Facebook has this thing going around where people are asking other people to write 25 Random Things about themselves. I was at a coffee meeting this morning where two people I'd like to believe I have nothing in common with said they'd NEVER do something like that so naturally I had to do it.
Here goes. (And you can send yours to me if ya wanna.)
1. I’m the one who likes “French Burnt Peanuts”.
2. While my dog is clearly extremely well taken care of, I have a hard time successfully refrigerating celery even WITH the appropriate Tupperware celery holder.
3. I buy scented candles because I like the smell but I rarely burn them.
4. I have not yet died from refilling water bottles.
5. I meditate at the Laundromat watching my clothes go around.
6. I have a preferred type of dental floss. The fluffy kind.
7. I still can’t wear black socks ever since I was required to wear them as part of a former career.
8. I was never able to nap until I started teaching and then I had to and now I’m a junky although I can’t sleep in a chair.
9. I buy those really good stuffed animals at the thrift store because I feel sorry for them. It’s more like adoption. And they’re not for my dog.
10. I’m no good at slot machines because it makes me think of laundry quarters. (See #5)
11. I never know what to say when people compliment my all natural fingernails.
12. I have been a professional proofreader but if I over think it? I regularly screw up my own quotation marks.
13. I want a tattoo but the real problem is I think I’ll probably want 100 tattoos so I’m not getting one.
14. I had my nose pierced until one day I didn’t and that seemed as cool as having had it pierced.
15. My favorite color is red but I can’t live in it, I need blue.
16. My dog is trained to jump up and kiss me when I get home.
17. I make everyone at the post office wait in line behind me while I pick out the best stamps.
18. I wish there were sprinkles for broccoli.
19. While I appreciate oatmeal from a distance, I can’t swallow it.
20. The section of the library where I have read all the books on the shelf is called ‘beauty-personal’ but I hate putting makeup on a clean face.
21. I make sure to thank the person that bags my groceries and it’s weird how they don’t expect it.
22. I hate mums because they are the killers of summer.
23. I tried to take a photo of a naked lady drawing that had been done with someone’s finger in the salt on a minivans back window while I was driving on the expressway. Twice.
24. In the summer, if I want to feel rich, I drive around with the AC on and the windows open which is of course environmentally schtoopid so I try not to want to feel rich very often.
25. I appreciate the powers of bleach.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
Presidents Day
We are closed this evening as I have to spend some time with a former President. Thanks for stoppin'!
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Oak Park Arms
Here is a strange thing.
When I was a mere twerp, my Mah used to send me next door with a pile of old magazines to visit our neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Bales. (That's how we referrred to our elders in the olden days. None of this 'Len and Fran' business. Perish the thought. Mrs. Gutman still lives there. I'd like to see someone from my peer group calling her 'Wynn'.)At the Bales house was the first time I tasted lamb stew. I'm not sure who's idea the visits were. Was my Mah getting rid of me for a half hour? Was it me that hankered for a banana? Was it them that needed to know what happened last week in Time Magazine? Time was huge then.
I know it's where I found my true (kitchen table furniture) love. They had one like I have now. It's retro-as seen in the movie Pleasantville. That's what the salesman told me anyway. My Mah loathes it. Seriously. Keeps offering to sew it a slip cover. Heh. I think she hates it because it would have been what her choice of furniture was created to replace but I love it because it's red and shiny like the grille on a new car.
I digress.
The strange thing is that when I would go to visit the Bales, one of the things I would always do, was rearrange their knick-knacks. They had about three shelves next to the fireplace and one knack they had, was a gold pair of ladies shoes maybe with violets on them and for some reason they allowed me to move that stuff around. Probably to distract me during my interrogation. I think they asked a lotta questions.
So, here I am now at my day gig and you know one of my current responsibilities? I have to rearrange items in four display cases. I do it about once a week or once every two weeks because I have a serious appreciation for change of scenery and I think if I lived in an assisted living facility, that would become even more important. I've noticed that lots of the women just like to look and so I feel it's my responsiblity to make it interesting.
It's not dramatic but it's irony, no?
When I was a mere twerp, my Mah used to send me next door with a pile of old magazines to visit our neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Bales. (That's how we referrred to our elders in the olden days. None of this 'Len and Fran' business. Perish the thought. Mrs. Gutman still lives there. I'd like to see someone from my peer group calling her 'Wynn'.)At the Bales house was the first time I tasted lamb stew. I'm not sure who's idea the visits were. Was my Mah getting rid of me for a half hour? Was it me that hankered for a banana? Was it them that needed to know what happened last week in Time Magazine? Time was huge then.
