Spring Training - Day Two

Some people just have to elbow in on the fun. Sheesh.

And just for the record--this photo isn't half as cool as mine. Not even close.

What I do for love and baseball

"Hey, Oz?"

"Hmmmmmm?"

"Whatcha doin' this weekend? Do you wanna go to dinner and perhaps a movie?"

"Nope" (Done in that annoying video voice)

"C'mon, Oz! What else do you have going? I mean, you smell good and all...."

"Spring training, Lin. We report this weekend"

Sigh. "Okay, Oz. If it means that spring and baseball are coming--I'll sacrifice."


Hey, Ricardo--White Sox baseball and spring is around the corner. Yeah.

What's Your Bag?

I have a sweet part-time job that leaves me pretty much on my own terms and schedule. I am left alone to do my work, with minimal interference or meddling by the powers that be and my cubicle sits in the back with two great co-workers. Add in that the company I work for makes salads, sandwiches, and yogurt for Starbucks, so we get a free lunch every single day. Gees, unless they decide to give me some ridiculous pay raise, it doesn't get much better than this.

I was cracking up this morning as there were a few mumble and grumbles about the workplace circulating around the coffeepot. Oh, there was some issue or that and a few folks were grumping. I happened to be going by and had to add in my best Pollyanna voice "I like working here. And do you know why?"

"Why?" was the half-hearted required response from someone.

"Because we don't have to work with Killer Whales!" And they all looked at me like I was nuts. Sometimes they don't get me, but I don't care.

I mean, really, you may think your job sucks, but there is never a day when I'm gonna get grabbed from my desk and eaten by a killer whale like that dame at Sea World. Now that is a tough job. And you have to get wet--a lot. I don't think I would like that very much. And getting eaten on the job would really suck, wouldn't it?

So, while I sort of stumped the crab-fest over in the lunchroom, I was thinking about how little it takes to make me happy. And why does it take others so much more?

There has been a Kohl's bag sitting on my kitchen floor for nearly 2 months now. Not much of a shopper, I literally think that bag has been there since after Christmas, which is odd for me. I am meticulous about my house and nothing sits out for more than 3 days--2 months is unheard of around this place.

The bag sits there because it is Grace's favorite thing in the world. Well, maybe second after the new feather-on-a-stick-thingy I bought for the kitties, but it is definitely the highlight of her life, that bag. She sits on it, she taps it, she climbs in and out of it, and she wrestles it. She even threw up on it the other day--to which I washed it off and put it back down for her. I wake up in the middle of the night to a sound which sounds something like a typewriter, but it is Grace tippy-tapping her bag.

That simple bag makes Grace very happy, so I don't mess with the bag. In fact, my good friend, Wendy, actually brought me two new Kohl's bags to replace the tattered mess that is her bag.

So, like Grace, I find joy in the simple things. I like that I get free yogurt every day that I work. I like that Irene and I discuss last night's TV shows over the cube walls or that I actually get paid to write for a living. Okay, so I don't make a fortune or get benefits--I like that I have a job that I enjoy in an economy where jobs are scarce. And best of all? I don't work with killer whales.

It's the weekend, pallies. Go enjoy your lives a bit. Go look for the simple joys in your life--a warm fire, sunshine, a good book, or perhaps a nap. Go through your blogroll and actually catch up on your favorite blogs or spend some time with a friend.

Whatever it is that makes you happy, go do it. Be like Grace and go crinkle the bag of your life, my friends........... and enjoy.

I Love Hobbes Thursday

Who doesn't love a warm sunbeam in winter?
Or an orange stripey kitty?

I love that after one very scary week,
Hobbes is here to meow obnoxiously for his cat toy
on top of the refrigerator
and jump on my chest first thing in the morning--
even if I'm not awake yet.

It is the simple things in life that matter most,
and why do we forget that so easily?
Why does it take a shake up to remind us that
life is precious and that we need to take time out
to wallow in simple joys?

Smile at the sunshine today, if you can.
If there is no sun, then smile at the rain or, god forbid,
the snow.
Be thankful for life.

It is good, you know.

Grace, in jail

Do you know how I knew Hobbes was really ill? Grace. She all but danced around the house playing "I'm the favorite cat" and was all happy-like. She jumped on the counters, she slept on our bed, and she snuggled on my chest--all things that Hobbes does and she does not. "See? We do not need that Stripey guy to have a nice life" she was thinking.

