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!
Thursday, February 20, 2014
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.
Saturday, December 21, 2013
Holidays
It's only a few days until Christmas, and while my Christmas tree has been up for maybe two weeks, more or less, I finally got around to decorating it.
Before you ask "a competely bare Christmas tree?", it had three strands of lights on it since the afternoon I'd set it up. Just no actual decorations. It's not that we don't have them, I just haven't put them on our tree for a few years now.
There's a reason for this. (Besides sheer laziness; that doesn't quite cover it.) For years, we'd bought live trees from local tree lots, lugged it home, set it up, then decorated it with lights and decorations. Somewhere along the way, we ended up with two large buckets with lids to keep our Christmas stuff in; one bucket was for lights, the other for all other decorations. The light bucket always came off the utility room shelf first; once the lights were on the tree, the other bucket came down and the decorations put up.
Each year, it was the same thing: each decoration represented a family member who'd made the ornament or given it to us. My grandmother had given us quite a few ornaments: ceramic bells shaped like mice with little ceramic clappers that caused a tinkling sound when the mice moved, several clothespins painted to look like Santa Claus, and other trinkets that held memories of going to her house at Christmas time. My ex-mother-in-law had made a few beaded ornaments that we still have, though she's been gone for decades. There are ones that my kids made when they were in grade school. And of course there are others picked up here and there over the years.
Around the time P. and I had gotten together, my daughter M.H. and her husband moved out of state. One of the things they dropped off at our place was a 4-foot artificial tree. It fit nicely on a table top, which is part of why M.H. had bought it in the first place. It's easy enough to put together: simply pull it out of the box, put the lets on the base, pull the branches down, and viola!
However, P. and I simply kept buying real trees. Using the artificial tree felt, well, artificial.
Then, one year, we were a little short on cash. By the time we finally had the money to buy a tree, three weeks before the big day, there wasn't a real tree on any lot to be found without driving miles and miles. So, out came the 4-foot tree.
After setting it up, we threw several strands of blinky lights on it; that was plenty on a tree that size. Then, grabbing the ornament bucket, we found a few ornaments that fit the smaller tree very nicely. There was no way we could use all the decorations; there simply wasn't enough room. Sighing, I put the bucket back on the shelf, half the ornaments still inside.
This tree seemed perfectly fine for the next few years. Then P. died. When I went to set up the tree that year, the lights went on it, but I only had the energy or desire to put one or two ornaments on it. The next year, the ornament bucket didn't even come off the shelf.
A few years ago, I went out and bought a 6-footer. It's still artificial, but I figured I'd get a few years' use out of it. I even bought a few extra strands of lights, since two tiny strands of blinky lights just wouldn't do. But still very few, if any, ornaments. Until now.
My friend Kevin has been spending a lot of time here. He's more like a slightly strange, slightly goofy kid brother, and a friend. Nothing more, nothing less. Contrary to what Billy Crystal's character thought in the first half of When Harry Met Sally, men and women can be friends. He acknowledged the tree and several strands of lights. My son J. even put a strand of lights on that M.H. had given him last year; this strand has maybe a dozen large blood-shot-looking plastic eyes painted on the white globes.
"Cool lights," Kevin mentioned when he saw them.
But then, after a week or so with no other ornaments, he finally asked where they were. "You got the tree, you got the lights, you need to get some ornaments!"
I had to admit, it might be nice to get the bucket down. Last year, I'd used the excuse that our two cats, Karma Kitty and Drexie Calabash, might knock them off the tree and bat them around the house. But there had to be something I could put on the tree that wouldn't cause problems for the two crazy cats. This meant that the few beaded ornaments in the bucket would stay in the bucket, along with a couple of other potentially dangerous ones (dangerous to kitties, anyway). But then, there were other ones I could put on the tree: there's a plastic one that looks almost stained-glass-like and looks nice with a light showing through; there's a star made out of little mirrors (great for reflecting light), and several others that actually look a little nicer than I remember.
The tree is now officially decorated. It won't rival anything in any fancy home decorating magazine. But that's perfectly fine with me.
Merry Christmas, Happy Solstice, Happy (belated) Hanukkah, and Happy New Year.
Before you ask "a competely bare Christmas tree?", it had three strands of lights on it since the afternoon I'd set it up. Just no actual decorations. It's not that we don't have them, I just haven't put them on our tree for a few years now.
