Share the Love

Somebody likes me!
Somebody reads me!
And somebody nominated me for an award!
Of course, the Jeana Likes Me Award, my first, is incomparable, but it is nice to know that someone besides my daughter reads my blog!
If I sound a bit giddy, it's because I am. It's so exciting to know that I'm not just talking to myself here, and that someone out there not only reads, but wants to keep on reading my ranblings. Thank you!!!

Now that I have all that out of my system,
Go Vote!

Somebody in Home Depot has a screw loose!

My husband and our son Scott are building a cabin on our lake lot. Scott came down for several days between Christmas and New Year's Eve, and they were able to get all the beams and joists attached to the piers. They also started running the plumbing, and since I was going to town anyway, would I stop at Home Depot and pick up a few things for them, so they could keep working?
I said sure, I didn't mind at all, I was going anyway.
Then, when I got to Home Depot, my cell phone rang.
"Honey, while you are there, get us some screws."
Now to me a screw is a screw.
But to a builder, apparently, there are hundreds of kinds and sizes of screws.
Just to add to the complications, there are also bolts, which are different from screws.
And there are washers.
And nuts.
And hex head.
And flat head.
and slotted.
and of course non-slotted.
And let us not forget Phillips head.
In addition, each of these items comes in a wide variety of lengths and diameters.
In fact, Home Depot has an entire wall devoted to screws.
Screws in bags.
Screws in boxes.
Bolts.
Nuts.
Washers.
Oh. my. word.

Obviously, I was going to need help with this errand.

I called my darling back and asked him to tell me again the kind of screws he needed.
"Quarter twenty flat head slotted one and a quarter screws."

Now I ask you. Does that sound intelligible?
Yes, the words are in English, but what the heck does it mean?

So I asked a passing person wearing an orange vest and a preoccupied expression.
He told me he was on his way to load something for another customer, but would be right back, and to please wait for him on aisle twenty.
Well, I can do that.

So I go to aisle twenty and wait.
And wait.
And wait.

Finally, another person in an orange vest walks by. I told him what I needed. He pulled a four inch bolt from a box and handed it to me.

I said, "but I need a quarter twenty flat head slotted inch and a quarter."

He said, "Well, it has a flat head."
And kept walking.

So I waited some more. Finally, the first guy came back, this time loaded down. He glanced at me, noticed I was still patiently waiting, and said he would be right back as soon as he loaded this order.

I waited some more.

Finally I began to examine the thousands of packages of screws and bolts hanging on the wall. Each package was neatly labeled by size and description. But somehow I could not figure out the organizational pattern. Surely there was a pattern. Well, I am pretty sure there was. The problem was that I could not see it. I could not figure out what the pattern was.

Three more phone calls to my darling, thirty more minutes of waiting, watching for an orange-vested person, and I finally began at the beginning, and looked at every package.
Every single package.
Every single package of the hundreds and thousands hanging on the board.

Finally, I found it.
"Quarter twenty flat head slotted inch and a quarter."

Only it was actually inch and a half.

So I called again. He said yeah that would do, and oh by the way, he also needed washers and nuts to fit.

At that point I had a fit.

Then I noticed that the nuts were in the package. I told my darling that he would have to find his own washers, because my head was about to explode. He graciously agreed to find his own washers on his next trip to Home Depot.

By the time I left Home Depot, I was exhausted, and forgot why I had come to town in the first place.

But by golly I can tell you where to find any screw Home Depot carries.

Holiday Highlights 2006

I wrote several posts about Christmas memories, so thought I would write now about things I think I will remember about this Christmas.
Of course, if I don't remember by next year, I can always come back and read this post.

Spending several days at Jeana's house, with all our kids and grandkids.

Playing Senior Moments, a gift from Jeana and family, which requires short term memory. Of which I seem to have not much.

Listening to a Christmas story read aloud, and watching the children's faces, softly lit by the Advent candles and the tree lights.

Making cornbread dressing with my daddy's mama's recipe.

Going shopping with my girls and their girls.

Buying my grandbabies yarn and crochet hooks, because they want to learn to crochet.

Watching Katoushka and Lolly sing and dance "Sisters" (from White Christmas, one of my favorite holiday movies).

Listening as Sunshine played "I'll Be Home for Christmas" on the piano.

And Big D and A-man playing "The Little Drummer Boy" as a duet on their violins.

Seeing Pie show Buddy how to crochet--she's left-handed, so teaching her is a challenge for me, but Buddy is ambidextrous, so I'm curious to see with which hand he crochets.

