Jude from Mature Not Senile: Girlfriend is kinda blue these days and needs our help with a chuckle or two--or three. C'mon, Jude! Kick up your heels, pally, and come laugh with us a bit.
   
3. Jen from Learning the Art of Slow: A relatively new pally, one that I think has a wicked sense of fun under all that peacefulness. Bring out the crazy, Jen!
4. Patty from The Maaaaa of Pricilla: Anybody that can can 4000 jars of homegrown produce, make her own soaps (which I LOVE) and cheese, plus handle those wacky goats is somebody I'm gonna hang with. And I think she's ready for a trip away from the farm with the pallies a bit. Make it a double for Patty!
5. Helene from Granny Spice: I'm hoping she can come out from under her bed in time for the cocktails--seems there's an escaped convict in her hood that they haven't caught yet. Sheesh, don't send him to the Southern suburbs, Helene! And you can only come if you promise not to spend your time here smoochin' a certain orange stripey cat.
6. Casey from Half as Good as You: Oh, I think Casey is one of those people that is gonna be FUN at a party! If her posts are any indicator, we are in for some fun with this pally!
7. Jodi from Keeper of the House Adventures: Band Mom extraordinaire. We can compare band notes and commiserate on how busy we are during marching season. And yes, how much fun it is too. I think she's drinking something STRONG!
8. A. Marie from My Money Mission: If anyone has a parasol in her drink, I think it's gonna be A. Marie. I don't know why, just give her a parasol, okay? Oh, and she's another tried and true Band Mom. Us band parents are exhausted from sewing ripped uniforms, feeding herds of band kids, pushing marimbas across muddy, uneven terrain, and fundraising until we can't give anymore. I think Jack Daniels with a parasol is appropriate, don't you?
9. CardioGirl from well, CardioGirl --A pally that I absolutely cannot have a party without. She's the kinda friend that whispers naughty things to you while the party is going to make you crack up. Or gives you the scoop about what was going on at the far end of the bar. She's the one who secretly pours the vodka into unsuspecting lemonades everywhere--my kinda gal.
   
10. Stacie from Stacie's Madness: Anyone who can pull off a fake plastic butt at a concert is invited to my Cocktail Hour. I think Stacie has proven time and again, she is crazy wild! So, in order to spice up this party, Stacie has got to be there. Please bring your fake plastic butt, Stac, because it makes me laugh so.
    

So, as we bring this uber-busy week to a close, I encourage you all to make a little time for fun in your lives. Cancel those events that are absolutely pushing your calendar over the edge, take time for some rest in the day, and look for changes in the earth as we approach the Autumnal Equinox. Remember to turn the computer off a bit and breathe deep.

Happy Weekend, pallies!

Thinkin' Thursday (or Do you smell something burning?)

Whew! Crazy week, this week. Every night I've got something on the schedule--whether it be surgeries to be performed, redundant college information meetings at the high school, wicked fun Band Parent Bonfires, parades, or football games. Gees. Add in the dreaded Work and you've got one pooped pally here.

So, while I'm all about posting each day, I'm still thinking about things while I'm traveling here and there. Here's a synopsis of the the thoughts that plague me:

1. How do I graciously tell the new neighbor to please not stack his garbage up against my lovely wood fence? I haven't even met the dude yet and already I want to tell him not to trash my fence. Is there a way to do that nicely? "Hello, welcome to the neighborhood. Could you please not stack your garbage on my fence for weeks on end?" Uh, I'm thinking there's no easy way on this one. Better send Joe.
2. Why do people put a Kleenex box in the back window of their car? What if you sneeze while you are driving--how are you gonna grab a Kleenex alllllll the way back there? I'm also thinking if you slam on your brakes, that box is gonna hit you in the back of the head.
3. Is eating pie out of a cup acceptable? Irene had me busting at work this morning, eating leftover pie from yesterday's birthday celebration out of a cup. Apparently we used all the plates at the party.
   
