poetry in motion

I used to think of myself as somewhat of a poet.  I could get my rhyme on with the best of them.  But lately, I have felt as if my poetic sensibilities have been somewhat dulled by the realities of life.  Who has time to be poetic when raising teenagers, battling the effects of high blood pressure, and moving households?

That was when I remembered that life is all about poetry.  There is poetry in the mundane; you just have to look for it. 

I watched my husband draw out the plans for our built-in bookcases this evening.  It is quite beautiful to watch something come together from drawing to reality.  It is, in essence, poetry.

My living room is the place destined for the new built-in. 

The room has already come a long way from the first day I saw it—pineapple yellow walls, bare of any interest—the room looked small and cramped with nothing in it.  I saw something in that space that wasn’t there.  And it isn’t there yet, but it’s getting there. 

And tomorrow we will take it one more step closer.  In the interest of poetry, I thought I’d bring you along for the ride. 

The room the way it was the fist time I saw it...

Then I painted the walls...

And added some curtains...(note the different angle showing you more of the room this time)

Next I added a little furniture (but since we hadn't fully moved it, nothing is properly placed just yet)...

Check back tomorrow for pictures as the room starts to come together...

Or for more pictures, get a free member login and go to the Gallery for more pictures!

Until the next time...I'll be building bookcases! 

two refrigerators are better than one

I suppose I could be considered a collector.

We already know I collect magazines.  I also like clocks, white pottery, and old books.  Oh and refrigerators. I now have two.

I don't need two. I just wanted a different one. 

My husband...who, for some strange reason, loves me...agreed to let me get the new refrigerator despite his strong reservations.  He thought the old refrigerator was perfectly fine.  Probably because he picked it out five years ago.

I didn't want the side by side fridge.  I wanted the fancy French door variety...and now I have one. 

Now I have to sell one lightly used, never loved, side by side refrigerator.  I will be putting an ad on craigslist tomorrow.  If I'm lucky I will sell it before the weekend is over.  My kitchen may be spacious, but it is a little cramped with two refrigerators in it. 

Oh, and by the way, my husband changed his mind once we swapped all the food from the old refrigerator to the new one.  It has much more room, and because of the design, it has way better form and function.  I may have my quirks, but I really do have a good sense of balance and design.  He really should have trusted my instincts.  I'm sure he will, every time he reaches in the new Kitchen Aid to retrieve his grapefruit juice...now that he can find it in its new spacious spot.

Until the next time...I'll be opening and closing the doors to see if the light really does go out!

ghosts get tired too

Yawn…

I just took the most wonderful nap.

Ordinarily, I don’t like naps.  I always feel groggy for hours after.  Today, my nap was a total accident.  I just nodded off for a minute…next thing I knew, that minute had become two hours. 

I guess I'm so tired because I’ve been working really hard over the past few days to complete a project that I agreed to take on.  I’m quite pleased with how it is turning out, it is just exhausting.  Writing is my thing, but this is a different kind of writing.  I would elaborate, but that would sort of defeat the idea of “ghost writing” if I told everyone what I was working on. 

Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time I couldn’t take credit for work well done.  I can’t even remember all of the “A’s” I have earned for papers I can’t take credit for.  I just know I’ve been ghost writing for people since high school. At least this time I'm getting paid for it.

So back to the ghost writing I go—refreshed and ready to work!

I need to get this done by the weekend.  Mike and I have a project around the house.  I’m very excited about that! My house, with all of its vintage charm, needs a little work, and finally we are getting to the list of projects.  Don't worry, I will take lots of before and after photos. 

Watch for those this weekend!

Until the next time…I’ll be working on completing my ghost work!

ghosts and ghost writers

Could it be a coincedence that I find myself living with a ghost right about the same time someone asks me to ghost write a project for them? 

I think not.

I have been working diligently to finish the task at hand, and found myself without a single minute to work on my own blog!  The good news is, I'm getting paid for the ghost writing. Can I just say, there is almost nothing better than getting paid to do something you love?  The bad news is, I decided to buy the dogs new squeaky toys on the eve of my deadline. 

Not smart on my part. 

The dogs have been running around the house at full speed, trying to liberate each other of their toys.  The toys are identical, but apparently to the dogs, there is something much more exciting about the toys in each other's mouths.

I felt like I was in a Calgon commercial.

The house is pretty quiet now...other than the sound of Indy snoring...and I'm getting pretty used to that sound.  Strange as it may sound, I find it a little soothing.  Sort of like falling asleep to a thunderstorm. 

In fact, it's beginning to put me to sleep as I type.

