Thanksgiving is over, and Christmas is right around the corner. I spent a good part of yesterday writing out Christmas cards. It's something I normally do every year on Thanksgiving, after the meal is finished and the dishes mostly done. But this year, the day after Thanksgiving was good enough. After all, I usually don't start sending them out until December 1. Monday will be here soon enough.
Actually, I'm kind-of looking forward to New Year's. It seems that this time of year, so many of us proclaim that "I can't wait until this year is over!" for a variety of reasons. And yes, some years seem to warrant that sentiment. Death, divorce, all sorts of reasons give rise to that can't wait sentiment.
This has been one of those years for us. My son-in-law, B., died in July. Then my step-dad. I can't really say that Jim and I were close; we never met in person, and had only talked briefly on the phone from time to time. But that's beside the point. Then my roommate had a car wreck that warranted a week-long hospital stay and a short cast. During this time, between his family and his actions, I discovered things I'd really rather not have known. My sons J. and M. and I had pegged roomie as a storyteller. We just didn't know the full extent of it.
We finally had to tell him he would have to move, and it had nothing to do with the stories. There were several reasons factoring into this, none of which really need to come out here. Suffice it to say that for a while, things were a little strained.
During this time, my sister called numerous times. Mom was fading rapidly. She finally passed away November 11, never having made it to Oregon with my sister. Although my sister and I knew it was coming, it still hit hard. While I'd been closer to Dad, who passed away in 2007, Mom was our remaining parent, the last wall between A. and I and the future. Now A. and I are the last remnants of our birth family.
Then, last week, roomie moved. He was supposed to be out earlier, and had tried to make his stay longer ("Would it be possible to stay until December 1?" he'd asked; I responded with a firm, "No."). But when last Saturday came, we both seemed okay with it. Maybe resigned might be a better way of putting it. But it looks like it's going to work out nicely for both of us. And it was very much needed - again, for both of us. Now the extra bedroom can go back to being an office/studio/thinking space/library/whatever, at least for the time being. M.H. and G. might have to move in, and if so, that'll be their room. We'll have to wait and see.
Back to Thanksgiving...M.H. had Thanksgiving off, so she and G. came over for dinner. The flip side is that she has to work Christmas day, which stinks. Actually, I feel much stronger about stores that remain open on holidays and that don't pay their employees accordingly (i.e: at least time-and-a-half or more for working holidays), but I'm using my "nice words" this morning.
But as for dinner: Two years ago, M. and I had gone to their place for Thanksgiving, a day filled with memories that I hope they'll love as much as I do. Since M.H. had to work last Thanksgiving, and the bus ride of the year before had complicated things, we'd both done the Thanksgiving-at-home routine, touching base in the morning to exchange Happy Thanksgivings.
This year, I managed to get a couple of pies made, then stuffed the turkey and put that in the oven. Then I headed out for a walk.
We live a few houses away from the back entrance to one of our city's parks. It has plenty of space for riding horses, playing Little League games, walking or running, as well as a playground and plenty of picnic tables and grills throughout fields and woods. Walking through the horse trails became a holiday tradition for me years ago, after I'd stopped driving cab, and during my better-half's last few months driving. It's always a great way to unwind, as well as feeling like I've earned a big meal. Also, I've seen changes in parts of the wooded areas over the years, as well as seeing houses go up around the park. It usually takes me an hour or so to head out and back; by that time, I'm usually ready to put my feet up before putting the finishing touches to the meal.
When M.H. and G. showed up, it was almost time to take the turkey out of the oven. No problem there. But while my stuffing usually gets good reviews, this year I changed things a little; let's just say that the stuffing was definitely memorable, but not in a great way. Some of the stuffing had been cooked inside the bird; that, of course, ended up at the bottom of the pan, along with part of the turkey, in a liquid-y mess. The stuffing that was baked outside the turkey was too crisp on top and basted waaaaaay too much below that crisp top layer. When it got chucked, there was a slight pool of yellow margarine at the bottom of the bowl. Actually, it would have buttered a medium-sized movie theater popcorn. Like I said: Memorable, but not in a great way.
M.H. and G. brought over some mac and cheese that M.H. fixed at our place, along with some rolls and some homemade chocolate chip cookies that G. had baked. They'd also brought along a few other things we needed. (Thanks!) (Also: G., if you're reading this, another batch of those cookies would make a great Christmas present! That's a not-so-subtle hint; they were really good!)
After we ate and talked for a little while, M.H. and G. headed back home and I started rounding up plates and glasses and bowls and pots and pans and got to work.
We still have the month of December to get through, including Christmas. But as long as the New Year rolls around, we'll make it.
Note: You can also check here for some of my other Thanksgiving memories.
Saturday, November 29, 2014
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Looonnng Summer
I know, I know, it's been a while since I've posted here. It's been a very long, rough summer. Granted, it started off easily enough, but then...
Someone had been keeping an eye out for the perfect job for me. Yes, I'd been applying to anything that seemed vaguely possible with my degree (BA in journalism, one semester short of an MLA in history), but I figured it didn't hurt to put the word out. The person looking (okay, a job coach...long story, don't ask!) called me to excitedly tell me that the perfect work experience had been found. Turned out that it wasn't exactly the best fit, but I figured that since it was only for a few weeks, I'd try to stick it out.
But then, near the end of July, my son-in-law, B., died. While he hadn't been in the best of health, he'd been maintaining. Of course, it wasn't as simple as "he died," but I'll leave it at that for now. Let's just say it was not expected, and was totally unnecessary.
So, of course, my daughter (M.H.) had to start trying to jump through hoops trying to get things worked out, while trying to maintain some stability for my granddaughter, G. She's still working on everything.
In the meantime, M., J. and I ended up sick again - several times. This is since the June 6 posting. Then the roommate had a wreck and is in bad shape (cast, broken foot, etc), and is, in my opinion, acting much more entitled and whiney and (pardon me) helpless than even I am at my most drama-queen worst. Add to all this that my step-dad also recently died, my mom is in a nursing home, and about to be moved to Oregon (my sister, an RN, lives there), but Mom is now in the hospital...Siiiiiiiigh...
All this shall pass, I keep reminding myself. Roomie will move. M., J. and I will get to a point where none of us sound like a bad impersonation of Harvey Fierstein. Mom will, hopefully, get well enough to head for Oregon. M.H. will get things straightened out.
Here's hoping for a better autumn.
Someone had been keeping an eye out for the perfect job for me. Yes, I'd been applying to anything that seemed vaguely possible with my degree (BA in journalism, one semester short of an MLA in history), but I figured it didn't hurt to put the word out. The person looking (okay, a job coach...long story, don't ask!) called me to excitedly tell me that the perfect work experience had been found. Turned out that it wasn't exactly the best fit, but I figured that since it was only for a few weeks, I'd try to stick it out.
But then, near the end of July, my son-in-law, B., died. While he hadn't been in the best of health, he'd been maintaining. Of course, it wasn't as simple as "he died," but I'll leave it at that for now. Let's just say it was not expected, and was totally unnecessary.
So, of course, my daughter (M.H.) had to start trying to jump through hoops trying to get things worked out, while trying to maintain some stability for my granddaughter, G. She's still working on everything.
In the meantime, M., J. and I ended up sick again - several times. This is since the June 6 posting. Then the roommate had a wreck and is in bad shape (cast, broken foot, etc), and is, in my opinion, acting much more entitled and whiney and (pardon me) helpless than even I am at my most drama-queen worst. Add to all this that my step-dad also recently died, my mom is in a nursing home, and about to be moved to Oregon (my sister, an RN, lives there), but Mom is now in the hospital...Siiiiiiiigh...
All this shall pass, I keep reminding myself. Roomie will move. M., J. and I will get to a point where none of us sound like a bad impersonation of Harvey Fierstein. Mom will, hopefully, get well enough to head for Oregon. M.H. will get things straightened out.
Here's hoping for a better autumn.
Saturday, June 21, 2014
Summer Solstice
So today's the first day of summer, at least in the Northern Hemisphere. As if we could really forget it. Anyone with a TV has heard the local news babbling for the past week that today would be the summer solstice. According to the local news (here on the west coast of Florida), the event took place at 6:51 AM, EDT. I slept through it, or, at least, tried to. Not that the earth shook, or anything loud happened to announce the occurrence...But I'd gone back to bed to try to catch a couple of extra minutes of sleep.
My son, M., had to work today. His schedule is such that he has a one-day-weekend every other week; the up side is that the other weekend is a five-day-weekend. He works Wednesday through Saturday, has Sunday off, then works Monday through Thursday, while another guy at work works the opposite of M. So, this weekend, while M. has a one-day-weekend, the other guy has a five-day-weekend.