There's a reason for this. (Besides sheer laziness; that doesn't quite cover it.) For years, we'd bought live trees from local tree lots, lugged it home, set it up, then decorated it with lights and decorations. Somewhere along the way, we ended up with two large buckets with lids to keep our Christmas stuff in; one bucket was for lights, the other for all other decorations. The light bucket always came off the utility room shelf first; once the lights were on the tree, the other bucket came down and the decorations put up.
Each year, it was the same thing: each decoration represented a family member who'd made the ornament or given it to us. My grandmother had given us quite a few ornaments: ceramic bells shaped like mice with little ceramic clappers that caused a tinkling sound when the mice moved, several clothespins painted to look like Santa Claus, and other trinkets that held memories of going to her house at Christmas time. My ex-mother-in-law had made a few beaded ornaments that we still have, though she's been gone for decades. There are ones that my kids made when they were in grade school. And of course there are others picked up here and there over the years.
Around the time P. and I had gotten together, my daughter M.H. and her husband moved out of state. One of the things they dropped off at our place was a 4-foot artificial tree. It fit nicely on a table top, which is part of why M.H. had bought it in the first place. It's easy enough to put together: simply pull it out of the box, put the lets on the base, pull the branches down, and viola!
However, P. and I simply kept buying real trees. Using the artificial tree felt, well, artificial.
Then, one year, we were a little short on cash. By the time we finally had the money to buy a tree, three weeks before the big day, there wasn't a real tree on any lot to be found without driving miles and miles. So, out came the 4-foot tree.
After setting it up, we threw several strands of blinky lights on it; that was plenty on a tree that size. Then, grabbing the ornament bucket, we found a few ornaments that fit the smaller tree very nicely. There was no way we could use all the decorations; there simply wasn't enough room. Sighing, I put the bucket back on the shelf, half the ornaments still inside.
This tree seemed perfectly fine for the next few years. Then P. died. When I went to set up the tree that year, the lights went on it, but I only had the energy or desire to put one or two ornaments on it. The next year, the ornament bucket didn't even come off the shelf.
A few years ago, I went out and bought a 6-footer. It's still artificial, but I figured I'd get a few years' use out of it. I even bought a few extra strands of lights, since two tiny strands of blinky lights just wouldn't do. But still very few, if any, ornaments. Until now.
My friend Kevin has been spending a lot of time here. He's more like a slightly strange, slightly goofy kid brother, and a friend. Nothing more, nothing less. Contrary to what Billy Crystal's character thought in the first half of When Harry Met Sally, men and women can be friends. He acknowledged the tree and several strands of lights. My son J. even put a strand of lights on that M.H. had given him last year; this strand has maybe a dozen large blood-shot-looking plastic eyes painted on the white globes.
"Cool lights," Kevin mentioned when he saw them.
But then, after a week or so with no other ornaments, he finally asked where they were. "You got the tree, you got the lights, you need to get some ornaments!"
I had to admit, it might be nice to get the bucket down. Last year, I'd used the excuse that our two cats, Karma Kitty and Drexie Calabash, might knock them off the tree and bat them around the house. But there had to be something I could put on the tree that wouldn't cause problems for the two crazy cats. This meant that the few beaded ornaments in the bucket would stay in the bucket, along with a couple of other potentially dangerous ones (dangerous to kitties, anyway). But then, there were other ones I could put on the tree: there's a plastic one that looks almost stained-glass-like and looks nice with a light showing through; there's a star made out of little mirrors (great for reflecting light), and several others that actually look a little nicer than I remember.
The tree is now officially decorated. It won't rival anything in any fancy home decorating magazine. But that's perfectly fine with me.
Merry Christmas, Happy Solstice, Happy (belated) Hanukkah, and Happy New Year.
Friday, November 1, 2013
Halloween, or Someone Save Me From All This Chocolate!
I'm glad that October is over. I wish October was still here. I know that may sound a little strange, but there are times when most of us feel that way, the wanting time to fly while standing still.
October had been one of my favorite months since forever for a variety of reasons: it is the first full fall month; my birthday is in October, as are my granddaughter's and my youngest niece's; Halloween is in October, which with its passing kicks the holiday season into gear; the weather cools, the days shorten. What's not to like? And yet, it's the same month when my late husband, Paul, died. So the ambivalence is understandable.
Last night, I sat on the front porch, waiting for trick-or-treaters. The first couple of kids showed up shortly after we'd finished dinner. After handing a couple of candy bars, I grabbed the bowl of candy and headed for the porch.