Devan and the other boys zooming down the zip line from the tree house, screaming with delight.

Holding hands in a family circle, praying before meals.

Having my mother and her friend join us, even if only for a few hours.

My husband singing Christmas carols softly, holding my hand, and watching the barely controlled chaos that is our family Christmas.

Spending our last Christmas Eve at my mother's house. What a bittersweet moment, knowing that this house will be sold, the house where she has lived for 40 years, the house my late daddy built. Reminding myself that she is moving on to a new and happy stage of her life, with a man we all love and respect. Realizing that with more than 50 members, we have just outgrown Christmas at anyone's house, and knowing that it won't be the same at another place, but reveling in the fact that we still want to get together, and will find another place.

Rejoicing that our two soldiers
both returned from war this year, safe and healthy.

Realizing that, as usual, I made some mistakes on the family calender, and making notes to myself to correct them next year.

Remembering past Christmases, with those who have gone home before us, and with whom we will be reunited one day.

Watching a video of our family Christmas from 25 years ago.

My parents had four kids. We are all still with our spouses, and among us produced 12 children, who in turn have married and had children--16 and counting, with another due in the spring. Our oldest grandchild will be 15 in the spring, so we are a few years from expecting great grandchildren, but oh how quickly the years go by, and how soon all our grandbabies will no longer be babes, but adults, with families and lives of their own. I pray that we will continue to share each other's lives, and to make new memories to add to those of Christmases past.

Merry Christmas, and the happiest of New Years.

Folger's Vanilla Biscotti

An empty package of Folger's Vanilla Biscotti has been on my kitchen cabinet for quite some time. I saved it to remind me that I needed to write a product review, but I kept putting it off, mostly because when I saw it was when I was working in the kitchen, and not when I was at the computer.
However.
Folger's e-mailed me months ago and asked if I would be willing to write a product review, in exchange for receiving a free sample. I said, why sure, because I love free stuff.
So they sent it
And I drank it.
And it was good.
In fact, it was very good.
I have only been a coffee drinker for a few years. In fact, since I started low carbing. Cutting back on sugar had the strange side effect of enabling me to appreciate the flavor of coffee.
I always loved the aroma. I often said that if coffee tasted the way it smells, I would love it.
But of course it didn't.
Until now.
Folger's vanilla biscotti tastes exactly the way it smells.
A lovely rich vanilla flavor.
I drank it every day for a week, and didn't get tired of it.
I would still be drinking it, if not for the price. At forty-five cents an ounce, it's just more than I am willing to spend for my daily caffeine fix.
But for special occasions, yes indeedy. Yummy.
And by the way, if you folks at Folger's have anything else you would like to send me a free sample of, I will be happy to write any number of product reviews.
Of course, I can't guarantee that they will all be as good as this one.
At least, not unless you are going to send packets of cash in plain brown wrappers.
In that case, we can talk.

Decorating for Christmas

Jeana's posts about Christmas got me to thinking about Christmas trees and decorating for Christmas. The trees I grew up with were real trees. My daddy nailed crossed pieces of wood to the bottom to make them stand up. We decorated with tinsel, glass balls, tons of icecicles, and lots of angel hair, which always made me itch but I loved adding it to the tree. The angel on top floated in a cloud of feathers and angel hair, and it was my favorite decoration.
The tree skirt was a layer of cotton wool sprinkled with glitter. Nearby, a block of styrofoam was the foundation for a tiny sleigh and reindeer, sliding along among a forest of miniature trees.

When Wick and I married, we started with a small tree, two boxes of blue glass balls, and blue and gold tinsel. It was the color coordinated tree pictured in store windows, and to frame it we outlined the front window of our apartment in blue lights. But somehow the tree looked sort of sad to me--sort of sterile and impersonal.

As the years passed, we added decorations we received as gifts, or found on clearance, and then came the decorations our children made. We also started the tradition of giving each child an ornament, so that when our kids married, they would have the beginnings of their own Christmas traditions.

One year I made an Advent calendar for the kids. I didn't have a pattern; I just started cutting out shapes from felt and gluing them together. I put a green tree shape on a piece of red for the background. The calendar part was outlined in gold rickrack. For each day from December first to December 25, there was a different ornament made of felt, gold paint, and glue for the tree: candy canes, fancy globes, a toy soldier, a teddy bear, a gold star, an angel. Each day we moved one ornament from the calendar at the bottom to the tree, and counted the days left until Christmas.

There were always Nativity figures, as ornaments on the tree, or sitting on a table, and always the one with the wooden stable and all the animals gathered around the manger containing the baby Jesus under the tree.