4. Another work story--some dude got let go this week and the company email notice read "Jim has decided to pursue other opportunities outside the company". Really??! Like what? The couch and the remote control?? The unemployment line?? Talk about spin.
5. Can I still wear my summer things and white sandals after Labor Day? Being that these two weeks have been hotter than the whole summer put together, I'm thinking I can still pull off the sandals. I'm gonna have to refer to Tim Gunn's "Guide to Style" and get back to you. In the meantime, I'm wearing the sandals.
6. I'm sick of my summer things and my sandals. If it's gonna get chilly, I'm ready. I've got a few new things including a snappy new purple purse that I'm DYING to break in. C'mon Fall!
7. Has anyone else noticed that some trees are starting to turn colors? Yes!
   
8. Hobbes is back in action, pallies. Stop the flower deliveries and Get Well cards--he's gonna be fine. He had his piggies spread eagle today cleaning his wound--which looked remarkably better. My talents as a nurse/doctor are being wasted.
9. Did you hear about Jessica Simpson's dog getting snatched by a coyote? Yeah, right in front of her. Ugh. The part that got me was that she is offering a reward for its return. Uh, Jessica--Daisy ain't comin' home, reward or no reward.

Okay, so I'm feeling better unloading all that. Isn't it amazing what the brain can process in a single hour--more or less a day or week? I'm lucky it doesn't explode at some point. Keep your fingers crossed mine doesn't. Whew!

Major Surgery (or Dr. Lin, Medicine Woman)

The big guy is still favoring his left hind leg a bit. It seems Hobbes got a cut on his foot pad and it got infected--ouch. And while I'm all about taking the kitties to the vet, it's just not penciled in on the very crowded calendar these days, which means a little bit of home treatment will have to do.

One of Joe's most dreaded things to hear around here is "Joe. C'mere and help me, will ya?". Homeboy would love to disappear on that one because he knows it's not gonna be good--no matter what I'm calling him for. And the other night was no exception, as I grabbed the peroxide and a handful of cottonballs. We were doing major surgery on that wound--whether Joe (or Hobbes) liked it or not.

"You're the nurse," I told him sternly "you have to hold him. Tight." And he grabbed a towel as his first line of defense against 18 very sharp talons and a mouthful of teeth.

And as I saw that Joe was holding Hobbes, I grabbed that hind leg and tried to open the wound to let it drain.

There was no louder fury at the gates of hell than what came out of that cat when I grabbed his foot. There was claws flying, stripey fur falling off his bod, and screams like someone was amputating his leg. And Joe, needless to say, completely freaked and let go of the cat.

I stood there looking at him like "Really?! What the hell kinda nurse are you anyway?" And I think I said that to him as well.

"He was gonna scratch me, Lin!"

Sigh. Joe is just not meant for the nursing world. He is a baby.

"Okay, you are NOT the nurse anymore. You just got a promotion--you are the doctor instead" to which I think he was dying inside.

I grabbed the beach towel and wrapped 'ol fur face up like it was a straight-jacket. His little arms were down and wrapped tight like an Egyptian cat mummy. I covered his face so those wicked teeth were covered and I held him tight.

"Go!" I yelled. And with that Dr. Joe went to town on the wound as muffled screams of hell and limb-removing terror filled the house--well, actually the neighborhood.

As Dr. Joe worked in the speed of lightning, Hobbes screamed bloody murder, Emma came flying into the room looking like "The Scream" with her hands on her face, and Grace ran up to see if we were finally murdering her evil nemesis. I think she was actually smiling--if cats can do that.

All of this screaming, flailing, wound draining and peroxide applying lasted about 45 seconds, but it was enough for all of us. When it was finally over and Hobbes was happily eating a kitty snack, we stood back to take a breath--Nurse Lin and Dr. Joe were exhausted.

"You are one crummy nurse, Joe" I had to be honest with him.

"Yeah, well I tried to tell you that I'm a doctor, not a nurse" he says proudly.

Whatever.

Keep your feet on the ground and keep reachin' for the stars....

Ah, love. When it is good, it is as lovely as a song. But when it is bad--well, it's like a bad cuss word. Or two.