I guess that means it's time to head off to bed.  And not a minute too soon.

Until the next time...I'll be the ghost around the house for a while!

just another day

I have definitely had worse Valentine’s Days. 

Today didn’t even make my top five all time worse Valentine’s or anything.  The year my husband tried to tell me that Valentine’s Day was just another day, and a stupid one at that—that year would undeniably make the list.  Almost any year while I was married to my ex-husband could be a contender for the list. 

But this year?  This was not a bad Valentine’s Day, just a disappointing one.

The day started out fine—most days do.  In fact, I made it through most of the day without incident.  Mike and I made tentative plans for how we would spend our Valentine’s Day.  I was going to cook dinner at home, and we would go see a movie after.  There was nothing wrong with the plan. 

The execution was tragically flawed.

I had just put dinner in the oven when Joey escaped.  It only took one moment of not paying attention and—poof!  I was certain my dinner would be ruined while I was forced to drive in circles around the neighborhood searching for our wayward pet.  I was pleasantly surprised to find him before I even made it to end of the driveway. 

Dinner was saved.

I took dinner out of the over just after six.  In fact, I took dinner out of the over around the same time Mike was leaving the office.  The problem with that?  His office is at least an hour long drive from home in rush hour traffic. 

I kept dinner warm as I searched the movie times to find something that, a) we would both enjoy and b) something that wasn’t showing too early.  The pickings were slim.  I didn’t find anything I was overly interested in, which meant Mike would be even less interested. 

Mike walked in just before seven thirty and we ate dinner, standing up in the kitchen (because the table is still piled high with boxes from the move) and debated our options for entertainment for the evening.

I decided that rather than go see a movie just to say we did,  it might be more fun to drive to Atlanta and walk around the shops in Atlantic Station. 

Mike agreed, and off we went.

We got to Atlantic Station at eight-thirty.  Exactly thirty minutes before everything closed.  By the time we parked and got out of the car, we had less than twenty minutes to walk around before heading back to the northern suburbs.

We were going to stop for dessert, but by the time we picked up one of the girls from a friend’s house and took her home, the restaurants were already getting ready to close up for the night. 

Instead, we sat in separate chairs, on separate laptops surfing the internet and watching HGTV. 

I didn’t even get flowers this year.

But tomorrow is another day, and flowers will be on sale everywhere.  And to quote my husband, “Valentine’s Day is just another day.” 

So I guess I’ll just celebrate mine tomorrow.

Until the next time…I’ll be shopping for flowers!

am I barking up the wrong tree?

Someone told me that I can’t compare training my puppy with teaching their child. 

What I want to know is why?

When our kids go off to kindergarten they are told to sit and stay, and if they behave themselves, someone will give them a cookie.  How is that really all that different than teaching my puppy to sit and stay, giving him a treat when he does?  Are we not trying to accomplish basically the same thing here?  I am trying to mentor my puppy to become a better citizen.  I am trying to ensure that when I take him into a social situation he behaves appropriately.  And I can almost guarantee that my puppy will behave in a far more civilized manner in a group setting than many of the pre-schoolers I taught more than a decade ago. 

Now, I’m not suggesting that your child should be treated like a dog.

What I am actually saying is that perhaps my dog should be treated more like a child.  He is a living, breathing, creature who loves his family unconditionally, and often gets little respect for his devotion.

Before you think I may have gone off the deep end, I’m not suggesting that my puppy (no matter how loveable he may be) can be directly compared to a human child.  He is a dog.  I do understand that.  But just because he is a dog doesn’t mean that he doesn’t deserve to be treated with kindness and fairness. 

This brings me to the point I was trying to make.

I read an article the other day about Michael Vick.  The city of Dallas, Texas had apparently given him the key to the city—something that would have never occurred if the lives he had taken had been human.   I don’t think he should be so easily forgiven for the horrible crimes he committed.  Having paid for his crimes with prison doesn’t make them any less heinous in my book.  He certainly doesn’t deserve to be celebrated by an entire city. 

Enough of my rant.  I’m certain I’m not alone in my sentiments. 

Back to my dog.

He is currently doing very well in school—a star pupil, in fact—he graduates in just three weeks.  He may not be one of my children, but he does love me unconditionally.  And that is good enough for me.

Until the next time…I’ll be stocking up on doggy treats for the last few weeks of training!

you call that a shower?

I am ready for an upgrade.

Ok, so I'm ready for a lot of upgrades.  The new house, although loaded with vintage charm and character, is desperately lacking in some areas that I would consider crucial.  The item that is coming to mind right now is the shower in the master bathroom. 

