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.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Monday, October 16, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, September 11, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
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?
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?
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
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/
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/
Sunday, August 27, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Wednesday Works for Me--Fauxtato Casserole
Wick and I have gotten more serious about how we eat since he got an infection from what started out as a fairly minor scrape on his leg. Blood sugar problems cause slow healing, so we feel that getting and keeping our blood sugar under control is really important. We both like baked potatoes, but since potatoes are not on our menu, we came up with this "faux" potato casserole.
Two heads of cauliflower, steamed and mashed (I use the mixer)
grated cheese
sour cream
chopped onion
chopped chives
crisp bacon, crumbled (or bacon bits)
butter
salt and pepper to taste
Add the ingredients to your taste, just as you would add to baked potatoes. Blend well. Pour mixture into a greased casserole dish. Top with more grated cheese. Bake at 375 until cheese is bubbly and beginning to brown.
Yumm. Works for us.
Two heads of cauliflower, steamed and mashed (I use the mixer)
grated cheese
sour cream
chopped onion
chopped chives
crisp bacon, crumbled (or bacon bits)
butter
salt and pepper to taste
Add the ingredients to your taste, just as you would add to baked potatoes. Blend well. Pour mixture into a greased casserole dish. Top with more grated cheese. Bake at 375 until cheese is bubbly and beginning to brown.
Yumm. Works for us.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Book Meme
Jeana tagged me for this, and although it took me a couple of days to get around to it (school just started Monday), here are my answers:
Bear in mind, though, that I have totally ignored the "one book" edict that appears in every question--how can a true book lover answer with just one?)
1. One book that changed your life: The Bible. Of course. Five Love Languages. The Purpose-driven Life. Pilgrim's Progress. Little Women. All the Little House books by Laura Ingalls Wilder.
2. One book that you've read more than once: I read the Little House series by Laura Ingalls Wilder almost every year. Usually in the winter. I guess because so much of the action takes place during the winter. I find them soothing and comforting. Jane Austen's Persuasion. And Pride and Prejudice. I've probably read these more than 30 times. I love Jane Austen. The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (another winter time read). Little Women. Anything by Agatha Christie--there are so many that I forget the solutions by the time I reread the mysteries. Beowulf. Jane Eyre. Wuthering Heights. The Canterbury Tales. The Harry Potter books. Some of my students are diligently looking for clues as to what will happen in the last of the seven, and I have to keep checking their research. Besides that, I like them. Harry is learning that life is not only a battle between good and evil, but that each of us has a choice--each of us has to choose, ultimately, which side has our allegiance.
3. One book you'd want on a desert island: my Bible. A survival manual. How to build a boat would come in handy, I think, also how to tell edible from inedible mushrooms, and how to make salt water potable. How to make pottery. Mostly, How to get rescued.
4. One book that made you laugh: Anything by Erma Bombeck. I sure do miss her. Especially the Grass Grows Greener Over the Septic Tank. A couple that I can't remember the authors of at the moment--Raising Demons. And Please Don't Eat the Dasies.
5. One book that made you cry: Little Women. Two parts actually: when Beth dies, and when Jo ends up with her old German suitor, Professor Baehr.
6. One book that you wish had been written: anything that made more than a million dollars for the author. Then I could retire, and just write the kind of stuff I enjoy, without worrying about making a living.
7. One book you wish had never been written: The DaVinci Code. Too many people mistake fiction for reality, and many of them lack sufficient grounding in their faith to distinguish truth from balderdash.
8. One book you are currently reading: A Wizard Alone by Diane Duane. I read a lot of "young adult" fiction, because I enjoy much of it, and because I want to know what my students are reading.
9.One book you've been meaning to read: Oh my word, how can I name just one, when my list runs into the hundreds?
Bear in mind, though, that I have totally ignored the "one book" edict that appears in every question--how can a true book lover answer with just one?)
1. One book that changed your life: The Bible. Of course. Five Love Languages. The Purpose-driven Life. Pilgrim's Progress. Little Women. All the Little House books by Laura Ingalls Wilder.
2. One book that you've read more than once: I read the Little House series by Laura Ingalls Wilder almost every year. Usually in the winter. I guess because so much of the action takes place during the winter. I find them soothing and comforting. Jane Austen's Persuasion. And Pride and Prejudice. I've probably read these more than 30 times. I love Jane Austen. The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (another winter time read). Little Women. Anything by Agatha Christie--there are so many that I forget the solutions by the time I reread the mysteries. Beowulf. Jane Eyre. Wuthering Heights. The Canterbury Tales. The Harry Potter books. Some of my students are diligently looking for clues as to what will happen in the last of the seven, and I have to keep checking their research. Besides that, I like them. Harry is learning that life is not only a battle between good and evil, but that each of us has a choice--each of us has to choose, ultimately, which side has our allegiance.