I have a dear friend who's heart is breaking and there is nothing I can do to help her. I listen while she pours her broken heart pieces into the phone, but other than that, there is nothing I can do to make her feel better.

Sometimes, I think of Casey Kasem and his hokey radio program and those ridiculous dedications. Today, in the ways of 'ol Casey, I send my friend this song for her sad self. I hope that she sees that there is still beauty in love, even though right now she doesn't feel like dancing around the maypole all sweet-like.


*Sorry, I had to remove the video due to some wacky issues--please see it here instead. It's worth the click--really.


On another note, Hobbes has hurt his back paw doing something ridiculous--but we don't know what. Poor pally spent the day indoors yesterday on his own accord, and sat pathecially in the mulch later in the day. Being that he was inside when this happened, I can only image it was an assault on a fly or perhaps a Flying Zucchini Brothers jump from the kitchen counter.

He's walking on it, albeit gingerly, so I think he's gonna survive. Please don't send flowers just yet.

Going Down Fighting

Is it too much to ask that I have toilet paper without teeth marks?

Hobbes is fighting the end of summer and shorter days. He loves the yard and the kitty door that offers him free access to the wilds of the 'hood when we are home. He typically leaves early morning and doesn't return until we drag his bottom in before it gets dark. Oh, he strolls in periodically throughout the day for important kitty things like food and the litter box, but then he pops through that swinging kitty door like a cowboy into a saloon. Cat heaven features a kitty door, I'm convinced.

Hobbes' day consists of climbing fences, chasing birds, and taking a nap under the hosta leaves. Sometimes he'll drink from the pond and watch the bullfrogs "eep" into the pond from the sight of a giant orange ottoman approaching. He'll lay on the sidewalk watching the birds at the feeder like a lion surveying his prey on the Serengeti. Every butterfly is adventure awaiting, every sound is worth investigating. Life is good for Hobbes--in the summer.

Winter brings short days and snow. No longer is the kitty door available to his free reign, as the glass doors are shut and it's just too darned cold to be outside anyway. He spends his time sleeping and eating, which I'm sure this year is going to bring some additional poundage to his already large frame. Okay, so the warmth of the fireplace is deliriously cozy, it just doesn't make up for the lack of the outdoors in Hobbes' mind.

Poor Hobbes is rebelling his recent curfew of 7:00 p.m.--he's meowing loudly, protesting the unfair conditions of in-house containment while birds are wrapping up their songs earlier and earlier each evening. He's not ready to come in yet, but because of a certain somebody's fascination with a neighbor's fenced in yard, he's yanked in before dusk so we aren't climbing fences in the dark.

I share Hobbes' rebellion in some ways. Yes, I'm ready for snuggly sweaters and my snappy new fall coat. I'm awaiting some down time on the yard work and my obnoxious neighbors, but I'm also dreading what's to come. I'm not ready for dark at 4:30 p.m. and heavy shoes. I don't want to eat hearty stew and shovel the driveway. I don't really want to have to wear gloves and curse my frozen toes.

I'm not going to take it out on the toilet paper or anything, but I too, feel the onset of shorter days and the limits that nature is imposing on us all.

Spot the Jackass (or How to Annoy Your Neighbors)

Weirdville and its inhabitants. Sigh.

They think nothing of lighting fireworks in their enclosed 10 x 15 yard. They turn their garages into family rooms and make their patios look like beer gardens. They think that sending their kid to the local Catholic grade school is upper class although they can't afford the high school. And they like to ride all sorts of engine-powered whatevers back and forth, back and forth--for hours on end, going nowhere. And these are the adults.

There is nary a weekend in 9 months out of the year that this fool doesn't have some sort of engine under his bottom, even though he is like 22 years old and drives 6 different cars. I made some comment to Joe about vibrations the other day, but I was really, really mad and it isn't fit to print here at the Duck and Wheel. Nothing like a whirring engine from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. to make your blood boil.

When Weirdville is rockin', we bail. It is the only way to have piece of mind. There is something really wrong about living so very close--I think that is why God invented winter. It gives us a cooling off period so that the murder rate isn't sky high. I love winter--all my weirdo neighbors semi-disappear.