Grace hates the idea of sharing her house with another cat. She did not like Ruth, she barely tolerated Henry, and she takes pot-shots at Hobbes at every opportunity. Just the mere thought of him being down made her happy. I think she is disgusted that he is back to stay.

Poor Grace. She is doomed to share her mom.

On another note--I am leaving Entrecard. After much thought, I have found that I'd rather spend my time visiting the blogs I love to read and comment on rather than do endless empty drops. Time is a premium and I miss reading my favorite blogs each day.

EC was good to me and I have found many wonderful blog friends through that venue. Things have changed there recently and I have found that it is a much different EC than when I started. There are too many "empty" blogs there now, and I'm tired of old posts and ads for things I am not interested in.

I have been bookmarking and following the blogs I like, so I hope you will do the same here. If I read your blog, I typically leave a comment every so often. If you don't see me at your place, let me know so I can be sure I haven't forgotten you. If I comment, I like your blog--so I don't want to forget anyone.

I am also parting with my EC credits, so if you are interested in some, please let me know--I don't know where to begin giving them away. I'd rather give them to those who want and will use them.

I am looking forward to the free time to enjoy my blogging again!

Ode to a fence

Oh, Fence. Simple, underrated, Fence.

I love how the snow drifts up your legs and
sits like little white caps on top of each cedar board,
dressing you so lovely in winter.

I love how the sunlight streams through
making little patterns out of light and shadow.
How the plants peek between the slats
to say hello in the summer.

Fence, dear Fence,
I love how you block the world to secure the peace
that is my yard.
Blocking the weirdness that is just on the other side.

You make it all disappear
and for that,
I love you, Fence.

Yeah, let's bust the good kids

Last week, Em and her pallies were in the weight room conditioning for badminton. Unbeknownst to them, the weight room was off-limits to students without a coach. Even though another coach let them in to lift weights, the girls were confronted by security and threatened with detentions. Why, I'm not sure, I mean, they were lifting weights not drugs. Whatever.

So, the following day, Em was called out of class to go see the dean regarding her charges. Pretty much, this is what ensued--except the Spanish or the making out part. Well, that's what she says anyway.



Poor Shauna--I mean, Emma. And no, she didn't get a detention, but she did make a new friend.

The pond opens in 60 days

Ah, winter, when even the fish are bored. I think we are predicted to get something like a foot of snow in the next day. Ugh. Enough already, I'm sort of done with winter.

Are you watching the Olympics? I have to admit to watching a bit, although I can't watch more than 3 heats of anything--even Apollo Ohno. I'm digging the amount of curling coverage this year--the men are really fun to watch as they send that stone flying. I like their one slippery shoe too. I would like one of those to wear around town, sliding on just one foot making my daily routine just a little more fun. I don't like the media-induced drama though. Those darned announcers like to make drama out of nothing when they focus on an athlete. What is with that?

Speaking of drama, I gave that up for Lent. I'm going to focus on the postive and not get sucked into negativity. I'm gonna try to not say anything bad about anyone and not have a comment for things that don't pertain to me. Negativity is a disease and it spreads like wildfire. I think this may be my best Lent ever--if you rank them. It's sort of the Lent Olympics in a way.

Isn't it nice not to read about sick 'ol Hobbes today?? He is much, much better this morning. He came and sat on my chest this morning while I was sleeping, which he hasn't done in over a week. He slowed down yesterday, which scared us, but we have to remember that he was very, very sick and that isn't going to go away fast like we wish it would. I'm weary from my every thought being about him being so ill, it was nice to sleep almost through the night last night and only getting up once to check on him. Whew!

Okay, so I'm back to happy stories and fun again. I'm looking for the good in those 12 inches of snow we're gonna get and be happy even if we are bored stiff in the house. Life is good again back at the Duck and Wheel.

Happy Sunday, pallies.

Put Away the Kleenex!

He is okay! Hobbes is okay! (happy dance)



After a rough day of contradicting behaviors and signs by Hobbes, we went to our jazz band dinner dance last night with heavy hearts, not knowing what we would face when we got home. It was hard to laugh and enjoy ourselves when I didn't feel like dancing in my heart. And although we had a nice evening and I downed a few glasses of wine, my heart sunk pulling into the driveway--I wasn't ready to face death again.

We came in to find Hobbes back to the old Hobbes we know and love. He jumped off his kitty perch to run over to check out our prizes. He was clawing on his scratchy box and mewing excitedly, somehow telling us that he felt better. Em and I just stood there with our mouths open--Hobbes was back! Healthy Hobbes was here and FIP is gone. This is not a cat who is dying. He is eating, drinking, jumping on the kitchen counters, and climbing on my bed again. I think he is out of the woods now--I don't believe he is going to die anymore.