M. has to get up at 5:00 AM to get ready, so I frequently set my alarm as back-up, just in case he conveniently sleeps through his, then I'll go back to bed until 6-ish. This is mainly to run interception at the front door, so that Karma, our resident Houdini, masquerading as a black cat, doesn't try escaping. I think he does this just to keep us on our toes; he'll go for a few weeks without incident, then, when our guard is down, Zooooom! Out the door! This morning, after M. left, I went back to and tried to sleep until 7:00. Never quite happened, what with Karma and Drexie wanting breakfast...
Good thing M.'s not into celebrating the Summer Solstice. Also, I guess to do it up right, we really should live near Stonehenge. But we don't. However, The Old Farmer's Almanac has suggestions for celebrating the solstice, some of which are do-able. Because of local laws, lighting a bonfire is out. And I seriously doubt that I'll be fishing or camping. But cooking outside is a possibility; so is planting a tree (we have plenty of them in our yard, most of which my sons and daughter and I planted), letting the light in (Florida is the sunshine state, after all!), reading a book, listening to songbirds, or watching the night sky.
Anyway, once I was up, I had my first couple of cups of coffee (does that count as celebrating the solstice? Probably not.), then got ready to go out for a walk. I'd wanted to walk and/or run for an hour, but got a late-ish start. I figure that with the heat and humidity, half-an-hour was not bad. I'll probably go back out this afternoon for another walk.
In the meantime, I guess I'd better get started on another Saturday. One of the neighbors is already out mowing the lawn. I kid him that he's obsessed with his yard, and he gladly admits that he is, although he's eased up a little on it over the last year or two. But when the worst you can say about a neighbor is that his lawn is perfect, I guess one can't complain. (We'll leave politics out; the neighbor and I generally do.)
Whether you tend to celebrate the solstices and equinoxes or simply are aware of when they happen, I hope you have a decent day. And if nothing else, maybe read a book while in a park, listening to the nearby birds. If nothing else, it'll at least break up your day a little.
My son, M., had to work today. His schedule is such that he has a one-day-weekend every other week; the up side is that the other weekend is a five-day-weekend. He works Wednesday through Saturday, has Sunday off, then works Monday through Thursday, while another guy at work works the opposite of M. So, this weekend, while M. has a one-day-weekend, the other guy has a five-day-weekend.
M. has to get up at 5:00 AM to get ready, so I frequently set my alarm as back-up, just in case he conveniently sleeps through his, then I'll go back to bed until 6-ish. This is mainly to run interception at the front door, so that Karma, our resident Houdini, masquerading as a black cat, doesn't try escaping. I think he does this just to keep us on our toes; he'll go for a few weeks without incident, then, when our guard is down, Zooooom! Out the door! This morning, after M. left, I went back to and tried to sleep until 7:00. Never quite happened, what with Karma and Drexie wanting breakfast...
Good thing M.'s not into celebrating the Summer Solstice. Also, I guess to do it up right, we really should live near Stonehenge. But we don't. However, The Old Farmer's Almanac has suggestions for celebrating the solstice, some of which are do-able. Because of local laws, lighting a bonfire is out. And I seriously doubt that I'll be fishing or camping. But cooking outside is a possibility; so is planting a tree (we have plenty of them in our yard, most of which my sons and daughter and I planted), letting the light in (Florida is the sunshine state, after all!), reading a book, listening to songbirds, or watching the night sky.
Anyway, once I was up, I had my first couple of cups of coffee (does that count as celebrating the solstice? Probably not.), then got ready to go out for a walk. I'd wanted to walk and/or run for an hour, but got a late-ish start. I figure that with the heat and humidity, half-an-hour was not bad. I'll probably go back out this afternoon for another walk.
In the meantime, I guess I'd better get started on another Saturday. One of the neighbors is already out mowing the lawn. I kid him that he's obsessed with his yard, and he gladly admits that he is, although he's eased up a little on it over the last year or two. But when the worst you can say about a neighbor is that his lawn is perfect, I guess one can't complain. (We'll leave politics out; the neighbor and I generally do.)
Whether you tend to celebrate the solstices and equinoxes or simply are aware of when they happen, I hope you have a decent day. And if nothing else, maybe read a book while in a park, listening to the nearby birds. If nothing else, it'll at least break up your day a little.
Friday, June 6, 2014
Caution: Whiny When Sick...
I'm not sure why, but I get whiny when I'm sick. Throw an occasional ache or pain my way, the normal I-just-mowed-the-lawn ache, the twisted ankle during a morning run, and I can usually shrug it off. But give me a bad cold, the flu, or anything like that, I jump full-force into whiny-little-kid mode. I fully expect my mom to fix me hot cups of tea and toast or soup, with the knowledge that that evening, my dad'll get home from work, bring me a class of Canada Dry Ginger Ale (the only kind he bought when one of us kids were sick) and sit and me the funny pages or some really cool book.
I've been sick the past week. (You kind-of suspected something was up, right?) My mom, who's in her 80s lives several states away, and my dad, the Ginger Ale king, died almost seven years ago just short of his 80th birthday, which meant I was sort-of on my own.
Actually, I sort-of was given the cold (which morphed into bronchitis) from my younger two sons. Growing up, all four of my offspring were told repeatedly to share. There are times when I wish they didn't take that sharing thing to heart. Usually, my son M. gets whatever first, then passes it to his younger brother, J., who then hands it off to me. This time, however, my friend Kevin is go blame. He started the whole thing, then gave it to M.
For a while, it looked like I wasn't going to get it, but when I did, it hung on, gradually getting worse. Finally, I broke down and had Kev drop me off at a walk-in clinic. I didn't feel bad enough to go to the ER, but I also didn't want to wait a day or so to get an appointment with my primary doctor.
At the clinic (one of Bayfront's many walk-ins), I had less than a 15-minute wait. (Note: No, I'm not getting any form of compensation for the plug, but I do figure that if someone or some place provides a decent service, I'll let people know. Flip side is that if that service treats people like crap, that gets a write-up, too. One area hospital - unnamed here - knows that.) Once in the exam room, Dr. Sunshine (obviously not his real name) checked out the lungs, etc. and told me it was definitely more than the cold that Kev, M. or J. had: it had morphed into bronchitis.
"On the bright side, it's not pneumonia!" he exclaimed. I wanted to ask who had died and made him Dr. Sunshine...In this case, I'm not trying to be mean or snarky, just realizing he was trying to put a positive spin on it (I hope!). Off I went with a prescription for antibiotics and cough medicine.
There are two pluses to this all. First is that I'm doing a lot better. (Everyone else healed before I did; I made 'em bring me hot tea and soup and Canada Dry Ginger Ale.) The second is that, unlike one bout of the flu (partial description in January, 2013), no one sounded like Harvey Fierstein.
When looking for something positive, ya gotta go with what works.
I've been sick the past week. (You kind-of suspected something was up, right?) My mom, who's in her 80s lives several states away, and my dad, the Ginger Ale king, died almost seven years ago just short of his 80th birthday, which meant I was sort-of on my own.
Actually, I sort-of was given the cold (which morphed into bronchitis) from my younger two sons. Growing up, all four of my offspring were told repeatedly to share. There are times when I wish they didn't take that sharing thing to heart. Usually, my son M. gets whatever first, then passes it to his younger brother, J., who then hands it off to me. This time, however, my friend Kevin is go blame. He started the whole thing, then gave it to M.
For a while, it looked like I wasn't going to get it, but when I did, it hung on, gradually getting worse. Finally, I broke down and had Kev drop me off at a walk-in clinic. I didn't feel bad enough to go to the ER, but I also didn't want to wait a day or so to get an appointment with my primary doctor.
At the clinic (one of Bayfront's many walk-ins), I had less than a 15-minute wait. (Note: No, I'm not getting any form of compensation for the plug, but I do figure that if someone or some place provides a decent service, I'll let people know. Flip side is that if that service treats people like crap, that gets a write-up, too. One area hospital - unnamed here - knows that.) Once in the exam room, Dr. Sunshine (obviously not his real name) checked out the lungs, etc. and told me it was definitely more than the cold that Kev, M. or J. had: it had morphed into bronchitis.
"On the bright side, it's not pneumonia!" he exclaimed. I wanted to ask who had died and made him Dr. Sunshine...In this case, I'm not trying to be mean or snarky, just realizing he was trying to put a positive spin on it (I hope!). Off I went with a prescription for antibiotics and cough medicine.
There are two pluses to this all. First is that I'm doing a lot better. (Everyone else healed before I did; I made 'em bring me hot tea and soup and Canada Dry Ginger Ale.) The second is that, unlike one bout of the flu (partial description in January, 2013), no one sounded like Harvey Fierstein.