I know it's where I found my true (kitchen table furniture) love. They had one like I have now. It's retro-as seen in the movie Pleasantville. That's what the salesman told me anyway. My Mah loathes it. Seriously. Keeps offering to sew it a slip cover. Heh. I think she hates it because it would have been what her choice of furniture was created to replace but I love it because it's red and shiny like the grille on a new car.
I digress.
The strange thing is that when I would go to visit the Bales, one of the things I would always do, was rearrange their knick-knacks. They had about three shelves next to the fireplace and one knack they had, was a gold pair of ladies shoes maybe with violets on them and for some reason they allowed me to move that stuff around. Probably to distract me during my interrogation. I think they asked a lotta questions.
So, here I am now at my day gig and you know one of my current responsibilities? I have to rearrange items in four display cases. I do it about once a week or once every two weeks because I have a serious appreciation for change of scenery and I think if I lived in an assisted living facility, that would become even more important. I've noticed that lots of the women just like to look and so I feel it's my responsiblity to make it interesting.
It's not dramatic but it's irony, no?
Monday, January 26, 2009
Economic Stimulus Jar
The last words I read in a book last night came in the form of a quote from Einstein. "You either look at nothing as a miracle or everything as a miracle." (Read happy stuff before you go to sleep. Changes your morning. I'm tellin' ya.)
I woke up differently today (It was like: miracle miracle miracle and that was before I even got to the bathroom where my cyclamen is pumping out blooms) and it got me thinking. What if, every time you hear someone making reference to 'the bad economy' (or words to that effect), you join me in putting a nickle in a jar on your counter.
If you find yourself uttering these sort of words, I think you should put in a quarter.
For myself, I'm already in for thirty-five cents. Two conversations used the ugly words just this afternoon and I didn't even watch TV and I think I slipped up once myself. I'm not saying this is going to alter our reality, just possibly change our perceptions.
Let's see how this goes. We'll check back in a month.
I woke up differently today (It was like: miracle miracle miracle and that was before I even got to the bathroom where my cyclamen is pumping out blooms) and it got me thinking. What if, every time you hear someone making reference to 'the bad economy' (or words to that effect), you join me in putting a nickle in a jar on your counter.
If you find yourself uttering these sort of words, I think you should put in a quarter.
For myself, I'm already in for thirty-five cents. Two conversations used the ugly words just this afternoon and I didn't even watch TV and I think I slipped up once myself. I'm not saying this is going to alter our reality, just possibly change our perceptions.
Let's see how this goes. We'll check back in a month.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
The Weather
"Joey would like the temp to go above 15 today...please?"*
Joey is a friend we know from the dog park. Stella's person. One of Stella's people actually, but I don't like to go to the "dog mother" place because that's just weird. Joey is from Texas which is far, far away. We're not sure why she picked Illinois as a destination(we suspect employment but we have no official clue) but we're fairly certain she didn't come here for the glorious weather. In fact, we haven't seen her (outside of Facebook*) in a long time because it's just too damn cold.
We wonder if, upon crossing the border into Illinois, did anyone tell Joey about things like 'Winter projects'. These are things we do around here when you can't do anything else. People actually reserve projects during the summer to save them for times like these. Like, ooh I dunno, resume reconstruction or Scrabble marathons or reorganizing your filing cabinets or anything that sticks you firmly indoors.
She also needs a good chili recipe. I made some yesterday and ooh it was good. I'd share it but it was just your basic cliche chili. Oops. I just noted that the official dish of Texas is chili. Maybe Joey can hook us up.
I nearly heard myself drawing that mental line in the snow one day last week. You know. The "Okay I'm done with this whole snow thing now." line you've been hearing people say since the day after Christmas. It was cold, my legs were burning, I was hiking over what would be called a 'snow stile' which is where the street intersects with the sidewalk that is remarkably NEVER shoveled. Grantley was glimping. (Grimacing and limping because of the salt.) All was unswell. But, I caught myself before I got to the end of that sentence because it ran through my head, this is how we pay for the red tulips in Spring.
Spring is coming Joey. It will be here before you know it.
(And here I would insert a drawing of a tulip poking thru the snow, if my scanner was functioning. Clears throat and hopes genius nephew is paying attention.)
Friday, January 23, 2009
Keyboard
I'm supposed to be writing which, okay on an old fashioned typewriter had to be hard enough, but writing on something superior to a television in terms of distraction is just about torturing me and so I wandered over to Facebook where I started looking at photos from the Obama rally election night downtown. They were taken with my(not so great)camera but I never really looked at them carefully and as I was noticing the lack of my face within the collection of pictures(to be fair-there was one of the back of my head)my Uncle Paul from Colorado pops up in an instant chatting bubble thing and I thought: Captured! Slacking off!