I know my standards are skewed.  I was spoiled at the old house.  We had a shower built for two.  But I'm not asking for something quite so grand...so opulent.  I'm really not being greedy, I just want something remotely normal. 

First of all, it's a corner shower.  Secondly, it is the smallest corner shower I have ever seen. In fact, I think I've seen larger showers in a camper! There is absolutely no place you can stand without being directly in the spray from the shower head.  This may not sound like a problem, but have you ever tried washing your hair with the water constantly rinsing out the shampoo before you even have a chance to lather? 

Exactly.

Or how about this one...try shaving your legs when you don't have enough room to lift your leg, or bend even slightly at the waist without your ass sticking out the door.  And about that door.  It doesn't have one.  It has a curtain.  A curtain that hangs just above the floor and doesn't keep the water inside along the bottom.  Then again, the curtain is the only reason I don't feel completely claustrophobic while showering. 

When my daughter asked me if I was suddenly adopting more "European" grooming habits, I decided I would become more familiar with long soaks in the tub instead. I may not be able to wash my hair without difficulty, but I can definitely shave my legs. 

Life is full of compromises, I guess. 

I could try to look at things in a more positive light...which brings me to the next thing that needs upgrading.  Did I mention that the lights keep going out in the master bedroom and bathroom?  But bathing by candlelight is actually pretty romantic. 

I could get used to that.

Until the next time...I'll be deciding whether to shave my legs or wash my hair in the morning.

this is getting a bit ridiculous

In the ongoing saga of “Joey, the runaway dog,” Joey managed to get out of the house again today, and once he hit the yard, it was only a matter of time before he was under the loose boards in the fence and onto parts unknown. 

This would be just your ordinary tale of Joey pulls another Dogdini, but this time it wasn’t someone in the family who opened the back door for him to get out.  This time it would appear it was the “ghost.”

We have known since before we moved in that something was creaking around in this house other than the old floorboards.  I knew it from the moment I brought Indy over to the house and he freaked out.  He was terrified, and there was nothing in the house to be afraid of. 

Nothing I could see anyway. 

I don’t know if dogs can see things people can’t, but I suspect they can.  I often see the dogs staring at something in an empty room as if they are staring into the face of someone they don’t know.  The fur on their backs stands up, their body language changes, they stand alert and ready to defend their family—from what…I don’t know—and then they stand down.  As if the threat has vanished…as quickly as it arrived. 

And now, we have a back door that suddenly opens by itself.  It didn’t always do that.  But it does now.  And through that open door, walked Joey.  Then he made his way to the yard, and the spot in the fence where he can squeeze out.  And almost two hours later, Alexa and I thought we saw him in the woods along the road.  Alexa—clad in only her flannel pajamas and slippers—got out of the car and set off on foot to catch him.  She braved the briars and brambles only to discover that it was a golden retriever.  Not Joey.  Disappointed, she climbed back into the car.  As we headed back toward home, the golden retriever followed us as if to say…take me with you! 

Can you imagine that? 

My husband would have my head if I brought home another stray.  But don’t worry…the golden wasn’t a stray…he had a collar, and from what I could tell as we got further away, he lived in the house along the same stretch of road we stopped at. 

As for Joey?  We found him almost a mile away. 

Safe and sound.

And quite happy to be going home I might add.  It was time for his lunch.

I may actually have to take my mother’s advice and get a Shakespeare collar for Joey.  They are meant to keep dogs from licking stitches after surgery, but I imagine they would make it nearly impossible to slip under a fence too.  Good idea Mom…I should have done that days ago!

Until the next time…I’ll be looking for a book on evicting unwanted roommates!

can a dog see ghosts?

As the snow melted, so did the bad feeling from the day before.

So on this lovely Thursday morning, I got up, had breakfast, fed the dogs, and climbed back into bed to snuggle under the covers for a little longer.  For the first time in a week, there was nothing I really had to do.

I wasn’t alone…the dogs hopped into the bed for their mid-morning naps too…they never have anything they have to do.  I am sort of envious of the lives of my lazy dogs.  All three of them are sleeping at my feet—Indy is snoring so loudly that I had to turn up the volume on the television—not a care in the world.

But I wouldn’t trade them for anything. 

My dogs have been my security blanket since the move.  Moving is always a little on the stressful side—the awkward transition to a new neighborhood, the feeling of trepidation as you hear the things that go bump in the night, the bit of homesickness for your usual surroundings.  But as I was contemplating getting a security system, my husband reminded me that I already have one…a live one.  I have three dogs that would each lay down their lives to protect mine. 