It took a little while for more kids to arrive. While I waited, I watched the kids playing across the street. Apparently, a bunch of parents had decided it would be more fun for everyone - adults, kids - if several families' worth of parents brought all the kids around trick-or-treating. There were times when several families in our last neighborhood did that when my kids were young enough to go out collecting candy. Parents would catch up for a good hour or two in the relaxed way that most of us usually didn't have time for in our hurried lives while our kids had a blast.
As a few more parents wandered into the neighbors' house, as their kids played in the front yard. It was kind-of a peaceful thing, waiting on the porch to see who'd show up, seeing the kids running around the yard across the street as they shrieked in anticipation of Halloween! and all it entails.
Slowly, the sky above their house changed color. There was one brilliantly deep-but-bright blue streak showing behind the branches of the huge oak in their yard; between the blue and the horizon were several shades of orange and red, ranging from pastel orange, through a shade best described as that of a Creamsicle, through red-orange on to deep red. Soon, the colors shifted so that the sky almost looked bruised. That streak of brilliant blue remained until just before the families across the street headed out at dark.
The first place the group headed was directly across the street to see what goodies I was passing out.
"Hey, Robin," our neighbor, H.G., said. "How's it going?"
"Okay," I told her. "How about you?"
"Not bad," she smiled.
The group wandered off, heading south, no doubt hitting up other houses throughout the neighborhood.
Later, the lady next door called over. She, too, was out on her porch, passing out candy. "Any idea what's going on at the park?" R. asked. The back entrance to one of the city's larger parks is only a few houses away from us. It's close enough that it takes me all of a minute to get there. We could see the lights on at the park. While the city's website had mentioned a family-style Halloween gathering at a large field near the city's main fire station, replete with candy for the kids, I'd seen nothing about anything going on at our neighborhood park.
For the next couple of hours, R. and I passed out candy, getting a kick out of different groups of trick-or-treaters, commenting back and forth between bursts of vampires and princesses.
At one point, my son M. mentioned that someone had called but he hadn't gotten to the phone in time. After dialing voicemail, I listened as an automated voice reminded me of my doctor's appointment on Monday. It was funny in that 1) the doctor's office had called around noon to reschedule the appointment to next month, and 2) it was probably 8:00 p.m. while I was outside, passing out Halloween candy. Definitely one of those That's the crazy part of automation for you moments. Then, not five minutes later, the phone rang again. It was a fund-raiser, seeing if I'd donate to..."Nope, not now," I told the fund-raiser.
"But it's for a good cause!" he told me.
"Put me on your Do Not Call list," I said, then hung up as another group came up the sidewalk.
Finally, candy gone, R. called out her good-night and I called back. I watched as the group across the street wandered home. And finally, I wandered in, turning off the front porch light.
This morning, I noticed that H.G. had posted pictures of the kids trading candy on the living room floor. The years my kids did that - "I'll trade you all my Snickers for you Now-And-Laters!" "Okay!" - were years ago. And my sister and brother and me doing that are but a dream.
But as long as there are kids who love candy and dressing up, and parents willing to take their kids around, and neighbors willing to see what kind of cool costumes the kids are wearing while passing out candy, Halloween will remain part of our culture.
I'll still think of it as the beginning of the holiday season.
October had been one of my favorite months since forever for a variety of reasons: it is the first full fall month; my birthday is in October, as are my granddaughter's and my youngest niece's; Halloween is in October, which with its passing kicks the holiday season into gear; the weather cools, the days shorten. What's not to like? And yet, it's the same month when my late husband, Paul, died. So the ambivalence is understandable.
Last night, I sat on the front porch, waiting for trick-or-treaters. The first couple of kids showed up shortly after we'd finished dinner. After handing a couple of candy bars, I grabbed the bowl of candy and headed for the porch.
It took a little while for more kids to arrive. While I waited, I watched the kids playing across the street. Apparently, a bunch of parents had decided it would be more fun for everyone - adults, kids - if several families' worth of parents brought all the kids around trick-or-treating. There were times when several families in our last neighborhood did that when my kids were young enough to go out collecting candy. Parents would catch up for a good hour or two in the relaxed way that most of us usually didn't have time for in our hurried lives while our kids had a blast.
As a few more parents wandered into the neighbors' house, as their kids played in the front yard. It was kind-of a peaceful thing, waiting on the porch to see who'd show up, seeing the kids running around the yard across the street as they shrieked in anticipation of Halloween! and all it entails.