And at least I have the windows closed so the sound of his snowmobile engine is muffled.

The Weirdville Army--all six of them

The Frog Hunters Challenge proved just how keen your eyesight was! I was really impressed by your frog-spotting and math skills, although there were a number of you who said that there was a random piece of mulch in there. Geesh. There's no mulch in the pond! It's not allowed. And slide rules? Really?!

The Weirdville Army ( a group of frogs is called an "army") is looking fat and happy these days, as the bees who stop for a cool drink are quickly devoured in one quick gulp. Poor little things--working like mad to collect as much nectar as possible and bloop! They gone. I've noticed that the lily pads can hardly support the weight of the chubby-bellied frogs anymore--they slowly sink until there are just eyeballs breaking the surface.

As the days grow shorter, the green of their skin seems to turn more brown. In winter months, they are brown and icky looking--it is the sunshine that gives them the iridescent green of summer. It's odd how it seems everything is drab in the winter. As much as I hate the heat of summer, I dread the drabness of winter more. I like summer frogs much better, I think.

Hey! It's the weekend, pallies! We are hosting the infamous Band Parent Bonfire at our place on Saturday. No, we don't roast band parents--just marshmallows. And we pound a few back, 'cuz we aren't allowed to when the kids are around. It's a fun evening of meeting the new folks, trash-talking the usual crowd, and relaxing before the hectic marching season starts. I'm all excited--Joe is his usual 'whatever' self.

Be sure to take a break this weekend and walk away from the computer a bit. Go watch clouds pass and look for fall colors to begin. Dig those sweaters out of the closets and pack up the flip-flops (unless you are Jodi). Go spend some time with those little people in your house or give your pet some quality smoochy time. Whatever you choose, remember to breathe deep and be glad for the good in your life. Happy Weekend, pallies.

Grab your Abacus

I'm going all Ratty on you folks today--I'm gonna make you work for your entertainment here at the Duck and Wheel. Oh, it's not that much work--you may just have to enlarge the photo and do a bit of counting, that's all. Or you can just look at the photo and do absolutely nothing at all.

If you know Ratty, you know that he goes off into the wilds of the world and reports on his findings. Sometimes he makes you have to count the ducks or deer in field--but most times you can just sit back while Ratty does the hiking, and you just enjoy your coffee and his photos. I love that little Ratty guy--he gets around. And I don't have to get my shoes dirty.

Being that summer is closing quickly, my frogs are grasping at every last bit of warmth from the summer sun. The evenings are cool now and the water chills remarkably fast. Mornings bring some chilly frog friends and no sooner is the sun up, they are out there trying to warm up those webbed piggies.

So, after a rough spring of losing two frog friends, I'm proudly boasting this summer's bumper crop of some dapper new frogs. See how many you can spot in the photo--and I'll warn you, it isn't as easy as it looks. But it beats the heck out of the morning crossword puzzle or Sodoku. We're all about entertainment here.

Semi-Wordless Wednesday with Hobbes

So, I asked Hobbes "Who did this?!" to which there was no reply. Just a stripey kitty who nonchalantly rolled in strewn feathers and looked at me upside-down.

No, I did not find a naked/dead bird. It must have made it out alive.

Random Tuesday and New Toenail

Oh, it's Tuesday! Yikes, where did the weekend go? And the summer--where did that go too?
I'm full of randomness today-well, and other things too, but I'm hoping you weren't thinking that when you read that part.

Random thoughts after a long weekend:

• The beach is really nice when it isn't super hot and sunny. I didn't have to put on my swim suit or get my hair wet to be cool. I just chilled on the blanket relaxing the day away. Every time someone suggested climbing the sand dunes, I would volunteer to stay back to watch our things. When Em was irked by my lack of participation, I would utter "Robbers. I'm saving our stuff from robbers." She was confused by that long enough to just let me be.
• New Toenail was digging the sand and the freedom from shoes. I hate to tell New Toenail that the constricting and suffocating world of closed-toe shoes is on the horizon. I think both Jodi and New Toenail are going to be sadly disappointed with the chilly weather forcing us to wear real shoes soon. Too soon.
  