I was completely caught off guard by the incredible thoughts, words of comfort, prayers, emails, and texts that I received checking up on me and my cat. My CAT. In this world of earthquakes, poverty, death, and suffering, all of you rallied to our side on behalf of my kitty. Amazing.

I am overwhelmed by your comments, prayers and love and I cannot thank you enough. We really thought it was over for Hobbes and we were heartbroken. Your insights and thoughts helped me to think, re-think, and think again about the signs he was exhibiting and it kept a glimmer of hope alive in us all. God was with us, heard our prayers, and blessed us with more time with our Stripey Goodness. How little his body is in this world and doesn't begin to measure how big his spirit is and how it binds us all together here at the Duck and Wheel.

Thank you, my friends, thank you. Thank you for being there and cheering us on. Thank you for the comments and the encouraging words. Thank you for the positive vibes and the prayers. Thank you for being my friends through this.

Thank you to my mom, who sat with me discussing his every breath, every move, for the past two days, looking for glimmers of hope and signs of non-FIP behaviors. She picked me up when I was really down.

Thank you to my friend, Judy, who came over to unload her waayyyy more serious problems with her elderly mom and ended up worrying about Hobbes too. Her nursing insights helped lift the cloud of doom a bit.

Thank you to my dear friend, Wendy, who talked at length with me about every action he was taking and how they were good, positive signs. She was my emotional support at a time I needed it so badly.

So, I guess Hobbes has once again shown us how lovely life is and how we shouldn't waste a day taking it for granted. He showed me the love and friendship I have out there and how Stripey Goodness can be a connecting factor in a very large world.

Peace and love, pallies. Thank you from me and Hobbes.

News or no news.....

I'm sorry, no happy pictures today or silly stories. I have been following Hobbes around for days now, hoping to catch him improving.

His temp is normal now--Whew! He is much more active today, going outside to walk around the pond, yard, and even to the neighbors front yard. He jumped on the windowsill and sat in the sun for a bit and stalked the squirrel. He whacked Grace through the cat door and laid on his back in the sunshine--all things normal for Hobbes.

He is however, not interested in food or water, which is the scary part. He was hydrated at the vet yesterday, so he is peeing today, but he won't drink willingly. I am giving him water through a syringe every time he blinks, so I think he is getting annoyed at me. He'll nibble on kitty treats, but really no food to speak of. Food he can do without--water, no.

His coat is shiny, his eyes are clear and he does not look like he is suffering. Everyone who looks at him can't believe he doesn't feel well. He welcomes scratches on his chin, but not full body rubs. No jumping on my chest in the morning, which just makes my cry to think about. He is alert and will even jump for his bird toy if the mood strikes him. It's all just so contradictory!

So, on some levels, I feel the FIP diagnosis isn't correct, but it just sits in the pit of my stomach and makes me cry. Hard. The x-rays show his intestines to one side, but he was also laying that way and his fat could have held them there--I'm looking for positives here, pallies. Anything that tells me this is a virus or a bug. I can't bring myself to go to a specialist to diagnosis it for sure--there is no cure if it is FIP.

Please pray for us, pallies. Pray he will be fine or that we, as a family, can handle this. We've lost 3 kittens in 4 years and I'm not sure the kids (or I) can do this again. We are heartbroken to say the least. I know on the scale of world problems, this is minor, but for us, this is huge.

Thank you for your support, prayers and comments. I'm not blogging, needless to say, but I have been reading them for positive vibes.

I'll be in touch.

Hobbes - Under the Weather

Well, they can't find anything that tells us what is wrong with Hobbes. His blood work and x-rays came back okay, but he has a wicked temperature. The x-rays show that his intestines are sort of clumped together, but that may be because his stripey goodness was sort of pushing them that way or it could be FIP, which is not good.

He is eating, drinking, and walking around a bit, and he even wants to go outside on the patio for a minute or two. He is pooping and peeing and is very alert--all signs that this is not a cat with FIP. Gees, I hope I am right.

So, thanks for your well-wishes and your prayers. His temp has already dropped a point and he is relaxing by the fire as I type. My mom says that he doesn't look like a cat that's really sick, so that's good news. I'm not coping with this well as I have lost 2 kittens in the past 3 years--Hobbes was supposed to be the "3rd time's a charm" cat. This is just a tad too scary for me.