When looking for something positive, ya gotta go with what works.
Monday, March 31, 2014
A Walk In The Park...
It's been one of those days when things get a little weird. Not bad weird or good weird, just weird. It'd be easy enough to say what all went on, but it would almost sound whiney, and it really wasn't a bad day. Just...aggrevating and...weird. Let's just say it entailed half-hour long phone calls to walk me through computer stuff while listening to my friend Kevin calling on my cell phone about some weirdness he was going through. Let's face it, when one deals with any kind of government agency, no matter how large or small, and computers and paperwork, it's bound to get weird.
So this afternoon, I decided to go for a walk through the nearby park. My son, J., decided to go, too. He grabed my new cell phone that my daughter, M.H., had gotten for me. It has all sorts of features, one of which makes it great for geocaching, something J. has been interested in for a while.
We got to the park, then started heading off in different directions, he toward the horse trails through the woods that I usually use mainly on my holiday walks, while I headed south along a path that I frequently go on. But at the last minute, I detoured and caught up with J.
Turns out, he wanted to check a few spots that the geocache site said were in the woods. He'd never found any of the stuff from the site, but that hasn't stopped him from checking it out, anyway.
We wandered through the woods, both on and off the path, looking for stuff. "What sort of stuff is used for geocaching?" I asked.
"Just stuff," came his response. Sometimes it's stuff in baggies--a pad of paper and pen, a couple of dime-store toys. Sometimes it's stuff that can fit into a film canister. You just never know. But if you find something, you're supposed to leave it where you found it, then, when you're back on the computer, you check in and report what was found and where.
We wandered around for maybe half an hour before heading back. Since it had rained heavily a few days ago, much of the trail was muddy; some of it had huge puddles stretching across it. We finally had to head back, since we really could go no further.
A little way back, I spotted something just off the path and pointed it out to J. "Could that be something from the geocache site?" He checked the phone's GPS and said that there was something nearby on the site.
Turned out what I saw was simply a discarded food container. But a little farther, we spotted a baggie with a pad of paper, a pen, and a few odds and ends. A waterproof camera sat nearby. We opened the bag, saw that the pad had been signed by quite a few geocachers. We signed it - no real names, of course, but as his geocache name "and friend" (me), as well as the date. We opted out of taking any pictures, though. Long story, but we figured it'd be safer that way.
On the way home, we talked about how cool that was, finding the geocache stuff. "I think I want a cell phone like this," J. told me.
All I know for sure is that after a very weird day, a walk in the park was just what was needed.
So this afternoon, I decided to go for a walk through the nearby park. My son, J., decided to go, too. He grabed my new cell phone that my daughter, M.H., had gotten for me. It has all sorts of features, one of which makes it great for geocaching, something J. has been interested in for a while.
We got to the park, then started heading off in different directions, he toward the horse trails through the woods that I usually use mainly on my holiday walks, while I headed south along a path that I frequently go on. But at the last minute, I detoured and caught up with J.
Turns out, he wanted to check a few spots that the geocache site said were in the woods. He'd never found any of the stuff from the site, but that hasn't stopped him from checking it out, anyway.
We wandered through the woods, both on and off the path, looking for stuff. "What sort of stuff is used for geocaching?" I asked.
"Just stuff," came his response. Sometimes it's stuff in baggies--a pad of paper and pen, a couple of dime-store toys. Sometimes it's stuff that can fit into a film canister. You just never know. But if you find something, you're supposed to leave it where you found it, then, when you're back on the computer, you check in and report what was found and where.
We wandered around for maybe half an hour before heading back. Since it had rained heavily a few days ago, much of the trail was muddy; some of it had huge puddles stretching across it. We finally had to head back, since we really could go no further.
A little way back, I spotted something just off the path and pointed it out to J. "Could that be something from the geocache site?" He checked the phone's GPS and said that there was something nearby on the site.
Turned out what I saw was simply a discarded food container. But a little farther, we spotted a baggie with a pad of paper, a pen, and a few odds and ends. A waterproof camera sat nearby. We opened the bag, saw that the pad had been signed by quite a few geocachers. We signed it - no real names, of course, but as his geocache name "and friend" (me), as well as the date. We opted out of taking any pictures, though. Long story, but we figured it'd be safer that way.
On the way home, we talked about how cool that was, finding the geocache stuff. "I think I want a cell phone like this," J. told me.
All I know for sure is that after a very weird day, a walk in the park was just what was needed.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
Take a Hike...
There was a time when I would manage to get out for a walk or run most mornings. Even when I was in an off mood - or maybe especially if I was in one - I'd lace up my running shoes and head out. It almost always improved my mood.
Unfortunately, as much as I'd sworn I'd get back to walking or running on a daily basis, things (read: life) happens. Jobs come up - definitely a good thing, especially when it comes to paying bills. Weather gets a little dicey. Early morning appointments come up. What was it John Lennon said? Something about, "Life is what happens when we're busy making other plans"?
Yesterday was one of my work days. It's only three hours a day, three days a week, along with an extra hour over the weekend. A few extra hours would help, but I'm sure not knocking it. But then there were a few errands that needed running. J. wanted to come along, but he needed a shower, first. Later, there were problems with M. getting picked up from work and I spent an hour or so attached to the computer and phone, trying to get him picked up. And then...and then...and then...Sound familiar? Yeah, we all have days when we feel like we haven't really gotten anything constructive done, but you blink and think, Geez, where'd the day go?
During the hour or so I was trying to get M.'s ride worked out, several people walked by. Not just aimlessly wandering, but walking for exercise, getting the heart rate up, getting fresh out, out there walking, and it clicked. While I prefer exercising in the morning, I could conceivably get out in the late afternoon. Please keep your Well, duh! comments to yourself; my snarky inner voice is way ahead of you.
After M. finally got home, I grabbed my Converse high tops - not my usual running shoes, but that's fine - and put them on.
"You're going out?" J. asked. "Now?"
"Yup," I replied.
He mulled this over a minute or so before asking, "You were planning on spaghetti tonight, right? I'll put the water on at seven."
I thanked him and headed out.
There's one route I use when time is limited. It's a mile out, a mile back, mostly cross-country. Takes all of maybe a minute or so to get out of the neighborhood and into the back entrance of a local park. Once there, there are any number of directions to go. Heading south along a dirt path, there was a stand of cypress trees to the right. They're in a retention area. Most of the time, the ground is dry, but during Florida's rainy season, the trees are suddenly in a small pond. This time of year, their leaves brown up before falling.
On the left is a drainage ditch, with a stable on the other side of the ditch. For a while, there was one lone horse in this particular stable, though the owners have now rented out all the stalls. It's always interesting to see the activity around the place. Late afternoons and weekends seem to be the busiest times.
After crossing a three-lane street (yes, three lane - one heading west, one east, and the center as a turn lane for either direction), the path shifts a little. The ditch is now on the right, separating the dirt path from the back side of a small community of townhouses, which then ends and another property with stable and horses begins.
On the left are woods, a pond, and a house set far-off-the-beaten-path. Originally built in the early part of the twentieth century, it was moved to its current site maybe 15 years ago, give or take.
This part of the path is great for contemplation: there's very little noise one would associate with heavily populated areas, lots of wind-in-the-tree-type-rustling, birds, an occasional whinny from the nearby horses. Occasionally, I'll even hear the raucous cry from the nearby peacocks that roam the area.
As I walked along, my mind wandered. I even got the chance to try out the camera feature of my new cellphone that my daughter, M.H., had picked up, posting a couple of photos on Facebook.
I finally made it to the far end of the path, where it hit a two-lane road. Turning right or left would have taken me along areas where a few large houses with acres and acres and stables are, while straight ahead would have taken me to a small horse park, replete with wetlands and a boardwalk through the woods. Instead, I turned to head back.
About this time, my cellphone rang. It was J., letting me know that he'd just put the water on for the spaghetti.
"Any idea how long 'til you're home?" I told him where I was and that it'd probably be another fifteen minutes before I'd be there. "I can see a car's headlights in the distance," he told me. "They look like they're from that moved-in house." They were. Someone was just leaving the property.
"I'm about to pass that house," I told him.
We chatted a few minutes before he wandered back inside to deal with fixing dinner.
When I hit the neighborhood again, I saw one of our neighbors. She was walking a small dog that I'd never seen before. Turns out she and her husband had just adopted Gus a month or two ago.
"I've never had a small dog before," she told me. "But when I saw this guy at the pet rescue place, it was love at first site." We talked as we headed north toward our respective homes, with Gus occasionally coming up to me so I could scratch his head. We parted company at our driveways.