Another year I made stockings with bears on them, and a matching tree skirt. Jeana made a lap quilt from matching fabric, for my mother, and we made fabric ornaments for the tree.

One year we spent hours painting wooden cutout ornaments for the tree. I still have a few of those.

Once our kids were grown and married, I started making new stockings. For the girls, angels in crimson robes with gold sashes. For the boys, angels in red shirts and denim pants. Each one has a gold felt star with the appropriate name on it. I still fill each stocking, no matter where we have our family Christmas, with miniature candy bars, nuts, tiny toys, socks, and a small stocking gift.

When our kids were small and our pockets empty, we made most of our gifts. One year we saved pretty glass bottles and jars, soaked off the labels, spray painted the lids gold, and added some decals for decoration. I bought a big box of Epsom salts. We added a little food coloring, some perfume, stirred well, and poured the bath salts into the bottles and jars as gifts for Nanaw, Grandma, and all the aunts.

As our family grew, I started making a family calendar every year. Everyone's birthday, all the anniversaries, each new baby, the special days of our lives, laid out on the new year's calendar. One for each family unit. All year long, as I check my calendar for appointments, I also see the dates for each family member. I stop to say a prayer, try to remember to send a card, shop for a gift, or make a phone call. The family calendar keeps them always before me, always on my mind and in my heart and in my prayers.

After all, the tree, the decorations, the gifts, it's all about family. The family we came from, the family we created together, the family that has grown each year, the love we have for each other, and the blessings God has bestowed on us.

Merry Christmas. May God bless us, every one.

Another Chirstmas Memory

When I was little, we lived with my grandmother (mama's mother).
On Christmas Eve, my aunts and uncles and cousins came to spend the
night.
We made pallets on the floor with piles of quilts, and at least
one year I remember sleeping at the foot of the bed, between the
grownups' feet and the wooden footboard.
Somehow during the night, rolled in layers of quilts, I slid down between the footboard and the mattress, and when I woke up, I couldn't figure out where I was, or how to get out of
the tangle of quilts.

Our house had gas heaters, and I remember Granny B warning us
little girls to be careful standing in front of the heaters in our long
flannel nightgowns, fearing that we would catch on fire.

The warm air would lift our gown tails into the air, like hot air balloons.

On Christmas Eve, we had to wait for Granny B to get home from
work before we could officially start Christmas. She worked at
Skillern's Drugstore, and often didn't get home until 10:30 or later, with
stories of men coming in just before the store closed, to buy a box of
candy for their wives or mamas, or a pipe and tobacco for their daddies.

On Christmas Eve, we opened gifts from each other, but the
presents Santa brought didn't arrive until every last child was in bed
asleep. I always tried to stay awake to hear the sleigh bells, which Uncle
Grady solemnly told us he heard every year when Santa landed on the
roof.

One year, Christmas Day came on Sunday, and of course we couldn't miss church, so Santa Claus came early that year. Late Christmas Eve night, my daddy and my uncle Jim took all of us kids to buy fireworks,
and when we got back, Santa had come!

My daddy said he started with our house that year, and that is why he came early.

With so many relatives, and so many children, the floor under
the tree was filled to overflowing with presents on Christmas morning.
Each of us had a stocking, with a whole orange or tangerine that we
didn't have to share, a whole shiny red apple, nuts in the shell, hard
candy, and some kind of toy.
One year we all got paddle balls--paddles with red rubber balls attached by rubber strings. We spent hours trying to hit the balls with the paddles. When the ball came off the string, Daddy or
Aunt Ruth would fix it by pushing a piece of matchstick into the ball
to hold the rubber string in place.

When the elastic wore out, our mamas and daddies collected the paddles so we would stop hitting each other with them, and next time somebody needed a spanking, they would use
the wooden paddle.

More than once, one of us nearly swallowed one of the
little red balls, that were just the right size to go down a little
kid's throat.

My aunt Clorine made the best divinity in the whole world,
sweet, rich, creamy,
melting on my tongue like snow flakes.
Aunt Ruth's fudge was
straight out of dreams of sugar plums.
Fruitcake, studded with sweet
pecans and jewels of candied fruit,
mama's chocolate cake with hard icing,
Granny B's chocolate and lemon merengue pies--
mmmmm.
I can still taste them in my dreams.