I'll keep you posted. Please say a prayer that this is just a virus and he'll be fine.

I Love Hobbes Thursday

Somebody isn't feeling so hot these days.
Seems he's a bit......
uh......clogged.

So, after a $34.97 trip to the store for petromalt,
sardines packed in oil, a dozen cans of wet food,
a little tub of wheatgrass,
and a bag of petromalt-laden treats,
I'm hoping he can "work things out" on his own.

My house smells like a wharf,
Grace is all but dancing while she wallows in
Hobbes discomfort, and I'm really,
really hoping I don't have to give the cat an enema.

Yeah, it's good to be me.

UPDATE: Hobbes is currently at the vet's office having x-rays and blood work done. He has a very high temp and they aren't sure what is happening with him. We are all a little freaked out at the moment, so please, send a prayer his way. Hobbes is very special to us--well, to everyone.

Semi-Wordless Wednesday

There are just certain people
and places

that I spend one very short week with each year.

And I spend the rest of the year
wishing I was with them.

Mardi Gras at the Duck and Wheel

It's Fat Tuesday, pallies! Time to fire up the red beans and rice, jambalaya, and beignets (thanks to my Louisiana pally, Merry). I'd boil some crawfish but the crawfish hole is frozen solid and covered with snow. We're just gonna have to settle for what little cajun food I can whip up and a little Buckwheat Zydeco for the tunes.



It's Paczki day for the Polish pallies. Go munch on some paczkis while you tap your feet to Buckwheat, but be careful not to inhale the powdered sugar.

And while we are celebrating, I'll be thinking long and hard on what to give up for Lent. I typically give up cursing, but that only lasts like an hour and a half. Irene at work is giving up smoking. She doesn't smoke, but she says that option is always there and she's just not doing it during Lent.

I admire that girl's will.

Jazz Hands and Grandma Cole

My pally, Wendy, and I planned to spend the day Saturday chatting and watching the show choir contest that our kids were involved in. It was nice a nice change from work, laundry, and complaining about the weather, I tell ya. And it was fun to just hang out with a friend for a change too.

Things began at the Mayberry Junction--a retro-themed restaurant based on what else? Mayberry. Yep, Andy Griffith, Barney Fife, and Otis the Drunk's Mayberry. The menu offered: Goober's Pancakes, Thelma Lou's Eggs, Aunt Bee's pie, and Ernest T.'s Tacos. Can't even make that up. Just imagine Wendy and I snarfin' our brunch under an autographed photo of Otis the Town Drunk. It was pretty hilarious. Where do you find something like that?? Uh, the small rural town of Manteno, Illinois.

We wrapped up Mayberry pretty quick and headed over to the solo competition at the high school, which turned out to be some pretty wacky fun.

Being that this is all new to me, I had no idea that there was actually a fan contest in the solo room. So, in between our soloists performing for the judge, they would crank some music and the crowd would go nuts--dancing, waving their arms, blowing party horns, waving clackers, and congo-ing in and out of the seats. And that was just us moms. The kids were on each other's shoulders, partying it up in the front of the room while we whooped it up in the rear. We sort of figured we had the fan contest wrapped up when Wendy's sister climbed on top of a table to shake it and her mom was the spotlight guest in the room. I think my kids were mortified.

Next stop--hair and make-up. Somehow Wendy and I got swindled into the hair and make-up room and we spent the next 2 hours spraying hair, each other, ourselves, and anyone else who happened to walk by with hair spray. And if that wasn't enough, we curled hair until our arms ached and every stitch of hair was spiraled. Add in some artistic flair with silver and black eye-shadow and we had ourselves some fun. I imagine this is normal in the world of pageants, but sheesh, this was girly squared--big hair, hair spray, and make-up everywhere. I think I'm still trying to pry my rings off after all that sticky stuff.

The kids performed later and it was great. Wendy's daughter was fab on stage--her hair magnificent after a rough start in the hair and make-up room. She sparkled and shined singing and dancing her heart out on stage and we hooted and hollered like crazed fans. These kids are remarkably talented and it amazes me still that this world of show choir contests exist. Who knew??

And my kids?? Oh they were here...........

behind the curtain in the band.

And although the show choir didn't place as high as we would have liked in the end, we did clinch the fan contest, taking first place overall. And yes, Grandma Cole was cited as being the cincher. Apparently other schools don't bring their partying Grandma's with them as a ringer.

Fools.