By this time, the spaghetti and garlic bread were ready. For some strange reason, I didn't mind washing the dishes afterwards. Somehow, having someone else fix dinner while I'm out walking seemed to help.
I'd try that again this evening, but two nights in a row might be pushing it. But evening walks are definitely something I'll consider when mornings get too hectic.
Unfortunately, as much as I'd sworn I'd get back to walking or running on a daily basis, things (read: life) happens. Jobs come up - definitely a good thing, especially when it comes to paying bills. Weather gets a little dicey. Early morning appointments come up. What was it John Lennon said? Something about, "Life is what happens when we're busy making other plans"?
Yesterday was one of my work days. It's only three hours a day, three days a week, along with an extra hour over the weekend. A few extra hours would help, but I'm sure not knocking it. But then there were a few errands that needed running. J. wanted to come along, but he needed a shower, first. Later, there were problems with M. getting picked up from work and I spent an hour or so attached to the computer and phone, trying to get him picked up. And then...and then...and then...Sound familiar? Yeah, we all have days when we feel like we haven't really gotten anything constructive done, but you blink and think, Geez, where'd the day go?
During the hour or so I was trying to get M.'s ride worked out, several people walked by. Not just aimlessly wandering, but walking for exercise, getting the heart rate up, getting fresh out, out there walking, and it clicked. While I prefer exercising in the morning, I could conceivably get out in the late afternoon. Please keep your Well, duh! comments to yourself; my snarky inner voice is way ahead of you.
After M. finally got home, I grabbed my Converse high tops - not my usual running shoes, but that's fine - and put them on.
"You're going out?" J. asked. "Now?"
"Yup," I replied.
He mulled this over a minute or so before asking, "You were planning on spaghetti tonight, right? I'll put the water on at seven."
I thanked him and headed out.
There's one route I use when time is limited. It's a mile out, a mile back, mostly cross-country. Takes all of maybe a minute or so to get out of the neighborhood and into the back entrance of a local park. Once there, there are any number of directions to go. Heading south along a dirt path, there was a stand of cypress trees to the right. They're in a retention area. Most of the time, the ground is dry, but during Florida's rainy season, the trees are suddenly in a small pond. This time of year, their leaves brown up before falling.
On the left is a drainage ditch, with a stable on the other side of the ditch. For a while, there was one lone horse in this particular stable, though the owners have now rented out all the stalls. It's always interesting to see the activity around the place. Late afternoons and weekends seem to be the busiest times.
After crossing a three-lane street (yes, three lane - one heading west, one east, and the center as a turn lane for either direction), the path shifts a little. The ditch is now on the right, separating the dirt path from the back side of a small community of townhouses, which then ends and another property with stable and horses begins.
On the left are woods, a pond, and a house set far-off-the-beaten-path. Originally built in the early part of the twentieth century, it was moved to its current site maybe 15 years ago, give or take.
This part of the path is great for contemplation: there's very little noise one would associate with heavily populated areas, lots of wind-in-the-tree-type-rustling, birds, an occasional whinny from the nearby horses. Occasionally, I'll even hear the raucous cry from the nearby peacocks that roam the area.
As I walked along, my mind wandered. I even got the chance to try out the camera feature of my new cellphone that my daughter, M.H., had picked up, posting a couple of photos on Facebook.
I finally made it to the far end of the path, where it hit a two-lane road. Turning right or left would have taken me along areas where a few large houses with acres and acres and stables are, while straight ahead would have taken me to a small horse park, replete with wetlands and a boardwalk through the woods. Instead, I turned to head back.
About this time, my cellphone rang. It was J., letting me know that he'd just put the water on for the spaghetti.
"Any idea how long 'til you're home?" I told him where I was and that it'd probably be another fifteen minutes before I'd be there. "I can see a car's headlights in the distance," he told me. "They look like they're from that moved-in house." They were. Someone was just leaving the property.
"I'm about to pass that house," I told him.
We chatted a few minutes before he wandered back inside to deal with fixing dinner.
When I hit the neighborhood again, I saw one of our neighbors. She was walking a small dog that I'd never seen before. Turns out she and her husband had just adopted Gus a month or two ago.
"I've never had a small dog before," she told me. "But when I saw this guy at the pet rescue place, it was love at first site." We talked as we headed north toward our respective homes, with Gus occasionally coming up to me so I could scratch his head. We parted company at our driveways.
By this time, the spaghetti and garlic bread were ready. For some strange reason, I didn't mind washing the dishes afterwards. Somehow, having someone else fix dinner while I'm out walking seemed to help.
I'd try that again this evening, but two nights in a row might be pushing it. But evening walks are definitely something I'll consider when mornings get too hectic.
Monday, March 3, 2014
Double the Fun, or Yes, She Fixed Her Car
My daughter had to replace the handles to her car. The outside door handle on the driver's door broke a while back, followed a few months later, by the other front door handle. One could still open the front doors to the car, it was just a little tricky. M.H. and her husband B. had pretty much mastered the trick of getting into the car, but then, they got enough practice with it. Anyone else (read: friends or certain over-50-year-old relatives) had problems opening the doors.
Recently, M.H. ordered replacement parts for both doors with the idea of fixing the doors herself. While they weren't the right color - the car is white, the handles, black - they were a decent enough price. Add to that the fact that if she did the work herself, it would be a lot cheaper than taking it to a garage to pay for someone else to do the job.
This afternoon, after starting a couple of loads of laundry at my place, we set off to run a couple of errands, then came home, where M.H. announced that she wanted to fix the doors. Today.
This isn't the first time M.H. has had to deal with fixing this car. However, this time, I had nothing to do with jinxing her car. Also, this time was a more do-able fix.
M.H> went online and checked a video on YouTube on how to fix the handle. Seemed pretty straight-forward. Back out at the car, the tool and new car part came out and slowly, painstakingly, the door came apart.
Finally, the only part that needed to come out was the handle itself. This entailed seemily contorting one's hand and/or tools around metal to reach the brackets. At that point, the one tool that M.H. to do this job - the only tool that fit - came apart, with the end falling into the door. Of course, it wasn't the part of the door with the entire panel off, where all she would have had to do was to reach down and pick the part up. Noooo... It fell down into essentially a narrow metal well-like area.
"Really?" M.H. said. "It had to fall there?"
After several minutes of trying to get the part out, J. offered to try his hand at snagging the part. He'd already helped helped get a stubborn bolt that wouldn't budge off. Sure enough, he managed to fish the part out using a flat-head screwdriver.
A side note: There are certain family members who have not been mentioned today who get confused by the terms flat-head screwdriver and Phillips-head screwdriver. While it seems obvious to me which is which (the flat-head one is self-explanatory, while the Phillips one is obviously the other one), this explanation doesn't seem to help. However, if I tell this particular person, "Hand me the minus-sign screwdriver," or "The plus-sign screwdriver is on the desk; could you get it for me?", I'll get the right one. Think about if for a minute...without laughing. I dare you...
So, part restored, M.H. got back to work putting changing the offending door handle before starting to put the door back together.
As she got the handle back into place, the end of the same tool came off again, falling into the same darn metal well!
"No way! You've got to be kidding!" she exclained as we exchanged aggrevated looks. This time, J. couldn't quite reach it. M.H. had no luck, either. She could touch the thing, but not in a way to be able to pull it out. Maybe if she took that part of the door apart again...but she needed that tool to do that.
Suddenly, I got an idea. We'd kicked around the idea of using Sculpey to keep stuff together while working on the door. Sculpey is a type of polymer clay that comes in really cool colors. Once you make something with it, whether beads, mini sculptures, or whatever, you bake it in your oven. Very addicting stuff. And it might just be what could give M.H. enough reach with the right amount of stickiness to snag the part.
Of course, by the time I brought the stuff out, the tool part was out. Fifteen minutes later, the door was back together.
"The other door can wait," M.H. decided. I wasn't going to argue.
We both agreed that the second door should be easier. She'd already stumbled through the first door, and did a decent job, not to mention the money she saved by doing it herself. (I'd changed a starter relay for my last car, a 1986 Crown Vic, by myself and know I saved at least $200 by doing so; you wouldn't believe the nonsense I heard from several mechanics when I asked for a price to change it out.)
Here's hoping it won't need another fix for a while. But at least M.H. knows how to change the door handle. Not too shabby, if you ask me.
Recently, M.H. ordered replacement parts for both doors with the idea of fixing the doors herself. While they weren't the right color - the car is white, the handles, black - they were a decent enough price. Add to that the fact that if she did the work herself, it would be a lot cheaper than taking it to a garage to pay for someone else to do the job.