Especially from the cats.

Because according to the dogs, the cats are the most dangerous creatures I could possibly come across! And it is a nice, quiet—and very safe—neighborhood. 

The cats notwithstanding.

Have I mentioned how well we are settling in?  Other than the resident ghost…there haven’t been many surprises!

Until the next time…I’ll be cuddling up with my lazy dogs for a good night’s sleep!

why does “bad day” seem like such an understatement?

I had an argument with my daughter today.

It was one of those arguments that leaves you somewhat rattled after.  An argument that left us both in tears.  I know it will blow over, arguments like that always do, but until then I feel sick inside. 

The details are not important; they have been played out many times before.  The only thing that is important is that in the end, I love my daughter.  And I would hope she loves me—arguments notwithstanding.  And I would really hope that one day, when I’m gone, she will have mostly good memories of our times together. 

Suffice it to say that my day was…well, I’m not even sure what my day was.  I got a lot done in the “unpacking” department, but failed miserably in the “working well with others” area.  I got in a little walk, but it wasn’t planned, and I wouldn’t consider it in the “win” column for the day. 

On the brighter side of things, it is snowing again in Atlanta. 

I don’t know why that would be on the brighter side, other than snow is pretty to watch from afar.  I may downgrade it in the morning when I discover I am snowed in and I don’t have any milk.  For now, I’m going to watch the snowflakes fall against the back deck and remind myself that tomorrow is another day. 

And I’m betting it will be an improvement over today.  I’m pretty sure I have a better than fifty percent chance of being right!

Until the next time…I’ll be watching snowflakes and making wishes!

who deserves a night off?

I just might deserve a night off.  I’ve had a long day. 

Joey escaped from the yard yet again, and we spend forty-five minutes searching for him down every side road within a mile radius of the new house.  Just as we were about to give up looking, he came running out of nowhere on the road to home.  I am now researching a GPS collar for our runaway dog. 

Amid the chaos with the dog, Alexa got her braces off today.  But not until I had made the large final payment to the orthodontist.  Alexa may be free of the braces, but I am finally (after two and a half years) free of the orthodontist bill!  Now I just have to make sure she wears her retainer, and doesn’t lose it!

Just when I thought I was going to be able to sit and read a few magazines, Mike informed me that Lauren had her weekly appointment, and he was tied up in a meeting.  This weekly appointment takes place on the other side of town, right in the middle of rush hour traffic, and guess who got to drive her?  You guessed it…me! 

I had to brave the traffic in both directions to take her to her hour long appointment.   I brought a few magazines with me for the wait, but I never did get a chance to look at them.  Instead I took a few minutes to run down the aisles of Wal-Mart after dropping her off.  I was looking for something specific, but all I ended up getting was another magazine and a bottle of water. 

I think I may need to go to magazine rehab. 

I recycled at least two hundred of them in the move, and I still have enough to fill up several shelves of the bookcase.  I find it hard to part with them.  They each have something special in them that I feel I will miss if they are gone.  I found two giant boxes of magazines in the basement that I hadn’t looked at in at least five years. 

I took my mother’s advice and recycled them rather than saving them. 

When I got back home, after smuggling in the new magazine I bought, Mike and I made a trip to Home Depot to return several things that we bought with the intention of using only to change our minds soon after.  We ended up with almost three hundred dollars back in our pockets and several things out of our kitchen.  Of course, we couldn’t get out of Home Depot without buying a few more things.  

We immediately used our new purchases upon returning home.  We now have a pretty light fixture at the front door instead of the ugly one that was there before.  We also have our TV mounted on the wall instead of leaning against it as it has been for the past two weeks. 

All in all the house is starting to come together.

And I am completely exhausted and need a night off!

I think I will go straight to bed instead of writing a blog tonight.  I believe I’ve earned it…haven’t I?  I went an entire year without missing a day.  One day of non-blogging won’t cause any harm…will it? 

Oh wait…I’ve already written it, haven’t I?

Until the next time…I’ll be sleeping in!

the night the incandescent lights went out in georgia

Today was a nice day.

And I’m not talking about the weather.  I spent some time with my son, who celebrated his twenty first birthday yesterday and was excited to take his first trip to the wine and beer store.  Who else would he want to go with him to buy spirits, but his mother?

Not that I was any help in choosing tasty beers.  I have never been much of a drinker, and lucky for me, my son is much like me in that respect.  He has come to the conclusion that he is not much of a beer drinker either.  Nonetheless, we managed to find a few dessert beers for him to try and I have every confidence that he will partake of his choices responsibly.