Rebecca, The Valentine Buzzkill

Lola wrote the other day about how she was "forgotten" on Valentine's Day by her classmates when she was a child, and how her teacher made a special Valentine just for her to make her feel better. That set off a memory for me of when Colin was in third grade and had a similar experience.

A certain popular girl decided that instead of ignoring my son, she would give him a Valentine--one that read "If Valentine's were boogers, I'd pick you".

Nice, eh? Yeah, sweet little Rebecca Nelson. To this day, I wonder how she somehow felt better about herself giving him something so nasty and demeaning rather than ignoring him completely. And then I wonder about the company that would make such a Valentine for children and the parent that bought these for their kid to pass out to their "friends". I guess I'm a buzzkill because I was just infuriated that this kid actually signed her name to that card and gave it to my son. I hate her for that and I think I always will. Heck, it's been 9 years and I still get mad thinking about it.

I don't like that Valentine's Day is always pushed as a holiday for couples. Can't love be for everyone regardless of romantic love? Hallmark has certainly invested heavily into love for everyone, but really, most of the media insists it's only for couples.

I think Valentine's Day should be a day for kindness, friendship, and love. Can't there be more levels of love acknowledged? How about love of humankind--being kind to someone else or doing something nice for someone on that day? Or love of family? Or love of self? How about we just give each other a break for a day and make an effort to just be nice?

So, in contrast to Rebecca Nelson, I'm going to smile at the clerk who rings me out or wave over the dude who wants to cut me off in my car. I'm gonna forgive the knucklehead who dumps his ashtray in the street and ignore the barking dog next door. I may even ignore the fact that my teens won't get out of bed before noon and my husband insists on watching sport until his eyeballs fall out.

Happy Valentine's Day, pallies. May you find love in its various forms today and every day. May love be shown to you in the form of friendship and kindness as well as the flowers and candy you may receive. Go, be nice to someone today--you never know if that mean old Rebecca Nelson is out there ruining the day for them.

(Thanks to my pally, Chuck, for the cartoon)

A Gleeful Saturday

There is this underworld of show choir contests that I didn't know existed until a year or so ago. And now, thanks to the TV show "Glee", the whole world is aware of the fun/weirdness that is show choir.

Yeah, the kids are sort of on the fringe like the band kids. Yeah, they are really talented, and yeah, it is sort of fun to watch. But.........it is sort of weird too. It's just a tad over the line with overacting, cruise ship entertainment-like costumes, and hootin' and hollerin' for your school's show choir. When I watch, I'm not quite sure if I like it or not, but I go anyway--to support the kids. And for a giggle or two.

Here's a sample, but please, don't feel like you have to watch the whole video--it's sort of painful. I think you get the idea after about 20 seconds, so save yourselves, please.



Oh, in case you were wondering where I fit in to this--my kids play in the band for the show choir. And yes, they are performing "Disturbia". Wendy and I are spending the day at the contest, so if I come back waving jazz hands and dancing, you'll know why.

The Only Flame In Town

I've been blogging for nearly 2 years now and in the beginning, there weren't many readers. I wrote for myself and my writing class, but soon I began to gather a few blog pallies and the Duck and Wheel was known by more than just my immediate family. I'm posting one of my favorite "first posts" so that you can see what you missed in those early days of the Duck and Wheel. Maybe you'll be glad you weren't here--these were the days BEFORE Stripey Goodness.


Long before Joe, I had another love. He was older than I, more experienced in the ways of the world, politics, and deep thought. He opened my eyes to things going on in the world that I didn’t know existed. He was good looking, had a sweet voice, and I would go starry-eyed whenever I saw him. He didn’t love me, though, and that was okay-- I still loved him anyway.

Years went by and he fell by the wayside. I knew that I would never be his love, and so the accessible college boyfriends came and went. I finally found true love when I met Joe, and we went through the usual friendship, courtship and then got married. I had kept up, somewhat, with the old love and what he was doing, but it wasn’t like we corresponded or anything. He just seemed to fade into the past-- a young girl’s crush. Now I had more important things to do, like diapering babies and doing laundry 100 times a week.

The old love was coming to town, or so all my friends said. My cousin in Atlanta sent an email informing of his impending visit to Chicago. The phone kept ringing with reports and friends kept insisting I needed to see him. They all knew I was obsessed with him so very long ago, and I needed to have one last moment with him. How did all of these people know he was coming, and I didn’t? How out of touch have I become? Who knows when he would be back this way again? It was now or never. The problem was his visit coincided with the very weekend of Joe’s and my twentieth wedding anniversary. How do I explain that one to Poor Joe?! He is usually so patient and understanding, but could he possibly forgo the weekend downtown in some swanky hotel to go see my old love? Is that fair to ask of him? I asked anyway.