This afternoon, after starting a couple of loads of laundry at my place, we set off to run a couple of errands, then came home, where M.H. announced that she wanted to fix the doors. Today.
This isn't the first time M.H. has had to deal with fixing this car. However, this time, I had nothing to do with jinxing her car. Also, this time was a more do-able fix.
M.H> went online and checked a video on YouTube on how to fix the handle. Seemed pretty straight-forward. Back out at the car, the tool and new car part came out and slowly, painstakingly, the door came apart.
Finally, the only part that needed to come out was the handle itself. This entailed seemily contorting one's hand and/or tools around metal to reach the brackets. At that point, the one tool that M.H. to do this job - the only tool that fit - came apart, with the end falling into the door. Of course, it wasn't the part of the door with the entire panel off, where all she would have had to do was to reach down and pick the part up. Noooo... It fell down into essentially a narrow metal well-like area.
"Really?" M.H. said. "It had to fall there?"
After several minutes of trying to get the part out, J. offered to try his hand at snagging the part. He'd already helped helped get a stubborn bolt that wouldn't budge off. Sure enough, he managed to fish the part out using a flat-head screwdriver.
A side note: There are certain family members who have not been mentioned today who get confused by the terms flat-head screwdriver and Phillips-head screwdriver. While it seems obvious to me which is which (the flat-head one is self-explanatory, while the Phillips one is obviously the other one), this explanation doesn't seem to help. However, if I tell this particular person, "Hand me the minus-sign screwdriver," or "The plus-sign screwdriver is on the desk; could you get it for me?", I'll get the right one. Think about if for a minute...without laughing. I dare you...
So, part restored, M.H. got back to work putting changing the offending door handle before starting to put the door back together.
As she got the handle back into place, the end of the same tool came off again, falling into the same darn metal well!
"No way! You've got to be kidding!" she exclained as we exchanged aggrevated looks. This time, J. couldn't quite reach it. M.H. had no luck, either. She could touch the thing, but not in a way to be able to pull it out. Maybe if she took that part of the door apart again...but she needed that tool to do that.
Suddenly, I got an idea. We'd kicked around the idea of using Sculpey to keep stuff together while working on the door. Sculpey is a type of polymer clay that comes in really cool colors. Once you make something with it, whether beads, mini sculptures, or whatever, you bake it in your oven. Very addicting stuff. And it might just be what could give M.H. enough reach with the right amount of stickiness to snag the part.
Of course, by the time I brought the stuff out, the tool part was out. Fifteen minutes later, the door was back together.
"The other door can wait," M.H. decided. I wasn't going to argue.
We both agreed that the second door should be easier. She'd already stumbled through the first door, and did a decent job, not to mention the money she saved by doing it herself. (I'd changed a starter relay for my last car, a 1986 Crown Vic, by myself and know I saved at least $200 by doing so; you wouldn't believe the nonsense I heard from several mechanics when I asked for a price to change it out.)
Here's hoping it won't need another fix for a while. But at least M.H. knows how to change the door handle. Not too shabby, if you ask me.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Tax Time...Or, Didn't I Have More Money This Morning?
Ever notice how when you're waiting for money that you know is on the way, time seems to dddrrraaaggg on way too slowly? Yeah, me, too.
I'd filed my taxes online at the beginning of February. The second, to be exact. I'd used one of the online filing sites that I'd used before. It seemed that in previous years, the money would show up maybe a week or so, so I figured that would be the scenario this year.
Actually, I'd filled out most of the online form a few days earlier and had been tempted to hit send. But I'd wanted to check on a couple of things, just to be on the safe side. The Pinellas Park Library usually has tax preparers from the AARP come in every tax season to help people fill out their tax forms, free. So, I called the library to find out when AARP would start doing taxes.
"Not until Thursday, the 6th. They'll be here Thursday and Friday afternoons and Saturday mornings."
I thanked them and hung up. I really didn't want to wait that long, figuring any delay filing would delay getting the refund. Makes sense, right?
So I called the local IRS office, and waited...and waited...punched "1" for the correct option...Finally, someone answered the phone. I asked the couple of pertinent questions, got decent answers, thanked the man for his time, then hung up.
Sunday morning, I glanced over the online forms one more time and hit send. The site mentioned sending along a text when the taxes were accepted. An hour later, the text arrived.
One little glitch: the site said it could take up to three weeks to get my return. It felt like three years.
By Friday, I started checking the bank to see if the money had been deposited. Of course, Friday was too soon. I lamented over this to my friend, Cookie.
"I did my taxes early last week. Got the money Wednesday."
"How'd you file?" I asked. Same online site I'd used. "So you saw the thing that it could take up to 21 days?"
"Yup," she answered. "I think they tell everyone that, no matter how long it takes. But it only took nine days for mine."
Great, I thought. At that rate, I figured mine would be in that Monday.
But Monday, the tenth arrived with no sign of the money. Okay, maybe Tuesday...
Monday afternoon, I spoke with my daughter, M.H. "Yeah, my refund came today," she told me. She'd filed her refund on February 3...the day after I filed!
Then my son M. went to the library that Saturday, almost two weeks after I filed, and got his taxes done by AARP. He was told to expect his money in 7 to 10 days. It had been almost two weeks since I'd filed mine.
I kept checking the site where I'd filed to see if there were any updates that I'd missed. It still showed that the refund had been accepted.
Earlier this week, I followed a link from the site to the IRS's site to see if I could figure out anything. Voila! It showed it should hit the bank this morning. M. then asked, "Hey, can you check mine?" Turns out his was scheduled for today, too.
This morning, I checked the bank. Money in. This afternoon, money spent. Bills, a case of cat food at the vet's office (Karma's still on a special diet...his special expensive diet), some kitty treats, and a trip to Publix.
I'm glad tomorrow is pay day because I'm now broke. Wouldn't bother me as much if it hadn't taken longer to get the money than to spend it!
I'd filed my taxes online at the beginning of February. The second, to be exact. I'd used one of the online filing sites that I'd used before. It seemed that in previous years, the money would show up maybe a week or so, so I figured that would be the scenario this year.
Actually, I'd filled out most of the online form a few days earlier and had been tempted to hit send. But I'd wanted to check on a couple of things, just to be on the safe side. The Pinellas Park Library usually has tax preparers from the AARP come in every tax season to help people fill out their tax forms, free. So, I called the library to find out when AARP would start doing taxes.
"Not until Thursday, the 6th. They'll be here Thursday and Friday afternoons and Saturday mornings."
I thanked them and hung up. I really didn't want to wait that long, figuring any delay filing would delay getting the refund. Makes sense, right?
So I called the local IRS office, and waited...and waited...punched "1" for the correct option...Finally, someone answered the phone. I asked the couple of pertinent questions, got decent answers, thanked the man for his time, then hung up.
Sunday morning, I glanced over the online forms one more time and hit send. The site mentioned sending along a text when the taxes were accepted. An hour later, the text arrived.
One little glitch: the site said it could take up to three weeks to get my return. It felt like three years.
By Friday, I started checking the bank to see if the money had been deposited. Of course, Friday was too soon. I lamented over this to my friend, Cookie.
"I did my taxes early last week. Got the money Wednesday."
"How'd you file?" I asked. Same online site I'd used. "So you saw the thing that it could take up to 21 days?"
"Yup," she answered. "I think they tell everyone that, no matter how long it takes. But it only took nine days for mine."
Great, I thought. At that rate, I figured mine would be in that Monday.
But Monday, the tenth arrived with no sign of the money. Okay, maybe Tuesday...
Monday afternoon, I spoke with my daughter, M.H. "Yeah, my refund came today," she told me. She'd filed her refund on February 3...the day after I filed!
Then my son M. went to the library that Saturday, almost two weeks after I filed, and got his taxes done by AARP. He was told to expect his money in 7 to 10 days. It had been almost two weeks since I'd filed mine.
I kept checking the site where I'd filed to see if there were any updates that I'd missed. It still showed that the refund had been accepted.
Earlier this week, I followed a link from the site to the IRS's site to see if I could figure out anything. Voila! It showed it should hit the bank this morning. M. then asked, "Hey, can you check mine?" Turns out his was scheduled for today, too.
This morning, I checked the bank. Money in. This afternoon, money spent. Bills, a case of cat food at the vet's office (Karma's still on a special diet...his special expensive diet), some kitty treats, and a trip to Publix.
I'm glad tomorrow is pay day because I'm now broke. Wouldn't bother me as much if it hadn't taken longer to get the money than to spend it!
Thursday, February 13, 2014
A Tail of Two Cats (And A Dog and another Cat...)
I currently have two cats, which is ironic, considering I'm more of a dog person. Most people, if they like dogs and cats, tend to like one species a little more than the other. I've always been more of a dog person, but that's beside the point: I now share my house with two cats.