3. One book you'd want on a desert island: my Bible. A survival manual. How to build a boat would come in handy, I think, also how to tell edible from inedible mushrooms, and how to make salt water potable. How to make pottery. Mostly, How to get rescued.
4. One book that made you laugh: Anything by Erma Bombeck. I sure do miss her. Especially the Grass Grows Greener Over the Septic Tank. A couple that I can't remember the authors of at the moment--Raising Demons. And Please Don't Eat the Dasies.
5. One book that made you cry: Little Women. Two parts actually: when Beth dies, and when Jo ends up with her old German suitor, Professor Baehr.
6. One book that you wish had been written: anything that made more than a million dollars for the author. Then I could retire, and just write the kind of stuff I enjoy, without worrying about making a living.
7. One book you wish had never been written: The DaVinci Code. Too many people mistake fiction for reality, and many of them lack sufficient grounding in their faith to distinguish truth from balderdash.
8. One book you are currently reading: A Wizard Alone by Diane Duane. I read a lot of "young adult" fiction, because I enjoy much of it, and because I want to know what my students are reading.
9.One book you've been meaning to read: Oh my word, how can I name just one, when my list runs into the hundreds?
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Where I'm From--thinking
Tomorrow begins a new school year. Part of the first week of school is letting students know about me, my expectations, my standards. Part of the week is getting to know them, where they are from, what they expect from themselves and from me.
Our first writing activity will be a poem. All the poems will share the same title, "Where I'm From."
The original poem is by George Ella Lyons. I am posting the "think sheet" I give my students, so if you feel so inclined, you can write your own.
Here's the original poem.
I am from clothespins,
From Clorox and carbon tetrachloride.
I am from the dirt under the back porch.
(Black, glistening
it tasted like beets.)
I am from the forsythia bush,
the Dutch elm
whose long gone limbs I remember
as if they were my own.
I am from fudge and eyeglasses,
from Imogene and Alafair.
I’m from the know-it-alls
and the pass-it-ons,
from perk up and pipe down.
I’m from He restoreth my soul
with a cottonball lamb
and ten verses I can say myself.
I’m from Artemus and Billie’s Branch,
fried corn and strong coffee.
From the finger my grandfather lost
to the auger
the eye my father shut to keep his sight.
Under the bed was a dress box
spilling old pictures,
a sift of lost faces
to drift beneath my dreams.
I am from those moments –
snapped before I budded –leaf-fall from the family tree.
Here's the "think sheet."
Objects play
Images
shapes
Central events
church experiences
Tastes
voices
Other people’s words
town or street names
Stories
hiding places
Smells
what grew in your yard
Relatives’ names
parents work
school
other/miscellaneous
Tomorrow I will post my own version of the poem. If you decide to play, let me know so I can come visit your site and see where you are from.
Our first writing activity will be a poem. All the poems will share the same title, "Where I'm From."
The original poem is by George Ella Lyons. I am posting the "think sheet" I give my students, so if you feel so inclined, you can write your own.
Here's the original poem.
I am from clothespins,
From Clorox and carbon tetrachloride.
I am from the dirt under the back porch.
(Black, glistening
it tasted like beets.)
I am from the forsythia bush,
the Dutch elm
whose long gone limbs I remember
as if they were my own.
I am from fudge and eyeglasses,
from Imogene and Alafair.
I’m from the know-it-alls
and the pass-it-ons,
from perk up and pipe down.
I’m from He restoreth my soul
with a cottonball lamb
and ten verses I can say myself.
I’m from Artemus and Billie’s Branch,
fried corn and strong coffee.
From the finger my grandfather lost
to the auger
the eye my father shut to keep his sight.
Under the bed was a dress box
spilling old pictures,
a sift of lost faces
to drift beneath my dreams.
I am from those moments –
snapped before I budded –leaf-fall from the family tree.
Here's the "think sheet."
Objects play
Images
shapes
Central events
church experiences
Tastes
voices
Other people’s words
town or street names
Stories
hiding places
Smells
what grew in your yard
Relatives’ names
parents work
school
other/miscellaneous
Tomorrow I will post my own version of the poem. If you decide to play, let me know so I can come visit your site and see where you are from.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Works for Me Wednesday--Coke Can Chicken
I confess: I changed the name, since this is a family friendly blogspot. What we really call it is B.e.e.r B_tt chicken.