There's something frightening about writing. There's something that makes it easier not to expose your thoughts or (gulp) yourself. My writing teacher says you have to be the opposite of what makes you successful in life and that is, you have to be without appropriate boundaries and for someone who has had such a hard time constructing them, I'm finding it difficult.
Not quitable. Just struggley. I am not complaining tho. I realize quite well that I whine from a position of whatchamacallit. Privilege.
Back to work.
There's something frightening about writing. There's something that makes it easier not to expose your thoughts or (gulp) yourself. My writing teacher says you have to be the opposite of what makes you successful in life and that is, you have to be without appropriate boundaries and for someone who has had such a hard time constructing them, I'm finding it difficult.
Not quitable. Just struggley. I am not complaining tho. I realize quite well that I whine from a position of whatchamacallit. Privilege.
Back to work.
Obligations
I have to take a shower and I have to go to the house of the parentals because I have to work on a portrait with my Dad because we have to enter this show and I have to read the schedule of Gottleib gym because I have to do something about my level of fitness and I have to decide if I was right when I thought it really felt like an awesome place to go because I have to have a firm grasp on reality before I have to fork over my initiation fee eventho there's no contract so if I have to start slacking it's not like I have to keep paying frajillions of dollars not to go to the gym but I have to try that warm water aerobics because it looks so seriously awesome and then I have to spend this afternoon whitttleing away at my novel because I have to keep constructing that because I have to have some sort of creative umm ya know like construction project type thing because I have to have something to fiddle with in my head.
And there you go.
And there you go.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Driving Home
This exact time last week, I was driving home(we got out earlier tonight-Thank God. The glamorous life can absolutely kick your ass, no?)and as I explained to The Shish, I felt as if I had swallowed glitter.
I had just had my first official novel writing class-and it wasn't the baby class where you talk about elements-it was the big people class where you actually get to play with the Play-Dough (woohoo!) and I was driving home and, as I told Le Shish, it was at that point before I had officially noveled, that every possibility was wide open and the only thing I could possibly do in my mind was soar down Ashland in a blaze of green lights.
I was also looking forward to a date. Not just any date-not one of those ones that you park your car like a Catholic so you can make a quick getaway after mass(Mk.). Not one of those ones where you're about to find out some sort of alarming major life detail ("I didn't say I have 12 children? Really? I didn't?!?")that had to have been left out because the pre-conversation had been so brief. Nope this wasn't gonna be that at all. This was gonna be life altering.
I could just feel it.
Now it is almost one week later. I have written and been read aloud. I have dated and returned home. What I'm trying to hang on to or what I was twirling around in my head as I flew down Ashland toward the expressway tonight, is not the result of either activity (One thing was worth continuing, the other, apparently not, I guess.)what's really important is where I would go or what I would see in the days between last week and now.
For instance, yesterday I volunteered for pregnant women who are addicted. They didn't say addicted to what and I wasn't asking because I have lovely manners of course and naturally and really, does it make any difference at all? We made soothing bags of lavender-scented rice to be warmed in the microwave out of brand new powdery white tube socks. One woman draped hers around her neck and put her thumb in her mouth and began to stroke her nose with her other fingers like a napping child. 'It's nice, isn't it?' I said, thinking she was expressing just how soothing the cool sock felt on the back of her neck. She smiled and nodded. All was swell.
A few minutes later I watched as she sat in a group with her pregnant+addict peers and her hand lifted until she placed her thumb into her mouth and stroked her nose with her other fingers like a napping child. She was without the sock. She had to have been at least 35 years old and she had never found a better way to soothe herself.
Imagine that.
So where I was going tonight, when I thought about last weeks exciting internal glitter shower, aside from straight down Ashland like a rocket, was that the important thing in either case-the date or the writing-wasn't any little bit about the happily ever after, it was actually having failed to stay home where it's safe and to have attempted to live.
Nous devons vivre et pas seulement exister. Oui?
I had just had my first official novel writing class-and it wasn't the baby class where you talk about elements-it was the big people class where you actually get to play with the Play-Dough (woohoo!) and I was driving home and, as I told Le Shish, it was at that point before I had officially noveled, that every possibility was wide open and the only thing I could possibly do in my mind was soar down Ashland in a blaze of green lights.
I was also looking forward to a date. Not just any date-not one of those ones that you park your car like a Catholic so you can make a quick getaway after mass(Mk.). Not one of those ones where you're about to find out some sort of alarming major life detail ("I didn't say I have 12 children? Really? I didn't?!?")that had to have been left out because the pre-conversation had been so brief. Nope this wasn't gonna be that at all. This was gonna be life altering.