• Oh, I had big excitement Sunday--Don, over at Beyond Left Field toasted the Duck And Wheel on his blog! Gees, it's like making it to the big time when you get a nod from Don. Yikes! And all I did to deserve the honor of being a featured blog was to call him a "manb***h". Sailor words are tolerated there, so I let my hair down and cussed like a truck driver. I got it all out of my system over there, so you can read ahead safely. Thanks, Don, for the honor and the mention.
  
• Hobbes has been hanging out over by the new neighbor. I wouldn't mind so much, but I can't go crazy nuts on the dude now that he has like 10 feet of garbage stacked against my wood fence. Why can't whoever lives in that house stack their crap on their garage and not my fence? Why?! I don't get it. It's an evil plot to annoy me, I just know it.
• Did you ever sit on the beach and wonder if everyone is peeing in the lake? I do. And what exactly are those "warm spots" in the water?
• Does anyone else not like to wear gym shoes? I don't, so finding cute footwear for the football/marching band season is always a challenge. I ended up at Nordstrom for a very snappy pair of gunmetal flats for the fall, but the shoe dude was really confused on why I was calling them "football shoes". Sheesh, guys don't get it. But I do draw a line at carrying a purse to the games.
  
• I'm a little bummed with my texting shortcomings. Freaky Frugalite posted a great list of Text Messages/10 Commandments from God that are hilarious. Go over and see how funny this is. I just feel even more lame with my new phone now, because not only could I not do this, I had to have my teens translate. Once I knew what they all were, I cracked up. Good luck to those of you who are text-challenged like me.
  

I'm slowly, and I mean sloooowwwly, heading into the week ahead. I'm thinking that giving us that long weekend just makes it harder to go back to work. I'm really hoping that everyone else at work is moving as slowly as I.

Happy Tuesday, pallies.

Weirdville on the Road

Weirdville was in rare form this weekend as all of it's lovely inhabitants were home and out in their yards making racket of some sort. My personal favorite was the idiot man/kid around the block, who spent the better part of Saturday riding a mini-motorcycle that was too small for his Baby Huey frame, back and forth until I wanted to take target practice. Nothing like the drone of a little engine whizzing back and forth, back and forth--from 9 a.m. until around 4 p.m. to push your nerves to the limit. Needless to say, we got outta Dodge on Sunday--before I killed someone.

The thing I love most about my house is that it is located less than one mile from the on-ramp to the expressway that takes me far, far away from this madness. In less than 10 minutes (if traffic is good) I can be motoring happily towards destinations far and wide with a smile on my face. So, that's what we did Sunday--we motored. To the beach.

Although it wasn't really warm and sunny, we packed up our suits, towels, beach umbrella, and headed to sand and water. It was just the four of us, a day where we could completely let down and relax. There was no bickering or complaining that I couldn't end with a quick "Shut the hell up" (semi-jokingly) and I didn't have to worry about someone else's kid thinking I'm beastly.

The beach was packed with end-of-summer revelers and we set our blanket in an area where there weren't too many folks. I was in key position to lay there, eyes closed, and listen to the wacky conversations around me. I did a lot of internal giggling and thinking that we weren't so goofy after all--the rest of the world is much wackier, although they don't know it.

My family was off hiking the sand dunes or wrestling up an ice cream for me while I watched a man set this chair up--or tried to. And although I wanted to take his photo while he was in the process, this was the best I could do--his final product. I am not a very brave photographer, I have to admit.

Mr. Plaid Shorts approaches his spot with confidence and sets down his chair and plastic bag of snacks. His head covered in a giant straw hat, he starts opening the wood frame this way and that, trying to figure out how the hell it was supposed to be set up. He turned it one way and smoothed the fabric, contemplating if the seat was hanging the right way. He turned it another way and set it down to see if that looked right. After his third try, I was going to go over and help, but I figured this was more fun to watch him struggle. I'm all about minding my own business now--and entertainment.