Once I was back at home, Mike and I decided to tackle more of the light bulb changing around the house. 

And on tonight’s episode of, “Holy shit I can’t believe they did THAT!”

I have no idea who lived in our house before we did, but they obviously did not mind astronomical electrical bills.

In our mission to change out all of the inefficient incandescent bulbs for the more efficient compact fluorescent bulbs, we ran across a light fixture that was burning two one hundred watt bulbs.  For those who do not understand the impact of that, it is equivalent to the energy of running a forty two inch plasma television.  If left on all day, this single light fixture would cost about eleven dollars per month.  Multiply that by the number of light fixtures in a single family home, and you can imagine how much that would add up to in electric bills.

Now, as if the dollars and cents of this scenario doesn’t boggle the mind enough, how about this…the light fixture was only rated for a maximum of one hundred and fifty watts.  This may explain why the wires in the fixture had melted to the point of near disintegration.  We have since changed out the entire fixture, using compact fluorescent bulbs with a combined wattage of twenty two watts. 

So far, between the kitchen and the living room, we have made an 81% reduction in total wattage and have calculated our electric savings to come to somewhere in the ballpark of $130 per month. 

I have not even gone through the four bedrooms, or three bathrooms as of yet.  I am certain we will find inefficiencies (and savings) there as well. 

But do not mistake my excitement as some new found love of compact fluorescent bulbs.  I still hate them.  But I do like saving money, and I have plans for that extra $130 a month! 

Oh, and my husband told me I can leave the lights on as much as I want.  I might just do that.

Until the next time…I’ll be shopping for a few new lamps!

bulb wars

Bulb wars…as in light bulb wars, for the uninformed.

Mike and I spent another grueling afternoon trying to find the perfect compromise between my beloved incandescent bulb (bane of the “green” community) and his more environmental (and energy conscious) choice, the dreaded compact fluorescent swirly bulbs.

Now, we were not discussing the merits of using said bulb in a table lamp, camouflaged under a pretty linen shade.  No, we were contemplating the ramifications of changing out all of the bulbs in the recessed cans in both the kitchen and the living room.  This is a huge decision that will very likely have long lasting, deeply felt consequences that only I will care about. 

Mike doesn’t care about the esthetics of the light bulb.  He only cares about the dollars and cents…possibly the environmental impact.  Compact fluorescent bulbs last years longer than incandescent bulbs and use significantly less electricity compared to the incandescent.  He was excited to discover that the combined wattage of thirteen compact fluorescent bulbs was just over the wattage of one of the existing bulbs in the recessed cans.  This would drastically reduce the energy usage in the kitchen alone.  He had not even calculated the savings in the living room yet.   

But the entire time he was calculating the savings in our electric bill, I was imagining the strange shadows and unnatural colors the new lights would give off.

He may be consumed by the energy costs, but I care about the warmth of the light.  I care about the different levels of brightness in a room.  Ultimately, I care about how the light makes me feel.  And fluorescent lights make me feel uncomfortable. 

Are you feeling the enormity of this decision yet?

When it comes right down to it, I could hardly argue the fact that the simple task of changing out a bunch of light bulbs would amount to a huge savings over the course of a year.  But if I was going to compromise my emotional response to the light, I was at least going to take the time to find the compact fluorescent that comes the closest to resembling the warm, flattering glow of the soon to be outlawed incandescent light bulb. 

In the spirit of compromise, I agreed to an experiment.  We would try several different compact fluorescents in between two regular incandescent bulbs.   Mike claims that there isn’t a noticeable difference between the two bulbs—obviously I disagree—so he was less than happy when I vetoed every bulb he put into the socket. 

One was too bright, another too dim.  One cast horrible green shadows on the cabinets, another cast an icy blue tone.  The more I continued to point out the warm, happy glow coming from the old bulbs, the more exasperated he became. 

I was trying desperately to explain to him what I was looking for, without much luck.  Finally I dragged him into the living room where I had used a fluorescent bulb two weeks ago when I didn’t have an incandescent to replace a blown bulb.  This was one I could live with.  Why couldn’t we just find a bulb like this one?

It was one of those eureka moments.  I could actually see the proverbial “light bulb” over my husband’s head as it dawned on him that the solution was as easy as finding a bulb with a lower wattage and a smaller profile.  Our enormous problem was solved.

Off to Wal-Mart we went.

After filling our cart with every remaining compact fluorescent bulb of the size we needed, we were on our way home to screw them all in.  I would end with a joke about how many conservationists does it take to screw in a compact fluorescent bulb, but I don’t know any. 