Here's how to make it.
You will need:
A whole chicken.
Half a can of the liquid refreshment of your choice (b.e.e.r, fruit flavored cooler ( I really like the cherry or margarita flavor), coke, fruit flavored carbonated drink, whatever).
Salt, pepper, butter or olive oil, garlic.
I sprinkle the seasoning inside and outside the chicken. Then peel the skin of the breast back enough to stuff in some pats of butter. Or rub the whole chicken with olive oil. This will make the skin crisp up and brown something lovely.
Next, sit the chicken down on the can of liquid. If you push the chicken down on the can, it should balance on its tail end. Set it on the grill and let it cook until brown and tender. Usually this takes about an hour to an hour and a half, depending on how hot the grill is.
The liquid will boil as the chicken cooks, keeping the meat juicy, and infusing it with flavor. If you use an alcoholic beverage, the alcohol will boil off, leaving the just the flavor.
It's even better than marinating or basting, and a lot easier. I always forget the marinade until I am already ready to cook the chicken. And I can never remember to come back often enough to baste.
You may want to put a little foil on the wing tips and the ends of the drumsticks so they won't burn.
Easy, delicious, and my darling is always willing to take care of the other half of the b.e.e.r, and to cook the chicken on the grill.
Works for me.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Am I in the Right Place?
Have you ever had one of those dreams where you think you are where you are supposed to be, but then suddenly you realize that you are somewhere totally different, but it still seems like where you are supposed to be, only it's not, so where are you, and where are you supposed to be?
Well. I have that kind of dream a lot. And since I started teacher training days at my new school, I am having that kind of feeling a lot, even though I am awake, not asleep and dreaming.
The building looks like a school. It has the right name on the front. The people inside are wearing name badges that say they are teachers or principals or counselors or coaches.
So....what is the problem?
Um....it's not really a problem. It's more like.....I'm afraid I'm dreaming and I'm going to wake up.
Every person I have met---
Every single person---
has been glad to see me.
Has greeted me like a long-lost friend.
Has told me what a blessing I am going to be to them, to the school, to the kids.
Has offered to help me.
Has blessed my heart.
Has demonstrated love of God, and the indwelling of His spirit.
Today, during a small group activity focusing on our hopes and expectations for our students, people were holding up their hands, praising God, and quoting Scripture.
Especially Hebrews 11:1.
"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."
We prayed that God would send us where He wanted us to be.
He has answered that prayer more richly than I could ever have imagined.
Well. I have that kind of dream a lot. And since I started teacher training days at my new school, I am having that kind of feeling a lot, even though I am awake, not asleep and dreaming.
The building looks like a school. It has the right name on the front. The people inside are wearing name badges that say they are teachers or principals or counselors or coaches.
So....what is the problem?
Um....it's not really a problem. It's more like.....I'm afraid I'm dreaming and I'm going to wake up.
Every person I have met---
Every single person---
has been glad to see me.
Has greeted me like a long-lost friend.
Has told me what a blessing I am going to be to them, to the school, to the kids.
Has offered to help me.
Has blessed my heart.
Has demonstrated love of God, and the indwelling of His spirit.
Today, during a small group activity focusing on our hopes and expectations for our students, people were holding up their hands, praising God, and quoting Scripture.
Especially Hebrews 11:1.
"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."
We prayed that God would send us where He wanted us to be.
He has answered that prayer more richly than I could ever have imagined.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Thursday Thirteen--Who's In Charge Here?
As I have been discussing for what seems like months, we have just acquired new jobs, moved into a tiny apartment, and have major problems with our RV. Here are a few of the things we have been dealing with.
1. We signed our contracts 31 July, after being offered jobs at the Job Fair on 22 July.
2. When we were signing, we asked about new teacher training.
3. We were informed that we would have had to sign by 21 July to qualify to go to new teacher training.
4. But, as I mentioned in item #1, the Job Fair was 22 July.
5. At which time we were told we would be called on Monday, 24 July, for a time to come in and sign contracts, and hand-deliver our teacher service records, official transcripts, etc.
6. But we only received an appointment after two phone calls from my husband, and four from me, over five days.
7. After signing, we were told to report to our campuses immediately, where we would be told what to do for the rest of the week.
8. But the principal would not be expecting us, since he would have assumed that we were attending new teacher training.
9. And, since we didn't sign before 21 July, and thus missed the beginning of teacher training, we will be docked a day's pay for not attending new teacher training.
10. When we arrived on our campuses, the principals were in meetings, were totally astonished to see us, and had nothing for us to do.