Slowly, the sky above their house changed color. There was one brilliantly deep-but-bright blue streak showing behind the branches of the huge oak in their yard; between the blue and the horizon were several shades of orange and red, ranging from pastel orange, through a shade best described as that of a Creamsicle, through red-orange on to deep red. Soon, the colors shifted so that the sky almost looked bruised. That streak of brilliant blue remained until just before the families across the street headed out at dark.
The first place the group headed was directly across the street to see what goodies I was passing out.
"Hey, Robin," our neighbor, H.G., said. "How's it going?"
"Okay," I told her. "How about you?"
"Not bad," she smiled.
The group wandered off, heading south, no doubt hitting up other houses throughout the neighborhood.
Later, the lady next door called over. She, too, was out on her porch, passing out candy. "Any idea what's going on at the park?" R. asked. The back entrance to one of the city's larger parks is only a few houses away from us. It's close enough that it takes me all of a minute to get there. We could see the lights on at the park. While the city's website had mentioned a family-style Halloween gathering at a large field near the city's main fire station, replete with candy for the kids, I'd seen nothing about anything going on at our neighborhood park.
For the next couple of hours, R. and I passed out candy, getting a kick out of different groups of trick-or-treaters, commenting back and forth between bursts of vampires and princesses.
At one point, my son M. mentioned that someone had called but he hadn't gotten to the phone in time. After dialing voicemail, I listened as an automated voice reminded me of my doctor's appointment on Monday. It was funny in that 1) the doctor's office had called around noon to reschedule the appointment to next month, and 2) it was probably 8:00 p.m. while I was outside, passing out Halloween candy. Definitely one of those That's the crazy part of automation for you moments. Then, not five minutes later, the phone rang again. It was a fund-raiser, seeing if I'd donate to..."Nope, not now," I told the fund-raiser.
"But it's for a good cause!" he told me.
"Put me on your Do Not Call list," I said, then hung up as another group came up the sidewalk.
Finally, candy gone, R. called out her good-night and I called back. I watched as the group across the street wandered home. And finally, I wandered in, turning off the front porch light.
This morning, I noticed that H.G. had posted pictures of the kids trading candy on the living room floor. The years my kids did that - "I'll trade you all my Snickers for you Now-And-Laters!" "Okay!" - were years ago. And my sister and brother and me doing that are but a dream.
But as long as there are kids who love candy and dressing up, and parents willing to take their kids around, and neighbors willing to see what kind of cool costumes the kids are wearing while passing out candy, Halloween will remain part of our culture.
I'll still think of it as the beginning of the holiday season.
Friday, October 25, 2013
Karma and Drexie Calabash
My two cats have been acting a little crazy the past few weeks. Whether it's from the shortening days, the weather, just feeling extra good, or the fact that they're cats (or all of the above) is anyone's guess. But they've been going through periods throughout the day when I swear the two of them are banking off the walls. As hard as they've been playing, it's kind-of amazing they haven't gone through the walls, especially Karma.
Karma Kitty is a black male cat, replete with cattitude. He has a habit of getting on the arm of the couch and straddling it, the way a panther would straddle a large branch. From there, it's relatively easy for our miniature panther to survey his domain, take a nap, pounce on unsuspecting people (or his sister) or take a swipe at bare arms. He had topped out at twelve pounds and change, but after being put on a special diet the end of last year, he's dropped down to ten. It's all muscle, though. He's also, without a doubt, the smartest cat I've ever known, as well as the coolest. Think Einstein/jazz musician/male model/snuggle bug rolled up in one. (Okay, that might be over the top, but you get the idea.)
Drexie, on the other hand, is a delicate six-pounder, a loveable ditz whose taste for exploration (as well as occasionally whooping up on Karma) is so ingrained in her personality (cat-ality?) that, had she been human, would have landed her in the history books.
It was this tendency toward exploration that got her into trouble this afternoon. Actually, it got her stuck in the dryer.
Normally, if I'm doing laundry, I'll check to see where Karm and Drex are before starting the washer or dryer, since they've been known to try climbing into the machines when the doors are open. Doesn't matter if they're full of laundry or not.
Drexie is worse at this than Karm is. She's also been known to duck into the pots-and-pans cupboard, then get into the silverware drawer. This takes a little doing, but entails climbing on a shelf near the back of the storage area, then climb into the back of the silverware drawer, flattening her tiny self into the small space, then putting her front paws into the silverware trays.