A Christmas Memory

This time of year I often fall asleep remembering Christmases past. The earliest Christmas memories I have are from when I was about three.
I remember the ceramic mug a friend of my mother's from church made me, a three-dimensional impression of Santa's face, with a gentle smile. I remember the smell of the Christmas tree, and the crackle of wrapping paper as Mama wrapped mysterious boxes. I remember my grandmother warning me not to go into her closet, telling me that if I did, a spider would get me. I remember riding on Daddy's shoulders through the Sears Roebuck store, to look at the biggest model train set in the world (I don't know if it really was, but that is how I remember it). I remember the tricycle Daddy had to adapt; I was too small for it, and couldn't reach the pedals if I was sitting on the seat. So he screwed blocks of wood to the pedals so that I could push them. It was thrilling, riding around the dining table, leaning forward to see over the handlebars! I remember that I got a little doctor's kit, complete with "medicine" bottles, filled with the little colored sprinkles we normally use to decorate cakes. I promptly spilled some on the hardwood floor in the dining room, and then rode my tricycle through them, grinding the sprinkles into the tire treads, where they stayed forever. I remember the sparkly icecicles, the gold and silver tinsel, the bright lights on the tree.
Most of all I remember the Nativity scene under the tree, and how Mama and Daddy crouched on the floor, holding my hands and letting me gently touch each figure as they told me the story of the baby Jesus' birth.
I love Christmas.

Regularly scheduled blogging will return soon

Wick and I went to Branson, MO, the weekend before Thanksgiving. We brought back a major case of food poisoning. Thanksgiving was not even a blip on the radar screen, as we took turns hanging our heads over the porcelain altar (aka the toilet). We missed Thanksgiving at my mother's, with over 50 people, all of whom are her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, for the first time in 37 years. We missed the four-day weekend at Jeana's with our kids and grandkids. We missed Black Friday shopping (which we would have experienced only vicariously, through Scott and Scott relaying their experiences camping out on the Best Buy parking lot). I even missed two days of work on the Monday and Tuesday after Thanksgiving.

Where we got the staphyloccocal infection remains a mystery.

It was, however, the "gift that keeps on giving"---headaches, joint pain, etc. etc. etc. and no I am not going into the details.

Suffice it to say that even now, my mother's cornbread dressing, complete with giblet gravy and cranberry sauce, which she carefully dished up and froze for me since we missed the festivities, still has not been claimed from her freezer.

For now, I am sticking with chicken noodle soup, jello, bananas, and Propel flavored water.

Bleaaahhh.
humbug.

Nine Weird Things About Me

HolyMama tagged me for this. At first, I thought I would have trouble thinking of nine things. Now I'm thinking....only nine?

1. The pillow I sleep on is flat--really flat, quite worn out, in fact.
2. But I can't sleep unless I have a big fat body pillow against my left side.
3. I still like to sleep with a teddy bear.
4. I want the room to be absolutely dark. As in *no* light at all. No reflections. No lights on tvs that never go off. No lighted alarm clock dials. I'm talking dark, people.
5. I like to sleep in a cold room, winter or summer, under a pure cotton sheet and a home made quilt.
6. I am not an early morning person. Do not talk to me early in the morning. Even if I sleep until 10:00, when I get up it is still early morning, until I have had two cups of coffee with cream and a significant amount of time to actually wake up. Just because my eyes are open does not mean that I am awake and fully functional.
7. During the week I eat the same breakfast every day: two slices of crisp bacon, and an ounce of cream cheese.
8. On weekends I sleep late, and eat brunch, and then only one other meal that day. Brunch is usually an omelet with cream cheese, ham or bacon, onion or chives, sometimes olives, sprinkled with grated colby cheese, topped with On the Border salsa, and two pieces of buttered toast (low carb bread, please), one with lc orange marmalade on it. Oh and coffee. At least three cups. Or two cups of coffee and a cup of cocoa.
9. I am so serious about number 6 that Jeana's kids (my grandbabies) tiptoe around giggling in the mornings, saying, "Shhhh! Quiet! Don't wake up the MiMi monster!"
Which of course wakes me up.

I'm tagging Katie for this meme.