11. So we went to the lake to pick up a few things, such as a clock, our dinner plates, and a few other things we seem to feel necessary for living.
12. All of which, we thought, was stored in the barn, where the temperature was approximately 125 degrees, and I felt like I was having a stroke,
13. So I went to take a cold shower, while my darling persevered, finding the dinner plates, but not the clock, despite our conviction that we have at least four somewhere among all those boxes in that hot, cavernous space.
So, today we take the RV back to the service center.
Again.
And tomorrow, we report for work.
Again.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Wednesday Works for Me--Trash Can Liners
I have a small trash basket in every room. Mostly, they catch paper--bills, catalogs, kleenex, stuff like that. But occasionally someone throws away a sticky peppermint, a wad of bubble gum, or something equally messy/yucky/disgusting, that is hard to get out of the basket.
So I always try to keep some kind of liner in the basket. I've bought boxes of small trash bags, but I just hate buying something just to contain trash. I mean, I'm actually buying something, so that I can throw it away.
So I tried Wal-mart bags. We certainly have plenty of them. In fact, if we got a rebate for Wal-mart bags, we could probably retire a year sooner.
But the bags are bigger than the trash basket, and the part that drapes over the outside covers up my cute little woven basket.
Then I tried the thin plastic bags we get in the produce department to sack up fruit, vegetables, onions, etc.
Voila! Perfect. They are just the right size. They are thin and transparent, so they don't hide my cute little baskets. And just to make sure I always replace the sack when I empty the trash, whenever I unload the groceries, I stash the bags in the bottom of the basket, under the one currently lining the trash basket. So I don't have to go looking for a bag, or find that someone has thrown away my stash. They are right there, ready to replace the one being thrown away.
And best of all, they are free.
Free always works for me.
Moving Misadventures Redux
The agony of moving continues. We ordered a washer and dryer. The store advertised free delivery. However, what the ad didn't say was that it would be 3 weeks until delivery, and someone would have to take off work to be there to accept delivery.
So Wick said he would pick it up himself.
But the store said it would take a couple of days to get the washer and dryer from wherever it was stored.
So we waited.
sigh.
Then when he went to pick them up, the store still had not brought the washer and dryer down from wherever, so we waited for it to be brought down to the pick-up area.
He brought them back to the apartment, brought them inside, and discovered, once the box was removed, that the front of the washer was caved in.
So back to the store went the washer, another wait for one to be brought down to the pick-up area, and another trip to bring the washer into the apartment.
Sigh.
Next on our list of misadventures is the tv cable situation. Cable service is supposed to be included in our rent. It was supposed to be functioning when we moved in, last week.
It's not working.
So we called the office.
The manager said to call the cable company.
The cable company said this address was not on record.
We called the office again.
The manager called the cable company.
The cable company said oh, yes, that address is good, and the service is operating.
But it is not.
So we called the office again.
The manager sent a maintenance person to our apartment with a list of things for us to do:
things like, turn on the tv.
Put the tv on cable settings.
Set up the menu functions.
All the stuff we have already done.
So we called the cable company again.
They are going to send someone out right away.
Well, not right away.
In three days.
And someone has to be here, or the guy won't come in.
Sigh.
I'm beginning to think that staying in an apartment, which was supposed to make our life easier, is not such a good idea after all.
But the RV still has major problems, like no working refrigerator.
And it may be another couple of months before the RV service center has all the parts, all the permissions from all the warranty companies, and someone available to fix everything.
SIGH.
That "to-do" list seems to be getting longer, instead of shorter.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Moving Misadventures
a>
When we started looking at apartments, we thought we knew what we wanted, and how much we wanted to spend.
We found out pretty fast that we didn't want to live anywhere that was available for what we wanted to spend. So...we expanded our search.
We found two different places that we were really interested in, and talked to the managers at both places. We didn't want to sign a lease until we were certain about our job situation--as in signed contracts. Last Thursday we got assurance that we do indeed have jobs, so we called our first choice.
Unfortunately, the apartment we wanted would not be ready for 6-8 weeks.
So we went with second choice, and got to move in the next day.
We had a kitchen table and chairs, a small tv, two chairs, and an old dresser.
Didn't take long to load it up, or unload it at the other end.
Then we went shopping.
We decided we would buy an air mattress to sleep on for the first month, and each month make a major purchase when we get paid.
We bought the air mattress.
Unfortunately, it was not as much fun as it appears in the picture.
It was sort of like sleeping in jello.
Bouncy.
Difficult to roll over without rolling over each other.
And once I got rolling, I rolled right off the edge onto the floor.