Actually, it's not completely my fault that the two of them live here. Oh, yes, I know, I didn't have to allow either one into my house. But there are times when life happens. What was it John Lennon said? "Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans." Which is what happened here.
I was having a bad year. It hadn't actually been a January-through-December-bad-year, more like June-through-whenever kind of bad year. It started when our cocker spaniel died in June, 2006. Osha was 16 years old, and we knew it was just a matter of time. She's started losing her hearing, her vision was getting bad, and in the last few weeks, she seemed to have the dog equivalent of Alzheimer's.
One afternoon, maybe a week before she died, I'd let her out in our fenced-in back yard and, somehow, she'd managed to slip out in a break in the fence that she'd never been able to get through in her middle age. When I saw her wandering next to the road, I ran out and scooped her up. She gave me a happy-aging-puppy look that seemed to say, Hi! I can't quite place you, but you do look familiar! Maybe you have a nice treat for me? I knew...
Osha
A week later, the evening of June 4, she had trouble getting up and coming to the bedroom. My son, J., was on the computer, and planned to be up for a while.
"If she needs help, let me know," I told him.
"Sure thing," he answered.
Maybe fifteen minutes later, he knocked on the door, holding Osha. She'd tried crawling out of the living room toward the hallway. I took the old gal and placed her on her nest of blankets, petting her once-silky fur.
But no matter what, she couldn't get comfortable. Paul got up and fixed a pot of coffee and we sat up with Osha. We knew that if she didn't go that night, we'd have to do the hard thing and take her to the vet's in the morning. She was that far gone. Sixteen is a very old cocker spaniel.
Finally, at 4:00, when it was obvious she couldn't get comfortable, I picked her up and sat on the front porch while cradling her. She'd always loved sitting on the porch, sniffing the air, watching the neighborhood. She howled her wimpy little cocker spaniel howl, something she hadn't done in probably several years, then settled down. I told her what a good girl she was, that it was okay for her to go.
When I brought her back inside around 4:30, she seemed ready to sleep. Sometime between then and 6:00, she passed over the Rainbow Bridge, her friend and buddy, our cat, E. B. White, keeping watch.
That was a hard one. Even Paul - a former Marine! - was a little teary-eyed.
Then came October. Paul was sick and had to be rushed by ambulance to the hospital. At one point, he seemed to be getting better. But after almost a week, he passed away. I won't go over the details; suffice it to say that I covered that in another blog...
Paul
The following June, E. B. White died. She'd seemed to be going downhill after Osha and Paul died. And on Father's Day of 2007 - June 17 - she, too, died. After wrapping her up in an old towel so that I could take her to be cremated the next day, I called to wish my dad a happy Father's Day. Unfortunately, it was obvious he couldn't come to the phone. Two years earlier, he and my step-mom had come to visit to let me know Dad had cancer and was terminal. He died two weeks later. My brother, too, had gone several months earlier.
E. B. White
Greg
Dad and step-mom, Phyllis
I really wasn't in the mood for any more pets. Cats and dogs tend to have a shorter life-span than people, which means that there's a good chance you'll have to go through the pain of their deaths. I was soooo over death and dying. Whether the loved one was a person or a pet, it hurt. True, some deaths hurt more than others, but it still hurts. I was not going through that again!
About a month before E. B. died, though, I had called my friend Kevin up. Kevin, you might recall from previous posts, drives cab. I needed a ride, so I usually call Kev.
On this particular trip, Kevin informed me that his friend Billie, a nice gal who'd gone through a rough patch with her sense of humor intact, had a cat who'd just had a litter of kittens. "All of them have been claimed for adoption when they're old enough, except for one," Kev informed me. "That one is yours'. He's your karma." I was sure he meant that I was destined to have this cat, but it came out as Karma.
"No way I'm taking that kitten," I informed Kev. "I don't need another cat."
"Yes, you do," he insisted.
"Whatever." I let the subject drop, figuring that someone else would come along and decide that they had to have that kitten.
But nooooo. Kevin kept giving me periodic updates on my kitten. The first couple of weeks, I kept telling him no. Then I got to the smirking stage; no way is he giving me that darn kitten!
"But Karma's so cute!" he gush, as I smirked away.
Sometime between E. B.'s death and my dad's death, two weeks later, I was on the phone with my son-in-law, B. (M.H., who I'd wanted to talk to, had gone to work.) Suddenly, a car honked in the driveway. I looked outside.
Kevin.
"Hold on," I told B. "Someone's here."
I opened the door as Kev opened the trunk of his cab. "I got your cat!" he called.
"Even you wouldn't keep a kitten in the trunk of your cab!" I responded. He gave me a look.
"No, Billie has Karma. I just have all the cat stuff so you can't give him back!"
It was then that I noticed Billie in the front seat. She opened the window and handed out a tiny black furball. Karma's eyes were wide and he opened his mouth to let out a yowly mew. I took him as Kev put litter box, cat litter, and a six-pack of canned cat food on the front porch before beating a hasty retreat to the cab.
Karma Kitty, first week at home
"Enjoy!" he called as he jumped into the cab, threw it in reverse and left!
I looked at this tiny little bundle. "What are we going to do?" I asked. He leaned into me, then looked up and bit the end of my nose.
I got him and the stuff into the house and watched as he sniffed the carpet. E.B.'s scent was still there. "Yes, Karma," I told him. "This is a cat house." Meaning that we'd recently had a cat.
At this point, I heard laughter. It sounded kind-of far away, but somehow close. The phone!
Grabbing the phone, I asked, "Are you still there?" B. was. He'd heard the cat house remark.
A month later, we adopted Drexie from our vets' office (Pinellas Animal Hospital). I figured a second cat would keep Karma company. After a day or two of getting acquainted, during which time Karma kept trying to get rid of the intruder, until she finally fought back and let him know I'm staying, they've become friends and perfect foils for one another.
Karma Kitty, adult
Drexie Calabash
I guess I'll keep 'em.
Actually, it's not completely my fault that the two of them live here. Oh, yes, I know, I didn't have to allow either one into my house. But there are times when life happens. What was it John Lennon said? "Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans." Which is what happened here.
I was having a bad year. It hadn't actually been a January-through-December-bad-year, more like June-through-whenever kind of bad year. It started when our cocker spaniel died in June, 2006. Osha was 16 years old, and we knew it was just a matter of time. She's started losing her hearing, her vision was getting bad, and in the last few weeks, she seemed to have the dog equivalent of Alzheimer's.
One afternoon, maybe a week before she died, I'd let her out in our fenced-in back yard and, somehow, she'd managed to slip out in a break in the fence that she'd never been able to get through in her middle age. When I saw her wandering next to the road, I ran out and scooped her up. She gave me a happy-aging-puppy look that seemed to say, Hi! I can't quite place you, but you do look familiar! Maybe you have a nice treat for me? I knew...
Osha
A week later, the evening of June 4, she had trouble getting up and coming to the bedroom. My son, J., was on the computer, and planned to be up for a while.
"If she needs help, let me know," I told him.
"Sure thing," he answered.
Maybe fifteen minutes later, he knocked on the door, holding Osha. She'd tried crawling out of the living room toward the hallway. I took the old gal and placed her on her nest of blankets, petting her once-silky fur.
But no matter what, she couldn't get comfortable. Paul got up and fixed a pot of coffee and we sat up with Osha. We knew that if she didn't go that night, we'd have to do the hard thing and take her to the vet's in the morning. She was that far gone. Sixteen is a very old cocker spaniel.
Finally, at 4:00, when it was obvious she couldn't get comfortable, I picked her up and sat on the front porch while cradling her. She'd always loved sitting on the porch, sniffing the air, watching the neighborhood. She howled her wimpy little cocker spaniel howl, something she hadn't done in probably several years, then settled down. I told her what a good girl she was, that it was okay for her to go.
When I brought her back inside around 4:30, she seemed ready to sleep. Sometime between then and 6:00, she passed over the Rainbow Bridge, her friend and buddy, our cat, E. B. White, keeping watch.
That was a hard one. Even Paul - a former Marine! - was a little teary-eyed.
Then came October. Paul was sick and had to be rushed by ambulance to the hospital. At one point, he seemed to be getting better. But after almost a week, he passed away. I won't go over the details; suffice it to say that I covered that in another blog...
Paul
The following June, E. B. White died. She'd seemed to be going downhill after Osha and Paul died. And on Father's Day of 2007 - June 17 - she, too, died. After wrapping her up in an old towel so that I could take her to be cremated the next day, I called to wish my dad a happy Father's Day. Unfortunately, it was obvious he couldn't come to the phone. Two years earlier, he and my step-mom had come to visit to let me know Dad had cancer and was terminal. He died two weeks later. My brother, too, had gone several months earlier.