I could just feel it.
Now it is almost one week later. I have written and been read aloud. I have dated and returned home. What I'm trying to hang on to or what I was twirling around in my head as I flew down Ashland toward the expressway tonight, is not the result of either activity (One thing was worth continuing, the other, apparently not, I guess.)what's really important is where I would go or what I would see in the days between last week and now.
For instance, yesterday I volunteered for pregnant women who are addicted. They didn't say addicted to what and I wasn't asking because I have lovely manners of course and naturally and really, does it make any difference at all? We made soothing bags of lavender-scented rice to be warmed in the microwave out of brand new powdery white tube socks. One woman draped hers around her neck and put her thumb in her mouth and began to stroke her nose with her other fingers like a napping child. 'It's nice, isn't it?' I said, thinking she was expressing just how soothing the cool sock felt on the back of her neck. She smiled and nodded. All was swell.
A few minutes later I watched as she sat in a group with her pregnant+addict peers and her hand lifted until she placed her thumb into her mouth and stroked her nose with her other fingers like a napping child. She was without the sock. She had to have been at least 35 years old and she had never found a better way to soothe herself.
Imagine that.
So where I was going tonight, when I thought about last weeks exciting internal glitter shower, aside from straight down Ashland like a rocket, was that the important thing in either case-the date or the writing-wasn't any little bit about the happily ever after, it was actually having failed to stay home where it's safe and to have attempted to live.
Nous devons vivre et pas seulement exister. Oui?
Monday, January 19, 2009
A Note Explaining the Absence of Fresh Blog
Dear Ann,
Today, Americans in all 50 states answered President-elect Obama's call to service.
Thousands of people stood up to renew America together, doing everything from working in homeless shelters and mentoring young people, to assembling more than 80,000 care packages for our troops at a service event here in Washington, D.C.
Thank you for a great day of service...
...I hope you will stay involved in the effort to renew America together.
Thank you,
Emmett
Emmett S. Beliveau
Executive Director
Presidential Inaugural Committee
Today, Americans in all 50 states answered President-elect Obama's call to service.
Thousands of people stood up to renew America together, doing everything from working in homeless shelters and mentoring young people, to assembling more than 80,000 care packages for our troops at a service event here in Washington, D.C.
Thank you for a great day of service...
...I hope you will stay involved in the effort to renew America together.
Thank you,
Emmett
Emmett S. Beliveau
Executive Director
Presidential Inaugural Committee
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Some Irish Restaurant in Evanston
Tonight we went to hear a storyteller. Or did we go to see her? I can't decide. The thing I liked the best was that the people in our group weren't happy with her photo of her cd cover which was for sale in the back of the room. On the cover, she was more made up and her hair was curled. I liked that they didn't like it. That photo didn't look like what we just saw. It may have been fancier but they preferred real. There's something very good about that.
She told about eight stories-some short, some long, some funny, some poignant. Did I enjoy it? I can't decide.
I'm glad that she exists and I am glad she has an audience but listening to someone read (say) something aloud makes me sort of itchy and impatient.
My internal wiggliness reflects poorly on my attention span, I guess, but I enjoyed the night more than not, I'm always happy to watch an audience connect with a performer and of course and naturally, my world got larger and except for the fact that it's way after midnight? There's never anything wrong about that.
She told about eight stories-some short, some long, some funny, some poignant. Did I enjoy it? I can't decide.
I'm glad that she exists and I am glad she has an audience but listening to someone read (say) something aloud makes me sort of itchy and impatient.
My internal wiggliness reflects poorly on my attention span, I guess, but I enjoyed the night more than not, I'm always happy to watch an audience connect with a performer and of course and naturally, my world got larger and except for the fact that it's way after midnight? There's never anything wrong about that.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
History
Today, I got to be a teeny part of history and guess what (ha ha), you can too.
I tried to ignore the first e-mail from Michelle Obama. I mean, I looked at it and all, but I was like, yeah that's nice/delete. And then my friend Fran, massage therapist to the stars(me) sent an excited e about service opportunities and I was like, yeah that's nice Fran/delete. And then MK actually poked around the USA Service site and found something to do and sent THAT to me and I was like, yeah that's nice/and, I signed up.
Not because I am suffering from advanced good will toward men or anything. It's because my bullshitometer so quickly runs low for myself and I get tired of thinkin' the thoughts that come even before talkin' the talk, ya know? And even more, because of a line in the sand that somebody once literally drew for me.