We Wanted to Meet

Last weekend was We Wanna Meet, in Ft. Worth. About 2 dozen bloggers got together for a couple of days of eating, laughing, shopping, and getting to know each other.
Most of us had "met" each other through our blogs, so in a sense we already knew each other. How much fun it was to match faces to names, to find out that they were all just as cute, as sweet, and as funny as I had imagined, and to share some time together.
Kelsey (Holy Mama) brought Seth, and a cuter, sweeter little dumplin' you would be hard pressed to find (Seth, not Kelsey--although she is cute, she is too tiny to be called a dumplin'). Our daughter Jeana (http://www.laughter4daystocome.blogspot.com/) graciously consented to her daddy and me coming for lunch on Saturday, mainly I think to prove that we are real, and really as smarty-pants as we appear on her blog.
Lauren (http://ahumbleheart.org/blog/ brought her adorable daughter, who has the most beautiful long hair and the sweetest smile.
Chili (http://donttrythisathome.typepad.com/justdont/) had me laughing so hard my tummy hurt.
Shannon http://rocksinmydryer.typepad.com/shannon/ is as cute as her cartoon, and I recognized her immediately.
Shalee http://shalees.blogspot.com/ is a hoot in real life, just as she is on her blog.
Minnie http://minniemoments1.blogspot.com/ is as cute as a button, and her laugh is infectious--no, not like a disease, but like something you want to catch.
GiBee http://kissesofsunshine.blogspot.com/ brought her little guy, and he is darling--sweet as his mama.
These are just a few of the dear women we met last Saturday at the Ft. Worth Botanic Garden restaurant. The whole afternoon was .....well, it was indescribable.
Meeting total strangers who we felt as if we already knew.
And not a single disappointment in the bunch.
The restaurant is by reservation only, and we had to share the space with other parties, some of whom I am sure must have wondered who we were, and why we were all laughing insanely. They were just totally missing out, not being at our tables.
There was also a wedding going on, and the person who made those arrangements must have lived to regret it. She opted for the front room, which is large and airy, but is also where everyone walks in the front door, and we kept that door swinging all afternoon.
They had the reception buffet and cakes set up in the center room, which is where we had to walk through to get to the ladies room, and we kept that path pretty well populated too.
We tried to get them to share the leftover wedding cake, but they really frowned on that, so of course we had to order our own sinfully rich, sweet, and fattening desserts. I like to think, though, that all the laughing we did worked off a few of the calories. And even if it didn't, it was sooooooo worth it!
Funny, cute, sweet, hilarious, and beautiful inside and out. That's what they are, those mommy bloggers who wanted to meet in Ft. Worth last weekend.
I can't wait to see them again.

The Shirt Off Her Back

Thursday Wick and I were at a required teacher training session all day. One of the women was wearing the cutest t-shirt--so cute I wanted to just take it away from her.
No, I didn't.
But I wanted to.
It was black, with a pink silhouette of a woman's face in profile. Under it, in pink letters, it said, "A virtuous woman", and below that, in smaller letters, some of the attributes of the Proverbs 31 woman. Just adorable, it was.
And I didn't even want it for myself.
I wanted it for daughter Jeana.

If you read her blog, you know that its name comes from Proverbs 31:
25 "Strength and dignity are her clothing,and she can laugh at the days to come."

I even asked the lady where she got the shirt.
She said from her church.
I said, well, I need one like that, for my daughter.
By this time, she is looking around for someone to rescue her from this crazy woman who is obviously obsessed with her shirt.
She said, well, the church in in New York.
And besides, they probably don't have any more.

And when I told Jeana about the t-shirt Sat. (at the We Wanna Meet lunch at the Garden Resaurant at the Ft. Worth Botanical Gardens, a whole other blog subject), she said, oh no, she wouldn't possibly be able to wear a shirt like that, because although she certainly laughs a lot, and makes other people laugh a lot, she is not the virtuous woman described therein.

So I guess it is a good thing I did not bodily assault the poor lady and yank the shirt right off her back.

Now that I think about it, that would sort of let me out of the virtuous woman category too, wouldn't it.

Learning something new every day

Warning: I'm warning you that the subject matter today is "adult". I'm trying to explain what happened in a family friendly manner, but .... well.....if you are easily offended, stop reading now.
One morning half an hour before students were supposed to be in the hallways, I was coming down the stairs from a meeting, when I saw a group of boys in the hall outside the restroom. Actually, more like a mob. And it was the Girls' Restroom.
A crowd of 50 or 60 boys outside a girls' restroom can not mean anything good.
As I continued down the stairs, I realized that two or three boys at a time were going into the girls' restroom.
I flew down the remaining stairs, hustled the boys out of the girls' restroom, and then looked down at the floor.
That's when I saw it.
Oh. My. Word.
I literally had to look twice to be sure I was not imagining things.
There on the floor was a life-size replica of.....(ahem).....a male body part.
Skin colored.
Detailed.
All the details.
I mean, it looked as if someone had been bobbitized.
Except there was no blood.
And it had a strap attached.
So there I stood.
Looking at an unmentionable object.
I couldn't leave it there.
I needed an administrator, but none of the kids would leave--I guess they were hoping I would leave, so they could take another look.
I didn't have on a jacket.
Didn't have a bag.
Nothing in my hands except my daily planner.
No pockets even.
As if that object would have fitted into a pocket.
Not even any paper towels, because high school students think it is funny to plug up the facilities with paper towels.
So.......
After some thought, and meanwhile shooing out curious students while telling them that the restroom was out of order.....
I reeled off enough tissue paper to cover up the object, so I could carry it to the administrator's office.
Here I am, with this thing wrapped in tissue paper (it was even weighted, so it actually felt as if I were carrying a body part down the hall), and I have to walk through that mob of boys, down two hallways, around a corner, and two more doors to the office.
I walked in, and put the thing down on the secretary's desk, at which time the tissue paper wafted away from it, and I thought the secretary was going to have a stroke. She started hyperventilating.
We radioed for an administrator.