E. B. White
Greg
Dad and step-mom, Phyllis
I really wasn't in the mood for any more pets. Cats and dogs tend to have a shorter life-span than people, which means that there's a good chance you'll have to go through the pain of their deaths. I was soooo over death and dying. Whether the loved one was a person or a pet, it hurt. True, some deaths hurt more than others, but it still hurts. I was not going through that again!
About a month before E. B. died, though, I had called my friend Kevin up. Kevin, you might recall from previous posts, drives cab. I needed a ride, so I usually call Kev.
On this particular trip, Kevin informed me that his friend Billie, a nice gal who'd gone through a rough patch with her sense of humor intact, had a cat who'd just had a litter of kittens. "All of them have been claimed for adoption when they're old enough, except for one," Kev informed me. "That one is yours'. He's your karma." I was sure he meant that I was destined to have this cat, but it came out as Karma.
"No way I'm taking that kitten," I informed Kev. "I don't need another cat."
"Yes, you do," he insisted.
"Whatever." I let the subject drop, figuring that someone else would come along and decide that they had to have that kitten.
But nooooo. Kevin kept giving me periodic updates on my kitten. The first couple of weeks, I kept telling him no. Then I got to the smirking stage; no way is he giving me that darn kitten!
"But Karma's so cute!" he gush, as I smirked away.
Sometime between E. B.'s death and my dad's death, two weeks later, I was on the phone with my son-in-law, B. (M.H., who I'd wanted to talk to, had gone to work.) Suddenly, a car honked in the driveway. I looked outside.
Kevin.
"Hold on," I told B. "Someone's here."
I opened the door as Kev opened the trunk of his cab. "I got your cat!" he called.
"Even you wouldn't keep a kitten in the trunk of your cab!" I responded. He gave me a look.
"No, Billie has Karma. I just have all the cat stuff so you can't give him back!"
It was then that I noticed Billie in the front seat. She opened the window and handed out a tiny black furball. Karma's eyes were wide and he opened his mouth to let out a yowly mew. I took him as Kev put litter box, cat litter, and a six-pack of canned cat food on the front porch before beating a hasty retreat to the cab.
Karma Kitty, first week at home
"Enjoy!" he called as he jumped into the cab, threw it in reverse and left!
I looked at this tiny little bundle. "What are we going to do?" I asked. He leaned into me, then looked up and bit the end of my nose.
I got him and the stuff into the house and watched as he sniffed the carpet. E.B.'s scent was still there. "Yes, Karma," I told him. "This is a cat house." Meaning that we'd recently had a cat.
At this point, I heard laughter. It sounded kind-of far away, but somehow close. The phone!
Grabbing the phone, I asked, "Are you still there?" B. was. He'd heard the cat house remark.
A month later, we adopted Drexie from our vets' office (Pinellas Animal Hospital). I figured a second cat would keep Karma company. After a day or two of getting acquainted, during which time Karma kept trying to get rid of the intruder, until she finally fought back and let him know I'm staying, they've become friends and perfect foils for one another.
Karma Kitty, adult
Drexie Calabash
I guess I'll keep 'em.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Going To Goodwill (When I Thought of Staying Home)
It's one of those rainy, dreary days when one almost feels like curling up on the couch, wrapped in a quilt, with a good book or movie. A cup of tea and homemade cookies wouldn't be a bad idea to go with said book or movie. And if one has a fireplace with available wood, that'd be great.
Before you ask, no, I'm not in the frigid north, where snow has been piling up on top of snow, on top of even more snow and horrible temperatures. I'm in sunny Florida, except that it's not sunny. It's cold (by Florida standards) and dreary and rainy. The high today is supposed to be 50 degrees this evening, 57 degrees tomorrow afternoon. (The meteorologist for WFLA, Tampa's NBC affiliate, just mentioned the "freezing rain;" the flip side is that it's also supposed to warm up in a couple of days.) My daughter, M.H., who spent 15 years living in Rhode Island with her husband and daughter, has informed me that it's finally nice out, at least temperature-wise. I still say it's cold.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. I figured I'd do some tidying-up, as well as some writing, forgetting that I'd mentioned to M.H. that yes, we could go to the Goodwill retail store where her brother, my son M., works.
She remembered, though. She figured we'd pick up some stuff to sell on ebay or at a local music store. M. had picked up DVDs and CDs at the outlet store he works at with the idea of selling them. The retail store sells DVDs and CDs for 60-cents a pound, giving an enterprising person a chance for a decent mark-up. Earlier this week, he'd brought out the stuff he'd bought over the past month or so and checked with Amazon and Ebay to see what similar items were going for. Anything that had a decent mark-up, he posted. The rest he brought to the music store, sold a bunch of stuff, then sold the rest at a pawn shop across the street. Before you humph about it, he managed to turn maybe $5 worth of movies and CDs into $28 and change...and that's not including the stuff he has posted online! M.H. figured that if he could do it, so could we.
When M.H. called this morning, I sighed. I really didn't want to go out, but figured, well, why not. "Sure," I told her. "Come on over. We'll see what happens."
The retail store was a little farther than I'd remembered. It had been years since I'd been there, and while I knew exactly where it is and how to get there, when you don't go somewhere on a fairly regular basis, distances become a little warped. M.H., her husband B., and I talked about this on the way there.
"How much farther is it?" she asked. We were coming up to a traffic light at Ninth Street; the store wasn't too far beyond Fourth Street.
"Don't tell me streets!" she huffed. "Tell me how long 'til we get there!" Apparently, that's how they give directions in Rhode Island. M.H. and B. talked about hearing directions that went, "Turn right where the old Blah-blah restaurant used to be...yeah, it's the new Dunkin' Donuts now...and go for another two minutes..." I'd lived in New England for a number of years and had heard directions like that. How had I forgotten?
When we finally arrived, M.H. found a parking space and we headed in. Even with the chilly, rainy weather, there were still people wandering in and out of the store, which was basically part of a warehouse. Actually, Goodwill takes up the entire building, but has it segmented off into different spaces: two stores, along with other stuff, all warehouse-ish.
Even though M. had described the store fairly well, the reality was a little different than I'd imagined. It also turned out we probably should have arrived hours earlier, as much of the good stuff was already gone.
We sighed and got to work picking through bins. For a while, any CDs and DVDs I ran across got stuffed into the oversized shopping bags. At one point, an old man walked up to me, handing over a stack of CD cases.
"I decided I don't want these, and since you're buying a lot of music," he said before wandering off to stand in one of the two checkout lines. It seemed a little strange, but then, it seemed that a lot of the normal shopping rules didn't seem to apply here. You don't walk up to someone in, say, Publix and say, "I notice you're buying a lot of cans of tomato soup, so you might as well have the ones I picked up, too."
I glanced in the CD cases the man had handed me--maybe eight or ten of them--and every single case was empty! I'd already run across an empty CD and DVD case already, but the fact that he'd handed me this many empty ones...I put them down near a cash register.
In the end, while we didn't get quite as much stuff to sell as we'd anticipated, we did end up with a good start. M.H. even ended up with a working vacuum for $2 and a small flat-screen TV. (Note to self: Next time, we'll need an earlier start.)
After getting home, I plopped the bag of stuff I'd bought on the dining room table while M.H. tested the TV and vacuum. The TV didn't work, but the vacuum did. (At last report, the TV apparently needed a fuse, which M.H. was trying to find. We'll see how well it works.) After putting her stuff back in the trunk, M.H. and B. left. The rain started back, colder, drearier, and definitely looking like it would've been a snow-day, had we been up north.
Back inside, J. was pulling stuff from the bag and looking through the pile, shaking his head.
"You didn't check this stuff too closely, did you?" he asked. Apparently there were a couple of mis-placed CDs: an Eric Clapton CD rested in half of a Rolling Stones case; Pink Floyd rested in a Rage Against the Machine. Two double-CD cases sported one CD. I sighed. (Another note to self: Make sure to check the CDs and DVDs a little closer to be on the safe side.) After fixing myself a cup of tea, I posted most of what I'd bought on ebay.
I now have cookie dough setting up. I made several kinds of cookie dough, including my Grandma Hallock's oatmeal cookies and a bowl of gingerbread men dough. Should be ready to bake this evening. I wish I'd fixed the dough before going out so I could send some home with M.H. The stories those cookies could tell...
Here's to homemade cookies and tea on a rainy evening after a day doing stuff I hadn't quite planned. A change of plans can be a good thing...this afternoon was.