So the air mattress went back to Wal-mart.
The we bought a futon.
We brought it home and assembled it.
The mattress was about an inch thick.
The frame was so flimsy that the back sagged when one of us sat down on it.
We returned the futon.
We bought another futon.
This time, we asked for one that was already assembled, so we could see what would happen when we sat on it. It seemed much sturdier.
So we bought it, and took it back to the apartment.
When we cut open the plastic and clipped the strapping that had the mattress rolled up, it was much thicker, and much more comfortable.
Unfortunately, where the zipper was sewn into the cover, about two feet of it had come unsewn.
We looked at each other for several minutes, debating whether to load it up again and return it. We had already waited three days.
I got out my sewing kit and hand sewed it up again.
Then we went to Penney's to buy a set of pots and pans which was advertised for $24.00.
But that price was after the mail-in rebate
and I am prone to lose the coupon,
or forget to mail it,
or mail it and not get it,
but lose the address,
so I can't follow up on why I didn't get it.
so we went to another store, and got almost the same thing, for even less.
Between the shopping, and the assembling, and the taking back, and shopping again,
I think it will be more restful once we start back to work.
I hate moving.
I hate shopping.
I really hate returning stuff.
So the past few days have been more misadventure than adventure.
Friday we start new teacher training.
I just hope it doesn't involve shopping.
When we started looking at apartments, we thought we knew what we wanted, and how much we wanted to spend.
We found out pretty fast that we didn't want to live anywhere that was available for what we wanted to spend. So...we expanded our search.
We found two different places that we were really interested in, and talked to the managers at both places. We didn't want to sign a lease until we were certain about our job situation--as in signed contracts. Last Thursday we got assurance that we do indeed have jobs, so we called our first choice.
Unfortunately, the apartment we wanted would not be ready for 6-8 weeks.
So we went with second choice, and got to move in the next day.
We had a kitchen table and chairs, a small tv, two chairs, and an old dresser.
Didn't take long to load it up, or unload it at the other end.
Then we went shopping.
We decided we would buy an air mattress to sleep on for the first month, and each month make a major purchase when we get paid.
We bought the air mattress.
Unfortunately, it was not as much fun as it appears in the picture.
It was sort of like sleeping in jello.
Bouncy.
Difficult to roll over without rolling over each other.
And once I got rolling, I rolled right off the edge onto the floor.
So the air mattress went back to Wal-mart.
The we bought a futon.
We brought it home and assembled it.
The mattress was about an inch thick.
The frame was so flimsy that the back sagged when one of us sat down on it.
We returned the futon.
We bought another futon.
This time, we asked for one that was already assembled, so we could see what would happen when we sat on it. It seemed much sturdier.
So we bought it, and took it back to the apartment.
When we cut open the plastic and clipped the strapping that had the mattress rolled up, it was much thicker, and much more comfortable.
Unfortunately, where the zipper was sewn into the cover, about two feet of it had come unsewn.
We looked at each other for several minutes, debating whether to load it up again and return it. We had already waited three days.
I got out my sewing kit and hand sewed it up again.
Then we went to Penney's to buy a set of pots and pans which was advertised for $24.00.
But that price was after the mail-in rebate
and I am prone to lose the coupon,
or forget to mail it,
or mail it and not get it,
but lose the address,
so I can't follow up on why I didn't get it.
so we went to another store, and got almost the same thing, for even less.
Between the shopping, and the assembling, and the taking back, and shopping again,
I think it will be more restful once we start back to work.
I hate moving.
I hate shopping.
I really hate returning stuff.
So the past few days have been more misadventure than adventure.
Friday we start new teacher training.
I just hope it doesn't involve shopping.
Friday, July 28, 2006
TGIF # 1
TGI Friday was suggested by Katoushka, whose blog is passworded, so no I can't give you the link, but I will say it is hilarious, and yes I am bragging on my granddaughter.
Why TGI Friday this week? Because it is my birthday! No I won't say how old. But since I have already admitted to being married for 36 years, having three kids and seven grandbabies, I'm sure you have a pretty good guess. Oh, and yes, I was a "child bride" (well, not exactly...).
How are we celebrating? We are moving from our RV into an apartment. The RV is staying at the lake, and we will be staying in it on weekends. During the work week, we will be living in a tiny little apartment near the schools where we will be teaching.
The apartment manager has put down new flooring (looks like hardwood), new carpet in the living room and bedroom, and painted one wall in the dining room a deep red, which will be lovely with the red plaid cushions on my kitchen chairs.
I hate moving, but can't wait to get settled. Y'all have a great Friday!
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