A couple of mornings later, at about the same time of the morning, someone threw one into the library.
This one was Barney purple. Less detailed. And minus the strap.

That afternoon, one turned up in a boys' restroom.

What the culprits seemed to have forgotten was the security cameras on all floors.
Four people were identified as being involved in the three incidents.
They will be pursuing their education at another institution this year.

I don't know where they got these objects. I don't know where the objects had been. And I really don't want to think about what possible purpose anyone could have for one.

But I have to admit......
teaching is an education for me, as well as, or perhaps more so than for my students.

I just hope next time the subject is
a) more useful
and
b) less disgusting.

The Trials of Our Fur Baby's Existance

Frankie, our Pomeranian, lives a very difficult life. He has trouble getting us to understand the simplest of commands.
We don't respond quickly enough when he wants to go outside.
We accuse him of barking at nothing, when he knows perfectly well that there is a child outside riding a scooter in his parking lot.
We buy him dog food that he doesn't like, and he has to go on a three day hunger strike to convince us that we must buy a different brand.
Whenever we offer him a treat of doggie jerky, he has to inspect it carefully, sniff it thoroughly, then take it off to a corner where he can examine it at his leisure, just in case we have tried to slip in a vitamin, heart worm pill, or something equally nasty.
We don't go to bed when he thinks it is bed time, so he has to bark at us and nudge us until we finally turn out the light so he can get to sleep--this, despite the fact that he has slept for a couple of hours on the couch in a brightly lit room--it is bedtime, and he needs for us to go to bed so that he can get some sleep.
Whenever we leave, he is seized with anxiety unless we take him along. He has to sit in the passenger seat so that he can be prepared to take over at any moment, if our concentration should lapse.
He is ever vigilant for 18-wheelers, which he knows harbor other dogs, and he takes it as a personal affront that they are allowed to drive on his highway.
He must also be alert for the presence of round hay bales; although you may think they are inanimate, he knows otherwise. He has seen them moving steathily along the roadway, on the back of a truck or trailer, and they might attack us at any time, with no warning. It is his job to protect us from them.
Also, once a person is allowed to enter our home, he is met with suspicious sniffs, a snort or two, and his departure must be hastened by Frankie barking at his heels all the way to the door.
He has to remake his bed every time I wash his bedding; and he has to roll around on it for several minutes to eradicate the odor of the detergent and softener.
Just when he gets comfortable on the couch, head on pillow, one of us is sure to make him move over by threatening to sit on him.
We are selfish with our bed pillows too, refusing to let him take over the whole pillow.
It's so sad.
Even after eleven years, he just can't seem to get us trained.

Works for Me Wednesday--Dry cleaning bags

If you have stuff dry cleaned, you know those bags I'm talking about.
thin, filmy, almost insubstantial, but still potentially lethal to babies, small children, and pets.
I don't have any babies in the house at the moment, but I do have a dog, so I try to dispose of those bags safely.
Here's how I do it:
First, smooth the bag into a long strip, by running my hand down the length of it and twisting.
Then tie knots in the bag every few inches.
Tie the knotty strip into a couple more knots, just for good measure.
Then throw it away.
This way, if the bag does manage to sneak out of the trash can, it is too compressed by the knots to be a safety hazard.
Of course, if your dog (or your child) manages to swallow it, you have another problem.
But that is another post.