He caved, God bless him. Joe made all of the necessary arrangements--scheduled the kids’ activities around the evening, delayed the hotel reservation, and planned for an evening that was all about his wife and her old love. The weekend came; I dressed up, eager to see the old love again. Joe dressed down—he was pretty much just playing along.

My heart raced with excitement as we approached the place. The lights were dimmed and he walked in--suave, confident, and extremely built for a man of 55 years old. His beard was scruffy though, and I have to admit, it disappointed me that he couldn’t shave for me after all of these years. He began to sing and I forgave it all--those years of absence, the no shaving, and the marrying of someone else. My heart smiled and it was like I was 20 years old all over again.

It was an odd anniversary present to say the least, Joe escorting me to see Sting in concert for our twentieth wedding anniversary. It's then when I realized how much I loved him and I think he even winked at me once—Joe, I mean.

I Love Hobbes Thursday

We got something like a foot of snow in the past two days,
which means nothing but fun for Hobbes.
He mews impatiently at the door,
asking to go out into the sub-zero temps and snowy yard.
We let him out, tentatively,
knowing that cats shouldn't really want to go out in the snow.

But we open the door anyway,
and he charges out to attack the whiteness.
He runs this way and that,
crossing the yard and diving into snowdrifts
like a polar bear diving off an iceberg into the cold sea.

I have never had a cat who loves the snow like Hobbes.
We sit watching and laughing, warm in the house,
while he wrestles imaginary foes under the snow.
The hosemobile, the snow, the worms--they are all
foes to be reckoned with in the world of Hobbes.

Burning Ears of Fire

My friend, Wendy, and I were talking yesterday about our bodies betraying us. We've both been experiencing funky health problems lately in spite of leading healthy lives otherwise. It seems that Wendy, like me, woke up one day with this issue or that, which comes as a total surprise to us both. Nobody can tell you why this part or that doesn't work so well anymore--it just doesn't and you have to learn to live with it.

"Why did this happen?" she asks her doctor, to which he says he doesn't know. Yeah, I get that one from my ENT (Ear, Nose, Throat) guy too. Not a lot of answers from these doctors nowadays.

"Why, oh, why GERD?" I ask him dramatically. "Whyyyyyy?!" To which he just shakes his head and moves on to the next room. He doesn't like to chat about GERD half as much as I do, so he sorta answers my questions, gives me a script, and moves on quickly. Sigh. I guess he hears that all day.

As I battle this weird stomach/esophagus/throat thing, I can't figure out where it came from, how I got it, or why it came about. It just did. I was sleeping and then one morning I woke up and I could no longer swallow. And being able to swallow is a good thing--especially when you can't. Being able to swallow is underrated, folks.

So, I take my meds that the insurance company tells me that works, even though they really don't. I have run the gambit of every med in the different categories allowed by my insurance company, and still no real relief. I had one medicine that worked fabulous and then they decided that I must take the generic version. Okay, I'm all up with that except it DOESN'T WORK. And when I tell the insurance company that, they calmly tell me that it does--it's just generic. End of phone call. Sigh.

I wouldn't mind the half-working meds so much if I didn't have the side effects. I get the typical stomachaches and fussy after-dinner belly that I can somewhat deal with, but there is one thing that is driving me batty----my ears are red, swollen, itchy and hot. Yeah, it's not a good look, so don't start laughing.

My ears are freaking burning everyday. Sometimes if I put cortisone cream on them, the fire goes out and my ears return to normal size. They even peel from being so swollen and hot--it's just freaking weird. I've never heard of a side-effect listed as "Burning Ears of Fire", have you?

This getting old stuff is crazy. My body is not my own anymore and I don't like it very much. I get stiff from sleeping. I can't swallow my own spit and sometimes my throat clenches shut and I throw up whatever I am eating or drinking, which isn't fun at parties. I had a hernia from doing nothing. And now add in those Ears of Fire.

Is it too much to ask for a medicine that actually works? Or the insurance company to pay for me to use it? Criminy. I'm just hoping my ears don't shrivel up like raisins and fall off one of these days. I wonder if they cover that?

Guess Who's Not Dead?

Yep. I opened the door to call for Nanook of the North (aka - Hobbes) and I heard the annoying reminder that Yip Yap The Non-Stop Barking Dog is still alive--his obnoxious barking.