I can’t honestly say I like the new bulbs, but I can live with them.  That’s what compromise is about I guess.  Although I don’t know where the compromise was on his end…he got what he wanted this time.  Next time it’s my turn…did I mention I’m looking for a new sofa?

Until the next time…I might just be wearing my sunglasses at night!

things are looking up

I had an interesting conversation with my husband and the youngest of our bunch.  We were discussing words and their meanings.  It all started with the word quench.

Mady was trying to quench her thirst for knowledge and she was going to start by finding out what “quench” actually meant.  As the resident expert, I did the explaining.  Since I was so quick with an answer, Mady decided to run through a list of words she considered “weird” for one reason or another, and I shared a few that I considered “weird”. 

Before long, Mady asked me what the plural of moose was.  She knew it wasn’t mice or meese in the manner of mouse or goose.  And I explained that it was more like deer and fish, they are the same no matter if you have one or many.   That brought up the topic of singular and plurals and how some of them don’t make sense. 

I have to admit, I am baffled as to why underwear is considered a pair, and therefore plural, but a bra is a singular.  It would seem to me the opposite should be true.  If anything would need to be plural it would be a bra.  I would love it if someone could explain that to me. 

Not that it matters in the grand scheme of things.  I will still wear them either way. 

Speaking of underwear, I’ve been wearing mine right side out lately.  I’m not sure what that means either.  Does it mean I’m paying more attention? Or does it just mean my luck is getting better?  I’m going to go with my luck is changing for the better.  Things are looking up.  I mean, just the other day, the groundhog predicted an early spring.  And it couldn’t come at a better time.  I am ready for spring.  Spring means Girl Scout cookies are right around the corner…and I could go for a tube of Thin Mints right about now. 

How about you?

Until the next time…I’ll be wearing my underwear in pairs, no matter how silly that may be!

nothing says loving like a new dishwasher!

Today was the first day, in what now seems like forever, that I have felt settled.  I managed to get the kitchen into some degree of organized, and put several containers of things in their proper places. I even cooked dinner in the cursed electric stove and did a load of dishes in the old dishwasher that came with the house. 

I know it won’t happen overnight, or even in a weekend, but I now believe that I will feel at home in my new house…sooner or later. 

And on the topic of sooner or later, and the dishwasher…it had better be sooner than later when Mike gets around to changing the old one for my shiny stainless steel version.  I didn’t notice, until more than three hours had passed, that the dishwasher never moved out of the wash cycle.  It was stuck in a loop and I do believe I have the cleanest dishes ever.  On the other hand, whatever it is that is collecting in the corners and crevices of that old dishwasher did not wash away even after three hours.  It would appear that the old dishwasher is long past its prime and needs to be put out to pasture. 

I am beginning to think I won’t be far behind!

Is it possible that I am still sore this many days after moving things into the new house?  I wouldn’t have thought so, but I am fairly certain that I am actually allergic to moving.  I hurt all over, and every time I get up from sitting, my knees protest loudly.  I may be joining that old dishwasher in the pasture if I’m not careful.  I am trying to convince my husband that all I need is a nice hour long massage.  It would very likely help, and it certainly can’t hurt.  I think he might be up for the idea too.  We could get a couple’s massage and tie it in to Valentine’s Day.  That’s coming right around the corner, you know. 

Speaking of Valentine’s Day…

I’ve been dropping hints all week.  Mike sent me flowers last year, and I don’t want him to forget how much I appreciated those flowers just in case he hasn’t planned anything yet for this year.  He isn’t a fan of Valentine’s Day, and I tend to agree that it might be bordering on the ridiculous, but that being said, he had better not forget.  After all, it’s easy to call Valentine’s Day a silly holiday when you get flowers.  It is something completely different if they forget.  It becomes a statement about your relationship.  It becomes a symbol for how little he values you. 

Forgetting Valentine’s Day is the kiss of death for a husband. 

I really don’t expect grand gestures or anything.  I would be happy with a card and a bunch of grocery store bought daisies.  At least I would know he recognized the importance of showing up with something.  Because at the end of that day, that is what Valentine’s Day is all about—did he show up with something?

I’m sure he will…he does read my blog, you know.

Until the next time…I’ll be making a massage appointment right away!

pick a box, any box

I am digging through the rubble in an attempt to put my new house together.  This is reason number one to hate moving. 