Going to the Dogs

When we moved into this apartment, we were asked for a picture of Frankie, our Pomeranian, and his medical records (rabies shots, etc.), and informed that the weight liimit for dogs in this complex is 30 pounds.
Since Frankie weighs about 10 pounds on a heavy day, with full fur coat (not his summer cut), we were well under the limit.
Apparently, the managers only consider the weight of the dog or puppy at the time it is aquired, however.
Yes, there are many small dogs here. Scotties, mini-pinschers, toy poodles, rat terriers, and fluffy little mutts whose looks and personality are much more important than their pedigree.
However.
There are some who apparently did not read the terms of the lease.
They have overgrown the standard, some more than others.
For example, in the apartment directly above ours is a dog who started out as a bundle of white fluff not much bigger than Frankie. I think it has turned into one of those huge white Pyrranese dogs used for herding sheep--and it sounds like a baby elephant when it runs across the floor above our heads in the middle of the night.
In the apartment next to that one, we often see a black Labrador on the balcony. He is a young dog, with the sleek shiny coat of a puppy, and he is obviously lonely, since he whines in the most pitiful way when Frankie and I walk past below him. I just hope he never decides to jump off the balcony, because he would most certainly squash Frankie if he landed on him.
Another fellow apartment dweller has three dogs on leashes when we meet early in the morning. One is a definitely legal size scottie.
The other two--well, let's just say that if you put a saddle on one of those puppies, he would be in the same league as a Shetland pony.
Once in a while, we get a glimpse of a large dark hulking shadow peering at us through a patio door-I suspect it is a Rottweiler, but it is hard to say for sure, because we never see him outdoors except after dark.
Which is why Frankie and I take our long walks in daylight hours, and after dark run to the nearest fire hydrant and then duck back into the safety of our apartment.
Frankie is our fur baby, and we love him, but as a body guard he comes up rather short.
Of course, living in an RV, and now in a tiny apartment, what we need--and what we have--is a pocket sized dog.
Obviously some of our neighbors just had no idea how big their puppies were going to get, when they adopted them.
I would have thought that the size of those paws would have been a small (or rather a large) clue.

RV Woes Update

As I may have mentioned before, a few times, we used to live in our RV. But it has been in dire straits since the last week in June.
The extended warranty company says they are not going to pay for repairs to the inverter, the refrigerator, the sleep number bed, the tvs, vcr, dvd, etc.
Our problems started the third week in June. It's been a mighty long dry spell here in Texas, and no rain fell, as far as I know, anywhere in north or east texas in June--we live in east TX, and we were camping in north TX when the problems began.
The extended warranty company says they are not going to pay for repairs. Why?
They claim that the damage was done by lightening.
Lightening.
In the middle of a drought.
The RV has been waiting since 27 July at the RV repair shop for the extended warranty man to make a decision.
We finally had to rent an apartment, until the RV gets well.
Because we had to rent an apartment, we had to buy a couch, a bed, and a washer and dryer.
Because, as I said, we used to live in the RV, and the RV had all those things, but not working, of course.
Because of the lightening.
Which somehow we missed seeing.
or hearing.
or maybe we just didn't notice.
Weren't paying attention.
Right.
Lightening hit the RV, with us in it, and we didn't notice?
So the extended warranty guy said, turn it in on your vehicle insurance.
Now I'm getting paranoid.
What if the vehicle insurance guy says no it was not caused by lightening, and the extended warranty company should pay?
But the EWC has already said no.
Then what?
I'll be posting about all this again, when we find out what the vehicle insurance guy thinks.
If you're still interested.

9-11-2001

I was walking down the hall when my assistant principal stuck her head out the door of her office, and said, "Go turn on your tv in your room. I think we are under attack."
From her tone and the look on her face, I knew something serious was happening.
I went directly to my classroom and turned on the tv. I stood there in shock, watching the images on the screen. By the time the second plane crashed into the towers, my room was full of students.
Tears were streaming down our faces. I literally felt sick at my stomach--actually, more like someone had punched me in the stomach.
I wanted to go home.
I wanted to call all my kids and bring them home with me. Like a mother hen, I wanted to gather all my chicks together in one place.
I wanted to know if Jeana's husband was at the airport, and if he was, I wanted him to leave.
I wanted all my grandbabies in my lap, right then, so I could hold on to them, feel their soft skin and their clean scent and their soft breath.
But I had a room full of kids.
And they couldn't go home either.
So we sat there together, watching in helpless horror, as the towers fell, the air filled with debris, thefire fighters and police cried for the lost heroes, the emergency workers ministered to those who had escaped.
We hugged each other, wiped each other's tears, held hands.
It was horrible.
But we couldn't stop watching.
Every time the images of the airplanes crashing were replayed, there was a sort of collective breath-holding, as if this time it wouldn't happen. But it did. Every time.

Babies born to those fathers killed in the carnage are five years old this year. Five years without their daddies.
Men and women live with memories, instead of their spouses.
Families sit down to eat, with an empty chair at the table.
Fire fighters miss their buddies.
Police officers struggle to hold back their tears at the sound of bagpipes.