Sigh. I hate that dog.

Why is it that you are sad when you find a little bird on your patio that couldn't quite handle the cold? Or you find a butterfly with torn wings that cannot fly anymore? Maybe you see a little flower that has no more bloom to give--all things that you are said to see die. But Yip Yap, the most hated dog in the universe? Nah--that damn dog lives. She's gonna live forever I think.

There are only two times in my life that I have cursed life--Yip Yap and the mean old man who lives across the street. I swear, nuclear holocaust wouldn't off these two. Why, oh, why does Mother Nature deem this animal needed on this good green earth? Isn't there enough barking in the world?!

Apparently not.

The Cow is Dry

I don't know if it is contagious or not, but someone gave me a bad case of "the block" and I've got nothing for you all today. Noth-ing. Nothing. Nada. Zip. As in, there isn't even a cute Hobbes story to pass on. Ugh.

So, in case you didn't crack up just a bit yesterday with Puppy Bowl VI on Animal Planet, here is The Dan Band video for a little chuckle instead. Gees, I love these guys.

Happy to be not watching the game

Uh, if you think I don't like the Olympics, you should see my disdain for all things football--including the Superbowl. No, I won't be watching the game today and no, I won't be at a Superbowl party where I have to make idle chit-chat about all things football and food. Bah humbug. Football schmootball.

I'm gonna find my inner happy today being that I received this award from both Chuck and VanillaSeven--two pallies extraordinaire. Always there with a comment and some chuckles for me, these two guys are great bloggers as well--go see for yourself.

Okay, onto happiness.

Along with this honor, I have to list ten things that make me happy. Okay, that should be easy enough. And then I have to list ten folks that I want to pass this award on to.

Things that make me happy:

1. Breaded pork tenderloins - cold, the next day, for breakfast (which grosses my family out)
2. Hamsters - I like when they wash their little heads
   
3. Sleeping in with the kitties
   
4. Having a day off of work during the week
5. losing a pound or two
6. rain - after a hot, dry spell
   
7. pulling into the lodge parking lot at the Falls, knowing that I am home
8. a nap
9. a good laugh
10. knowing that everyone is home and safe

Those I want to pass this on to because they make me happy:

1. Lola - a great blog pally who I need to meet up with for coffee SOON
2. DG - Because I love Brownie the Wonder Dog and Spike the Hotness Monster stories. Oh yeah, and her weird uncle that I'm gonna fix my mom up with too.
3. Jen - She makes me think with her posts
4. Tracy - a new pally that I really connect with. Gees, I like her blog.
   
5. A. Marie - She and Helene are gonna duke it out over Hobbes one of these days.
   
6. Helene - (Oh gees, I should have put you first, right?! Ugh.) To make up for it, I'll let you kiss Hobbes first, okay?
7. Nancy - because she always introduces me to the best art!
8. Pricilla - Oh, there's lots here that makes me happy - goats, chickens, the yurt, goat soap, cheese, videos, etc.
   
9. Catherine - a new find on EC for me and a fun blog. Catherine is a new pally.
10. Merry - Merry is busy watching the game today, but my family is eternally grateful to her for introducing us to the delicious cuisine of Louisiana. We recently fell in love with beignets. Just say "Merry sent it" and the family comes running! Go Saints! (that's just for Merry)

I really hate choosing 10 blogs to pass this on to--I feel like Sophie making a choice and I'll tell ya, it's not easy. No matter who I choose, I feel like I am neglecting someone else. Ugh. I love you all, I do....really.

The Dalai Lama Drops In

The weekend brings you all a guest post from my friend, the Dalai Lama. He likes to hang with the pallies from The Duck and Wheel every so often, and so here is his thought for the weekend:

"As time moves on, so do our lives. Nobody can stop this movement. However, one thing is in our own hands, and that is whether or not we waste the time we have; whether we use it in a negative way, or a constructive way." --Dalai Lama

I dunno, I kinda like wasting time every so often. I think it is good for the soul.

Happy Weekend, pallies. Go waste some time--but don't tell the Dalai Lama.

Sweeping's a Sport

The Olympics are coming. And can I go on record by saying that (gasp!) I do not like the Olympics? Go ahead, start hating on me now.