I’ve moved before, of course. I’ve done it many, many times.  I’ve moved cross country twice.  Both times were corporate moves where the movers come in and pack up for you, move all of your belongings, and then unpack at the new destination.  I’ve also had moves where I packed my own things and moved across town. I’m not sure if there is much of a difference once you get all of your stuff inside a new home.  Movers may unpack for you, but they certainly don’t put things away.  That job will always rest solely on your shoulders.  Or mine as it were.

So today was spent doing little more than putting things away.

Since the sink was now draining properly thanks to my husband’s fast acting drain cleaner, I decided to wash some dishes.  This was a wonderful idea until I discovered that the sink has a crack in it and leaks into the cabinet below. 

I suppose I could use the dishwasher, but it’s gross so I refuse.  I won’t use a dishwasher until my very own dishwasher is installed. 

I should have that same conviction where the stove is concerned, but I did cook dinner this evening—using an electric stove.  I miss my six burner Wolf gas stove.  Changing the stove is also on the long “do to list.”

Who knows when we will get to that.

But I need to remember that Rome wasn’t built in a day, and my house won’t be put together in a weekend.  At least not this weekend. 

I guess I could keep shooting for the one after that. 

Until the next time…I’ll be unpacking!

six less weeks of winter?

If you get seven years of bad luck for breaking a mirror, what price do you pay for running over the groundhog on the same day he predicts an early spring? Should I be more concerned about six weeks of bad luck or six more weeks of winter? 

From the minute I woke up this morning until the moment I sat down to write my blog, my day was a total disaster. 

Honestly, it should have been a good day.  I was due.  For starters, the groundhog—my nemesis from last year—didn’t see his shadow, and we are expecting an early spring.  This doesn’t happen very often, especially with news crews surrounding him with artificial light.  I don’t know exactly what an early spring means.  When can we expect winter to be over?  Can I please get a precise date?   

But I digress…                  

Upon discovering that winter was officially on its way out, I decided that it would be a great day to take the dog for a ride.  I needed to buy dog food (a store he can actually enter) and he loves to go with me.  I got his leash out, hooked him up, and let him drag me to the driveway.

That was as far as we got. 

Mike had forgotten to unhitch the trailer from the back of the Land Rover.  I would have put Indy in the backseat while I struggled with the trailer, but the backseat was still filled with things from moving.  I apologized to my dog and took him back to the house.  There would be no trip for him today.  In hindsight I could have used his help to move the trailer once I unhitched it. 

One sprained wrist and a partially dislocated finger later, the trailer was parked haphazardly in the grass and I was on my way to buy dog food.  Another hour after that, three hungry dogs were pushing to be the first one to eat, as I tore into the bag, careful not to hurt my already hurt hand.  Once they had eaten, I put them out in the yard—pretty standard lunchtime stuff.  I would love to say that having one of the dogs escape the yard isn’t standard, but where Joey is concerned, it is more standard than I would like.  So I hopped back into the Land Rover, armed with his favorite squeaky toy, and began my forty-five minute circle around the neighborhood. 

I was almost ready to give up when my cell phone rang.  It was a man who lived three streets over.  He had found Joey. 

Once that adventure was over I decided to do something more ordinary—dishes.

Doing the dishes would have been far more effective if the sink had drained.  As I ran the water, the sink filled.  The only problem was, I hadn’t put the plug in the drain.  I didn’t get very far washing dishes before I had to stop. 

I added the drain and the hole in the fence to the growing list of “to do” items for Mike.  It is a very long list.  He would need those extra six weeks to get it all done before spring. 

For the rest of my day, I attempted to unpack as many boxes as I could, and put as much away as I was able.  I am definitely feeling a little overwhelmed with everything that needs to be done around the house now that we have boxes and baskets of stuff everywhere.  I was happy to take a break from the unpacking when my daughter asked me to run an errand. 

It was cold and dark when I got into the Land Rover and headed out into the night. 

I was driving along minding my own business, paying attention to the road (not texting or anything,) when he ran out in front of me.  I tried to stop, but there was no time.  I hit him.  The groundhog.  On groundhog’s day. 

What are the odds? 

Actually, the odds are against it.  On closer inspection I realized that it wasn’t even a groundhog.  It was an opossum.  They don’t care if they see their shadows.  They have no effect whatsoever on spring.  But I still felt bad—poor little thing.

I am just glad today is over.  I just hope I don't wake up and have to live it all over again like Bill Murray!

Until the next time…I’ll be starting my spring diet early since winter is ending soon!

a diatribe on bullies

Whatever happened to the good old days when you had to be in the same room with someone to bully them?