He finally figured out that he had it correct and went to sit down, very gingerly as he wasn't really confident that this was truly correct. He looked like Art Carney, doing the bit stretching out his arms in front of him while he bent over trying to look cool easing into the rickety beach sling. He plopped in and his butt hit the sand. Still ever-so-cool, he leaned back to try to convince himself that this chair was really comfortable and pulled it off for about 3 minutes. That's when he decided to go for a swim.

This process seemed to last for eternity and I was dying inside. I cracked up, wishing that my family was here to see this clown act, but they weren't. It was just me, my wise-acre comments inside my head and probably 100 other beach goers who were pretending that they weren't giggling at this fool.

The family returned in time for me to tell them the story and take the picture, just as my plaid-shorted friend was heading back for more chair fun. I sat waiting to see how he was going to get back into the thing, when he picked it and his plastic bag up and moved down the beach. We watched as he met up with his woman, who the chair was apparently meant for.

There was lots of arm-waving directions on how to set it up and where, and she finally set her heavy bottom into the sling. He stood there looking suave, like he was proud of his mastering of wood and fabric. Oh, good camera--why, oh why, where you in the back of my car at that moment? Sigh.

So, I just came to the conclusion that Weirdville is everywhere--it is just more tolerable when you are off your own turf. And you don't know the names of these fools.

When the Hummbingbird Starts Chug-a-lugging

It's sneaking in quietly--Fall, I mean. Can you feel it's presence? Like a not-so scary ghost, it lingers quietly around the yard, dancing it's heart out once the warm sun settles in for the night. It takes it's time leaving in the morning, as the sun is sort of sleeping in itself.

You know Fall is coming when the hummingbird starts chug-a-lugging the brew I put out for her every week. She's emptying the till almost every day now, fattening up for her trip to Florida or Mexico or wherever hummingbirds vacation each winter. She's been buzzing me, the cats, and even Joe BBQ-ing, looking for whatever food she can find.

I was mowing the grass the other evening and I was dodging that little buggar left and right as I passed her glass feeder. At one point, I just stopped so that I didn't bother her while she drank. I just stood there for a moment, lawn mower engine revving, watching her guzzle the sweetness. She was completely oblivious to me and that obnoxious engine and I finally gave up just standing there--she wasn't going anywhere--it was me who was going to have to move. When she lifted her tiny wing to clean the underside, I knew me and the mower weren't exactly frightening the tiny thing.

I'm counting the days until the first frost comes. The bees will happily disappear from the yard, the monarchs will be making their way to Mexico, and the leaves start to fade. I can't wait for changing colors and sweaters.

I will, however, miss my hummingbird friend. Why is it that such a tiny bird can represent all that summer is to us? Flitting in hesitantly at first, but then dives in for the feeder as she grows more confident. She battles bees, ants, and other hummingbirds to make her presence known, and nothing stops her from her nectar. Like Summer, when she is here, you know it. As Summer wains, she picks up her feeding schedule to prepare for the journey ahead. It is all about preparing for a cold winter and a time of rest.

Happy Labor Day Weekend, pallies. May you spend your time relaxing, hanging with those you love, and walk away from the computer a bit. Turn the beast off and drop in on your friends rather than EC boxes. Breathe deep and may you contemplate the back of your eyelids a bit.

Xenon - 1, Lin - 0

Okay, so the photo has nothing to do with my post today--I was just flipping through and cracked up on this one. I thought A. Marie and Helene might enjoy yet another shot of Hobbes--they're like his fan club or something. I may have to start selling t-shirts soon.

I typically pride myself in knowing how all the electronics work in this place. I'm the one who hooks everything up to the TV, runs the electronic thermostat on the wall, grabs the tools when something goes haywire, and actually reads the manuals in order to figure the gadgets out. The guys pretty much do the computer repairs because that stuff just makes my head want to explode. But that's okay--it gives them some ownership of something in the house, because I'm busy running the rest. The saying in these parts is "If Mom dies, we're screwed". Not even kidding.

I bought a new phone for my birthday and life as we knew it is over. Who knew that getting a new cell phone can ruin your life?! I have read the manual. I have pushed the buttons (well, tried to anyway) and run through the menus--and I STILL cannot master the thing.