Before you ask, no, I'm not in the frigid north, where snow has been piling up on top of snow, on top of even more snow and horrible temperatures. I'm in sunny Florida, except that it's not sunny. It's cold (by Florida standards) and dreary and rainy. The high today is supposed to be 50 degrees this evening, 57 degrees tomorrow afternoon. (The meteorologist for WFLA, Tampa's NBC affiliate, just mentioned the "freezing rain;" the flip side is that it's also supposed to warm up in a couple of days.) My daughter, M.H., who spent 15 years living in Rhode Island with her husband and daughter, has informed me that it's finally nice out, at least temperature-wise. I still say it's cold.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. I figured I'd do some tidying-up, as well as some writing, forgetting that I'd mentioned to M.H. that yes, we could go to the Goodwill retail store where her brother, my son M., works.
She remembered, though. She figured we'd pick up some stuff to sell on ebay or at a local music store. M. had picked up DVDs and CDs at the outlet store he works at with the idea of selling them. The retail store sells DVDs and CDs for 60-cents a pound, giving an enterprising person a chance for a decent mark-up. Earlier this week, he'd brought out the stuff he'd bought over the past month or so and checked with Amazon and Ebay to see what similar items were going for. Anything that had a decent mark-up, he posted. The rest he brought to the music store, sold a bunch of stuff, then sold the rest at a pawn shop across the street. Before you humph about it, he managed to turn maybe $5 worth of movies and CDs into $28 and change...and that's not including the stuff he has posted online! M.H. figured that if he could do it, so could we.
When M.H. called this morning, I sighed. I really didn't want to go out, but figured, well, why not. "Sure," I told her. "Come on over. We'll see what happens."
The retail store was a little farther than I'd remembered. It had been years since I'd been there, and while I knew exactly where it is and how to get there, when you don't go somewhere on a fairly regular basis, distances become a little warped. M.H., her husband B., and I talked about this on the way there.
"How much farther is it?" she asked. We were coming up to a traffic light at Ninth Street; the store wasn't too far beyond Fourth Street.
"Don't tell me streets!" she huffed. "Tell me how long 'til we get there!" Apparently, that's how they give directions in Rhode Island. M.H. and B. talked about hearing directions that went, "Turn right where the old Blah-blah restaurant used to be...yeah, it's the new Dunkin' Donuts now...and go for another two minutes..." I'd lived in New England for a number of years and had heard directions like that. How had I forgotten?
When we finally arrived, M.H. found a parking space and we headed in. Even with the chilly, rainy weather, there were still people wandering in and out of the store, which was basically part of a warehouse. Actually, Goodwill takes up the entire building, but has it segmented off into different spaces: two stores, along with other stuff, all warehouse-ish.
Even though M. had described the store fairly well, the reality was a little different than I'd imagined. It also turned out we probably should have arrived hours earlier, as much of the good stuff was already gone.
We sighed and got to work picking through bins. For a while, any CDs and DVDs I ran across got stuffed into the oversized shopping bags. At one point, an old man walked up to me, handing over a stack of CD cases.
"I decided I don't want these, and since you're buying a lot of music," he said before wandering off to stand in one of the two checkout lines. It seemed a little strange, but then, it seemed that a lot of the normal shopping rules didn't seem to apply here. You don't walk up to someone in, say, Publix and say, "I notice you're buying a lot of cans of tomato soup, so you might as well have the ones I picked up, too."
I glanced in the CD cases the man had handed me--maybe eight or ten of them--and every single case was empty! I'd already run across an empty CD and DVD case already, but the fact that he'd handed me this many empty ones...I put them down near a cash register.
In the end, while we didn't get quite as much stuff to sell as we'd anticipated, we did end up with a good start. M.H. even ended up with a working vacuum for $2 and a small flat-screen TV. (Note to self: Next time, we'll need an earlier start.)
After getting home, I plopped the bag of stuff I'd bought on the dining room table while M.H. tested the TV and vacuum. The TV didn't work, but the vacuum did. (At last report, the TV apparently needed a fuse, which M.H. was trying to find. We'll see how well it works.) After putting her stuff back in the trunk, M.H. and B. left. The rain started back, colder, drearier, and definitely looking like it would've been a snow-day, had we been up north.
Back inside, J. was pulling stuff from the bag and looking through the pile, shaking his head.
"You didn't check this stuff too closely, did you?" he asked. Apparently there were a couple of mis-placed CDs: an Eric Clapton CD rested in half of a Rolling Stones case; Pink Floyd rested in a Rage Against the Machine. Two double-CD cases sported one CD. I sighed. (Another note to self: Make sure to check the CDs and DVDs a little closer to be on the safe side.) After fixing myself a cup of tea, I posted most of what I'd bought on ebay.
I now have cookie dough setting up. I made several kinds of cookie dough, including my Grandma Hallock's oatmeal cookies and a bowl of gingerbread men dough. Should be ready to bake this evening. I wish I'd fixed the dough before going out so I could send some home with M.H. The stories those cookies could tell...
Here's to homemade cookies and tea on a rainy evening after a day doing stuff I hadn't quite planned. A change of plans can be a good thing...this afternoon was.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
New Year's Resolutions, or How Do You Make God Laugh?
It's New Year's day - the time when many people make resolutions. I'm one of those people who do that. Over the year, I've learned to make my resolutions a little more realistic. Don't always make it all the way through the year, but I do try.
So, what are my New Year's resolutions this year? Hit the gym at least twice a week. Walk (working up to running) at least three days a week. Start eating healthy. Working a budget. Kickstarting my production company, rather than letting it simply limp along (wow, sounds like working up a business plan, contacting the SBA, etc). And a few other things that really need to be worked on that, if I don't sit down and decide that's it, it's now or never, because this stuff's not happening by itself!, it'll never get done.
Two of the things I had resolved included exercising/walking/running and taking more photography. Even set up a brain dump (or, rather, photography dump) blog for the photography so that I could then decide what I want to put my website. (I also posted on another photography blog I'd come up with maybe a year ago but never posted to until this morning. That one will probably be deleted, since the name is too similar to a site that I love going to. But take a look at it and let me know which background you like before I delete it: the beach background or the plain background. Yes, you, the reader...leave a comment, please!) I'd planned to start the walking and photography today.
When I got up this morning, I discovered that the plumbing was acting up - a lot. On the plus side, the bathtub holds a lot of water. The down side is...you guessed it...stuff was backing up into the tub. The washer was backing up into the tub. The kitchen sink was backing up into the tub. Stuff was backing up into the tub. (That's as far as we're going with that!) So, of course, I called the landlord. On New Year's Day. At 8:00 a.m. Still haven't heard back, and it's almost 10:30. I'm sure they'll be pleased (sarcasm, here). Of course, I could have called them when I had an inkling that things might be amuck...but I doubt they would've liked hearing from me at 11:45 p.m. on New Year's Eve.
The walk can wait until later today. The photography? I've posted one of my older photos. The rest of my resolutions are still doable. Things happen...What was it John Lennon said? "Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans." How true.
Happy New Year! Be safe.
So, what are my New Year's resolutions this year? Hit the gym at least twice a week. Walk (working up to running) at least three days a week. Start eating healthy. Working a budget. Kickstarting my production company, rather than letting it simply limp along (wow, sounds like working up a business plan, contacting the SBA, etc). And a few other things that really need to be worked on that, if I don't sit down and decide that's it, it's now or never, because this stuff's not happening by itself!, it'll never get done.
Two of the things I had resolved included exercising/walking/running and taking more photography. Even set up a brain dump (or, rather, photography dump) blog for the photography so that I could then decide what I want to put my website. (I also posted on another photography blog I'd come up with maybe a year ago but never posted to until this morning. That one will probably be deleted, since the name is too similar to a site that I love going to. But take a look at it and let me know which background you like before I delete it: the beach background or the plain background. Yes, you, the reader...leave a comment, please!) I'd planned to start the walking and photography today.
When I got up this morning, I discovered that the plumbing was acting up - a lot. On the plus side, the bathtub holds a lot of water. The down side is...you guessed it...stuff was backing up into the tub. The washer was backing up into the tub. The kitchen sink was backing up into the tub. Stuff was backing up into the tub. (That's as far as we're going with that!) So, of course, I called the landlord. On New Year's Day. At 8:00 a.m. Still haven't heard back, and it's almost 10:30. I'm sure they'll be pleased (sarcasm, here). Of course, I could have called them when I had an inkling that things might be amuck...but I doubt they would've liked hearing from me at 11:45 p.m. on New Year's Eve.
The walk can wait until later today. The photography? I've posted one of my older photos. The rest of my resolutions are still doable. Things happen...What was it John Lennon said? "Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans." How true.
Happy New Year! Be safe.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)