Nope. I do not like the Opening Ceremonies. I do not like the Closing Ceremonies. I do not like that they cram sports like figure skating, downhill skiing, and basketball down my throat until I want to vomit. I don't like how the Americans come in at the Opening Ceremonies acting like fools, videotaping themselves. I don't like the endless Olympic analysis (like I care about the results) and I definitely don't like that my fav TV shows are put on hold until the silliness is over. And I definitely don't like the drama that is induced over sports. It all just passes me by.

I know I'm going to bring on the hate comments, but I despise ice skating. I think it is insipid and boring. I hate the costumes, the music, and the endless hours of lady's singles, men's singles, couples skating, speed skating, and then the most ridiculous of them all---ice dancing. Oh god, just the thought of that crap being forced onto my family room TV makes me want to poke myself in the eyes to prevent it all. Thank god for cable, that's all I've got to say.

Well, I still have more to say here, actually.

I like the sports that don't get crammed down our throats---and get no coverage. I like odd sports that you don't always hear of and they actually have to explain how they score it. I like to learn something new about sports I am not familiar with.

Give me the biathlon, where the athletes cross country ski and then have to shoot at targets. Give me some luge and bobsleds that suddenly lose their brakes on the course and they crash and burn at the end. Give me boxing--I actually like boxing. And my favorite........

Give me curling.

Damn, I love curling! And IF they decide to bless us with Olympic Curling coverage, it is usually at some god-forsaken hour like 2 or 3 a.m. IF I am lucky.

If I would be an Olympian, curling is my sport. I mean, what other sport features middle-aged women in black polyester pants sweeping? I love a sport that allows its athletes time to down a cold one while the opponents are competing. I know they don't do that---but they could. Have you noticed how much time there is between shots??

And sweeping! Don't even go there! I LOVE sweeping and I'm good at it. I would so kick curling ass sweeping that ice.

So, humor me--tune in to curling if you are watching that hell otherwise known as the Olympics. You'll have to get up really early or stay home from work a few days because the networks don't cover the really cool sports like curling during the prime viewing hours. And they definitely don't make stars out of the curling guys like the did that silly drug-smoking, Frankenstein-esque, freak-a-zoid Michael Phelps.

But they should--curling rocks.

I Love Hobbes Thursday

Dang, if that cat don't smile.

Semi-Wordless Wednesday

Aw, gees. Now I'm all melancholy for springtime and Henry.

Has anyone else noticed the blogosphere is chock full
of wishes for warmth, sunshine, spring, and the absence of snow?
We still have a good two months left of 'fake-birdie-on-a-string',
catnip mice, and a crinkly bag on the floor in the kitchen.

Perhaps we ought to just relish in winter things just yet.
The comfy basket in front of the fireplace,
the electric blanket on the bed turned on high,
and a warm lap just right for snuggling.

There are good things about winter.
We just have to remind ourselves every so often what they are.

Hang in there, pallies.

Who knew?

Okay, enough about the bobbleheads of Hobbes' likeness. Seriously, Lola and I both priced them and they are freaking expensive!

Here's the options:

As cute as "Fiesty" is, he's like $150.00. Sheesh, and he's a little dog. Imagine what the likeness of Hobbes is gonna cost. I'm sure the mere girth of my little guy is gonna boost the total into the $200's and then add in all those stripes......

Option Two:

Couldn't you just see this one in the back window of my grandpa's Ford Fairlane?? I see him nodding away as we hit pothole after pothole, looking like he's gonna cough up a hairball. I'd need some different eyeballs though--these sorta scare me.

Again, this bad boy is like $150.00 Don't they have generic cat bobbleheads anywhere?


Option Three:

Now this is the one I really want. But this isn't a bobblehead, it is a needle felted piece of art. Kay makes the most beautiful pet reproductions that make my heart melt. I cannot afford the price tag, but I fully appreciate why she charges what she does--look at how much the animals look like their counterparts. Wow. If she doesn't make you wish you had one of these.......

Gees, it almost looks like Hobbes. Sigh. You can just see the Stripey Goodness, can't you?

Henry, The Bus Stop Cat

Before Hobbes, there was Henry.
Henry loved Emma more than anything
and
would follow her anywhere.

And each morning
he would follow her to the bus stop.

He did this every morning
in snow, sleet, rain or sun.

And he always used the sidewalk to get there,
never cutting across the grass.

And there, Emma and Henry,
The Bus Stop Cat,
would wait for the bus to come
and take Emma to school.

The bus driver would open the doors and say hello to them both.
The kids would strain their necks to see him.
And Em would say goodbye to Hen and climb aboard.

Henry would watch the bus drive away
and then he would run
across the grass to come home.