It's not a Iphone or anything spectacular--just one of those LG Xenon's that have a little touch screen and slide-out to text. I get nothing but texts now from the kids, so I've sort of mastered that. This phone is key to communicating with the kids now, there is no "I can't figure this out" option.

Problem comes in with that darned touch screen--I don't have the "touch" apparently. I'm pressing here and there and nothing is happening. Or too much is happening. I went to send Joe a White Sox score one night while he was out of town, and I ended up sending it to my sister-in-law, Julie. I must have touched the wrong screen somewhere.

"Great score, Lin. Are you at the game??" was her reply. And I'm freaking out, embarrassed to hell, and screaming for Em to get in the family room to text her back quickly apologizing for sending her spam texts! It's hard to type "sorry, I'm an idiot" super-fast on those little keyboards, I tell you.

Em keeps telling me that I'm pressing it too hard or too long. And she comes over, with a sigh, and sticks her finger on that screen and gets the phone to do what I cannot. It reminds me of a post of the Bloggess where she says she needs a carry around a dead finger to use her phone because hers does not register on the screen. Yeah, me too. Although that might get a little icky after a bit.

Okay, so I've mastered taking photos of the carpeting in my car and my shoes on the sidewalk, but I have also somehow learned to link phone numbers with the actual person's photo. So, now if I want to call Em, I just press on her picture. It's sort of kindergarteny, but you need a freaking degree to figure out how to set that up. And then I have to press just right in order to get her number to show up and dial automatically.

After I figured all of this out after reading the manual like 4000 times, I was all set up and coasting with my new phone. I even texted Lola a few times when I figured out we were both sitting at two different Starbuck's for a meet-up one night. I miraculously downloaded a snappy tune for my ring tone and I was all proud of myself. I was finally catching on.

And then it broke. And I didn't even break it! Nope. One day the little slider thing didn't tell the screen that I was turning my phone sideways. I kept opening and closing the slider thingy--first quickly, then slowly. I snapped it open, I snapped it shut. I inched it slowly, and then snapped it shut. I opened it quickly and sllooowwwly eased it shut. Nothing was getting this stupid screen to acknowledge the keyboard. And then the next day, it would work fine.

Being that this beast was only 2 weeks old, I returned it. I figured if there are probs now, there are gonna be probs later. Amazon was amazing at exchanging the phone for me--cannot speak more glowingly of the process. But the problem comes in that I have to re-set all those great features again. I have to re-take all those photos and read the manual on how to attach them to the phone numbers again. I have to download another ring tone and set a background. Arrrgggh!

It's me against this damn phone and I'm losing.

Thoughts of an exhausted woman

Random thoughts on a busy Thursday:

1. Guess who's got a first birthday next month?? Yes, it will be one year since my Sweet Hen has passed and 47 lbs of stripey goodness came into our lives. Who knew that this little guy would grow into a big mammoo of love? Only the size of his feet and ears gave a hint of how large he truly would be.
2. Hey! It's Labor Day Weekend this weekend! Who's excited?? Meeeee!! I LOVE fall.
3. Did anyone else crack up at Jeff Lewis and "Flipping Out" on Tuesday? Holy crap! He was in rare form. I love Zoila fake-crying and giving Jeff crud about not being able to go to the doctor for her sore leg.
4. Did anyone else notice Tom Collichio (sp?) on Top Chef last week? He was strutting around with his shades on for half the episode and they were crooked on his head! I do not like him, he's a big wienie. And he looked like a wienie with his shades on crooked.
   
5. Speaking of wienies--there's an administrator at our school that stands about 4'10". He is forever snapping at folks and walking around like big stuff. I cannot hear that man's name mentioned without whispering to Joe "He's a wienie". It makes Joe laugh--every single time.
6. GERD is a buzzkill. That's the official diagnosis on why I cannot swallow. I can't eat things like tomatoes, yogurt, spicy food, or alcohol. Ugh. And yeah, that pretty much sums up my diet. Reflux is not fun--although the weight loss is a plus.
   