The first time she did this, it was a total surprise. I had fixed myself a cup of tea and wanted to get a spoon to stir it with. Opening the drawer, I discovered I could only pull it out so far before I got swatted by a white paw on the end of a tabby leg. Hmmm... I thought. Either I'd better do a better job of washing the furry silverware, or there's a certain cat in there. I had to take the trays out before I could get Drexie out. And yes, the silverware got rewashed.
I've since secured the cupboards under the sink so that a certain explorer can't get back in there.
Getting back to the dryer...I'd taken the laundry out, stuck it into a basket, and turned my back on the dryer for all of maybe thirty seconds, if that. Then I shut the machine.
About half-an-hour later, Karma was sitting in front of the dryer when I went to put a last load in. He kept chatting at me, then looking at the dryer.
"What is it, Karm?" I asked. He kept meowing, then looking back at the dryer. He's smart, but has yet to move beyond meowing, which does occasionally make communication a little dicey.
Then I heard a very faint mew. Karma was sitting there, staring at me like he was thinking, Well...? I opened the back door, but there was no cat in sight. Again, the faint mew, at which point, Karma swatted my leg, then patted the dryer door. (Did I mention he's smart? He's just not subtle.)
When I didn't respond immediately, there was another faint mew and Karma smacked my leg harder, then touched the front of the dryer, before running off.
At that point, I opened the dryer and out walked Drexie, who gave me a look like, It's about time!
Guess I'll have to make sure I know where the little wench is at all times. Guess I'll also have to listen to Karma, too.
Karma Kitty is a black male cat, replete with cattitude. He has a habit of getting on the arm of the couch and straddling it, the way a panther would straddle a large branch. From there, it's relatively easy for our miniature panther to survey his domain, take a nap, pounce on unsuspecting people (or his sister) or take a swipe at bare arms. He had topped out at twelve pounds and change, but after being put on a special diet the end of last year, he's dropped down to ten. It's all muscle, though. He's also, without a doubt, the smartest cat I've ever known, as well as the coolest. Think Einstein/jazz musician/male model/snuggle bug rolled up in one. (Okay, that might be over the top, but you get the idea.)
Drexie, on the other hand, is a delicate six-pounder, a loveable ditz whose taste for exploration (as well as occasionally whooping up on Karma) is so ingrained in her personality (cat-ality?) that, had she been human, would have landed her in the history books.
It was this tendency toward exploration that got her into trouble this afternoon. Actually, it got her stuck in the dryer.
Normally, if I'm doing laundry, I'll check to see where Karm and Drex are before starting the washer or dryer, since they've been known to try climbing into the machines when the doors are open. Doesn't matter if they're full of laundry or not.
Drexie is worse at this than Karm is. She's also been known to duck into the pots-and-pans cupboard, then get into the silverware drawer. This takes a little doing, but entails climbing on a shelf near the back of the storage area, then climb into the back of the silverware drawer, flattening her tiny self into the small space, then putting her front paws into the silverware trays.
The first time she did this, it was a total surprise. I had fixed myself a cup of tea and wanted to get a spoon to stir it with. Opening the drawer, I discovered I could only pull it out so far before I got swatted by a white paw on the end of a tabby leg. Hmmm... I thought. Either I'd better do a better job of washing the furry silverware, or there's a certain cat in there. I had to take the trays out before I could get Drexie out. And yes, the silverware got rewashed.
I've since secured the cupboards under the sink so that a certain explorer can't get back in there.
Getting back to the dryer...I'd taken the laundry out, stuck it into a basket, and turned my back on the dryer for all of maybe thirty seconds, if that. Then I shut the machine.
About half-an-hour later, Karma was sitting in front of the dryer when I went to put a last load in. He kept chatting at me, then looking at the dryer.
"What is it, Karm?" I asked. He kept meowing, then looking back at the dryer. He's smart, but has yet to move beyond meowing, which does occasionally make communication a little dicey.
Then I heard a very faint mew. Karma was sitting there, staring at me like he was thinking, Well...? I opened the back door, but there was no cat in sight. Again, the faint mew, at which point, Karma swatted my leg, then patted the dryer door. (Did I mention he's smart? He's just not subtle.)
When I didn't respond immediately, there was another faint mew and Karma smacked my leg harder, then touched the front of the dryer, before running off.
At that point, I opened the dryer and out walked Drexie, who gave me a look like, It's about time!
Guess I'll have to make sure I know where the little wench is at all times. Guess I'll also have to listen to Karma, too.
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