Oh Lord, creator of the universe, father of us all, help us to make sense of these events. Hold those who grieve close to your heart.

A Pause for Technical Difficulties

I am not a technical type person. I can run the washing machine and the dishwasher and clean the bathtub and change the sheets.
I can not seem to master anything more complicated than my twenty year old steam iron (which has lasted so long because I hate to iron and hardly ever use it).
Wick was gone this morning, and I had several small projects in mind for my morning alone in the apartment.
First, I tried to empty the ice trays. The ice would not come out. I tried running water over the bottoms of the trays, which did indeed get the cubes out, but melted them to half their size before I could scoop them up out of the sink.
Then, after stripping the bed, gathering up all the towels, bath mat, dog bedding, and other assorted laundry, I started the first of six loads of laundry. That went well enough that I decided to try vacuuming.
We bought a spiffy new upright vac when we moved into the apartment. It has all kinds of attachments, gadgets, even a self-cleaning duster. What it does not have is instructions printed on the vacuum cleaner itself.
I started in the bedroom, where there is not much traffic, and not much dirt on the carpet. I noticed that it didn't seem to have much suction, but I kept moving it back and forth.
Then I bent over to pick up a bit of lint that didn't seem to be affected by the vac, and suddenly the end of the hose (where all the little brushes and attachments hook on, I guess) tried to suck the hair off my head.
That's when I realized that the brush part of the vac was not sucking--only the hose part was sucking. Which is how I was feeling about this whole carpet vacuuming thing.
I wiggled and jiggled every part of the vac, pushed and pulled, tweaked and twisted, and could not figure out how to get the suction to go to the spinning brush thingy instead of the hose.
The hose, however, sucked just fine.
By this time I was on the fourth load of laundry. I had cleaned the sink and countertops, loaded the dishwasher, folded, hung, or otherwise disposed of the clean laundry, and worked up quite a sweat with the vac.
So I thought I needed a little break.
I thought I would watch Animal Planet and drink a coke, and cool off, while I tried to figure out how to make the vac vacuum.
I poured the diet coke into the glass, over the pint-size cubes I had already half-melted, and turned on the tv.
It came on just fine.
The only problem was that I could not figure out how to change the channel.
We went from Dish TV to a weird cable thingy when we moved into the apartment, and while I was not fully qualified to use the Dish remote control, I could at least change the channel.
I have not yet mastered the cable remote.
I can not change the channel.
So here I am, unable to get ice out of the ice cube trays, unable to get the vacuum cleaner to suck properly, and I can't even change the channel on the tv.

And Jeana keeps asking me if I have a site meter.
Hmmmph.
Can we say technologically challenged?

Wednesday Works for Me--LC sweet snack

Pork rinds have all kinds of uses for those of us trying to cut down on the excess carbs. This recipe gives you a crunchy sweet treat with few carbs and not much effort.

1 package pork rinds
butter flavored no stick spray (like Pam)
cinnamon
sugar substitute (I prefer Splenda)
or a brown sugar substitute

Spread the pork rinds out on a large baking sheet. Spray lightly with butter flavored spray. Sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar substitute. Bake at 350 for about 10 minutes, so that the pork rinds don't get limp from the spray, but stay crispy.
Let cool.

Sort of like cinnamon toast, but without the bread, and with more crunch.
The spray gives it that buttery flavor, and helps the cinnamon and Splenda to stick to the pork rinds.
Works for me.
Enjoy.
For more Wednesday Works for Me, check http://rocksinmydryer.typepad.com/shannon/

Dead Lizards and Hanging Dolls

Yesterday we went to visit daughter Jeana and family. Now, with four grandbabies, all lively, intelligent, and full of energy, maybe I shouldn't be surprised at anything that happens.
But some things....
well.

Jeana has one of those full-glass storm doors, with a solid wooden door behind it. It stays open most of the time, so perhaps one can understand how a little lizard might think of the edge of the door as a relatively safe place to perch. The lizard would be wrong. This lizard looks as if he has become permanently squashed into the grain of the wood, being caught on the edge of the door when someone slammed it shut.

Later, we were invited to see a doll bungee-jumping from the top bunk in the boys' room. What we actually witnessed, however, was a doll hanging from the ceiling fan, slow dancing in circles on the end of a long cord, with its blue yarn streaked hair streaming out in the breeze.

Dead lizards.

Hanging dolls.

I'm beginning to wonder if voodoo is in the home school curriculum.