7. We got a new neighbor behind us and GOOD LORD does he have a big TV! I can see it like a freaking drive-in movie from my bedroom. I'm thinking "Really?!" as I watch him drive his car through the video game scenarios. Joe is thinking "Why can't that be me?".
8. I foolishly thought that things would be a tad less hectic once the kids got back in school. Who was I kidding? Myself apparently.

Happy Thursday, pallies. I don't know about you, but I'm really looking forward to the holiday weekend.

Semi-Wordless Wednesday (because you know I'm never really wordless)

See?! They really do sit on lily pads!

This is the last of the tadpoles who turned into a froglet a few weeks ago. Technically, a froglet is a frog that is slowly absorbing his tadpole tail. Or a tadpole that is almost finished emerging into a frog. At this point, he acts like a frog, breathing air and sitting on the water's surface, but he won't actually crawl out of the water until the tail is gone. And oh, they don't eat bugs or anything with their mouths at this point--they just get nutrition from absorbing the tail. It will take about a week and then....WAHLAH! He's officially a frog!

Can you see how his little body is still sort of tadpole shaped? You can't really see his tail, but it is there, under the hyacinth. Enlarge the photo if you have to--it is very exciting frog entertainment here.

This blog is like the Discovery Channel, isn't it?? Who knew I knew so darned much about frogs and tadpoles and such? It's sort of scary, isn't it?

Tales from the Jury Pool

Oh gees, there is no excitement like public service.

My adventures at jury duty were short lived as there was only one case scheduled for the day and that defendant settled for a bench trial--where the judge makes the decision rather than a jury. Hee haw! That meant that we were relieved of our civic duty the minute we came back from our hour and a half lunch. So, realistically, I sat from 9:00 am to 11:30. Although relieved, it didn't allow much time for me to write any juicy stuff about my fellow jury contestants. Bummer.

This is what I did get though:

1. Diaper Lady--An older thin woman walks in, all decked out in her beige pants, beige jean jacket, some snappy lower heels and jewelry. She sits down with the rest of us, but then approaches the desk with a paper to bust herself out of there. While she's standing there, I notice that her butt seems a tad.....uh.....padded. The beige slacks clung to her Depends, which made me giggle. Yeah, she got out of jury duty and left--I'm guessing it was a "medical" issue. Perhaps incontinence??
2. Pajama Sam--Dude, I get it's your "ethnic" garb, but really, pajama pants?? The summons reads "Dress appropriately--no shorts". Somehow Pajama Sam thought that his matching pajama top and pants fell into the "appropriate" category. The only difference between me in my jammies and him in his garb? The knit cap snug on his head. Next time, I'm wearing the jammies and cap--all in the name of religion. And oh, comfort too.
3. Workout Babe--Arms 'O Steele is sniffling like she's got the plague. Great. Guess who's gonna be sick come tomorrow? Yep, me. And everyone else who's locked in the same fresh-air-compromised room. Great.
4. New pallies--Why is there always someone there who has to talk to everyone? Why?! Can they not sit alone for a couple of hours? Really. There are just some folks who need folks and so they sit--chatting for those hours about god-knows-what. I imagine the opening line--"So, come here often?"
5. Party Peeps--These are the latecomers. Strolling in like they are fashionably late for a cocktail party, I'm wondering why it takes these folks an extra hour to show up. And there they were, walking all slow-like and taking their time getting their summons out to show the deputy. What gives? Why can't they show up on time like the rest of us? There was common factor amongst the party-goers which I found interesting, but I'm not going there. I'm not up for hate mail today.
   

On the scale of jury duty services, this one definitely ranked pretty low on the excitement scale. Even the jury room supervisor was polite and smiley. The Deputy Sheriff was jovial and accommodating with his television remote control--I was spared the mind-obliterating Oprah for a more wacky Regis and Kelly. Not my cup of tea exactly, but it sure beat The Queen of Waiting Rooms telling me how to live my life for an hour. Whew!

I guess my jury duty prayers were answered yesterday. But I sure could have used some action.