I’m not condoning bullies or being a bully, but the point is, you had to be brave back then. You actually had to stand reasonably close to a person to verbally attack them. There was a certain level of risk involved...the subject of your bullying could potentially beat you up.  And you stood toe to toe in the school lunch room, or playground, and stared each other down until someone handed over their hard earned lunch money—or fought back, sending the bully home with a black eye or at least a bruised ego.

Not anymore.

In this new world we live in, where lunch money is stored on a computer to be retrieved at the front of the lunch line, the sissies (I mean bullies) choose to do their trash talking on their laptops, or cell phones,  from the safety of their closets, tree forts, or hidey holes.  These modern bullies rarely risk the face to face confrontation; they prefer to operate in the dark. In fact, they often enlist others to do their dirty work.  They have even been known to go so far as to pretend to be someone else; creating false identities over the internet so no one will know it is them.  

I have met and interacted with a few such bullies and I can only say this...

How sad and pathetic their lives must be to engage in something as low and diabolical as bullying another human being. We only get so much time on this earth, how many valuable hours of their lives have they wasted in the pursuit of malicious endeavors?  What will they do when their deeds are measured and they must atone for them, in this life or in the next? Karma can be very cruel if you have lived your life in such a way. I would not trade places with you, not even if it meant I would have more time on my clock.

But know this...

I do not hate you, bully.  I feel sorry for you and your pathetic little life.  I wish you only the best and hope that you will someday evolve into a worthwhile human being.  Everyone should have an opportunity to change...even you.

But until that time comes, perhaps you should take up a hobby...may I suggest skydiving?

Until the next time...Join me in deleting all of the bullies from our lives!

the case of the missing drawers

I saw a strange sight on the side of the road today—something I had never seen before.   

It was a pair of men’s silk boxers.  Not the sort of boxers most men would buy for themselves, but rather the kind that would have been a gift, perhaps for Valentine’s Day, or an anniversary.  But seeing a pair of underwear along the side of the road wasn’t what was so unusual.  As it turns out, I have actually seen underwear on the side of the road before.  But as I got closer to this particular pair, I realized that I recognized them a little too well.  I might have been the one who bought them.

Those were Mike’s underwear!

As I got over the shock of seeing my husband’s undergarments on display along a major roadway, I noticed something else that was all too familiar—a bungee cord—and not just any bungee cord, it was the one Mike had strapped to the trailer not more than an hour before. 

These were just two of the things we lost on the move. 

Although, I certainly won’t cry over a pair of never worn boxers or a stupid bungee cord (although Mike was tempted to pull over to retrieve the bungee) I am still in mourning the loss of a drawer to my hutch.  Mike has promised to rebuild the drawer to exceed the standards of the original, but I know the hutch will never be the same.  I also lost the remote to the TV when the drawer to the hutch flew off the back of the truck and under the wheels of an oncoming car. 

The remote was in the drawer. 

But all of those things can be replaced.  My beloved Joey and Henry Chow could never be replaced, which is why the entire house went on red alert when both of them got out of the new house and ran off.  Lucky for us, they were found. 

I would have missed them a lot more than a drawer.

Until the next time…I’ll still be unpacking!!

indiana jones goes to school

Indy had his first day of doggy school today. I would have to say, despite a few minor setbacks, it was a success.

“Setbacks?”  You ask?

Well, Indy is a very strong boy, and after moving for several days, my entire body was fatigued and battered.  I was less able to control my powerful boy on his leash.  Luckily, he is thoroughly socialized with both people and other dogs, so he was just curious and quite friendly.  Unfortunately, he was not supposed to say hi to the other dogs today.  So, I was fitted with a harness, and Indy was tethered to me. It was quite a sight.  I think he liked that.  It was like he was walking me. 

Once we got settled into the group, he was fine.  He paid attention, he followed the commands, and he got lots and lots of treats.  The instructor told us to become “human Pez dispensers” while training.  It is supposed to keep the dog’s attention and reinforce the command.  

Indy got hotdog pieces today.  The only problem with using hotdog bits was that hotdogs are a little slippery.  When you add a lot of drool to an already slippery hotdog, you lose a lot of hotdogs to the grass.  Needless to say, I ran out of treats before class was over.  Next time we are going to use cheese. 

As we were leaving, the instructor told us to be sure we use a treat guaranteed to hold our dog’s attention for next week’s class.  I’m afraid there is only one thing that is guaranteed to hold Indy’s attention, but I’m not likely to carry around a treat bag full of cat poop! 

Yeah, I’m tired.  I went there.  I would say it won’t happen again, but it might.  Instead, I’ll just say goodnight.  I’ve had a rough several days. 

Until the next time…I’ll be limping around the house putting stuff away!