Here's that story in a nutshell: I was living in Elmhurst, thinking of coming to Oak Park and a woman was trying to explain to me that it was okay for me to come here as long as I stayed between certain perimeters. North Avenue to the North. Eisenhower to the South. Harlem to the West and Ridgeland to the East.
She even drew it up in pencil on the map my Dad got me for my truck. (I betcha it's still down there. I'll have to check.) Don't go beyond this area:It's Not Safe.
So, here in my inbox was an invitation to officially bust through those boundaries and yeah, I move through the West Side all the time but I don't spend a whole lotta time at the North Austin Branch Library. And so, MK and I joined a small group of other humans in an event that was planned by a woman named Juanita who had heard the call from the President-elect and answered by running a session about Active Listening that she'd learned as a foster parent.
I entered, hoping I could be of some assistance to somebody. I left, having handed myself some hope.
Not a bad afternoon at all.
---------
You can go to the sign-up site, plug in your zip code and instantly sign-up for something fun and cool and oh yeah, change the world.
On your mark get set go.
I tried to ignore the first e-mail from Michelle Obama. I mean, I looked at it and all, but I was like, yeah that's nice/delete. And then my friend Fran, massage therapist to the stars(me) sent an excited e about service opportunities and I was like, yeah that's nice Fran/delete. And then MK actually poked around the USA Service site and found something to do and sent THAT to me and I was like, yeah that's nice/and, I signed up.
Not because I am suffering from advanced good will toward men or anything. It's because my bullshitometer so quickly runs low for myself and I get tired of thinkin' the thoughts that come even before talkin' the talk, ya know? And even more, because of a line in the sand that somebody once literally drew for me.
Here's that story in a nutshell: I was living in Elmhurst, thinking of coming to Oak Park and a woman was trying to explain to me that it was okay for me to come here as long as I stayed between certain perimeters. North Avenue to the North. Eisenhower to the South. Harlem to the West and Ridgeland to the East.
She even drew it up in pencil on the map my Dad got me for my truck. (I betcha it's still down there. I'll have to check.) Don't go beyond this area:It's Not Safe.
So, here in my inbox was an invitation to officially bust through those boundaries and yeah, I move through the West Side all the time but I don't spend a whole lotta time at the North Austin Branch Library. And so, MK and I joined a small group of other humans in an event that was planned by a woman named Juanita who had heard the call from the President-elect and answered by running a session about Active Listening that she'd learned as a foster parent.
I entered, hoping I could be of some assistance to somebody. I left, having handed myself some hope.
Not a bad afternoon at all.
---------
You can go to the sign-up site, plug in your zip code and instantly sign-up for something fun and cool and oh yeah, change the world.
On your mark get set go.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
The Shelves of Walgreens
I was in Walgreens when I heard over the instore announcements about this new product called Pedi-Paws. Luckily, The Shish had already picked one up and she permitted us to try it at home. It's sort of like a low-powered Dremel. The cool thing is there's a sort of a safety guard in play so you simply stick the dogs nail into this little hole and Wah-lah. The uncool thing is she hates it and if I kept at it, I'd probably have her nails done by next year. Un-Wah-lah.$19.99 saved is $19.99 earned. Or something.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Oak Park Public Library
Today we walked down to see Abraham Lincoln.
He was appearing at the Oak Park Public Library with his wife, Mary Todd Lincoln. On the way, we bumped into Mary Next Door and I said, I'm going to see Lincoln. Do you have any messages for him? She looked at me like she always looks at me, slightly strangely with a large portion of bemusement, and said, Umm no.
But this was just after she'd noticed that she was standing next to a pole that had one of my rescued Christmas decorations on it, which she fingered with her elegant brown glove and asked,"Is this you?" and I said, "Of course, it's me. I have to entertain the neighborhood, don't I?" and she just laughed and then we both realized it was snowing and we were on our separate ways.
We passed the bent over woman with the sparkly sequined turban who was struggling down the snowy edge of Oak Park Avenue with her walker. The Shish always makes the 'Awwwww' noise of sympathy when we see her out and then she says, 'That's gonna be me' because of the bling on the turban and I always say, Hey, at least she's out, ya know? That takes determination. But today I stopped and offered to carry her two bags down to the Oak Park Arms but she was having none of that. I asked once and then 'are you sure?' and I was on my way. (It's one thing I love about working at a Senior Citizen Center. You feel like you are continually in a state of grace for doing less than nothing-like popping someones walker up the three stairs so they don't have to struggle which is, in terms of human effort, less than nothing to the walker-less.)
Abraham Lincoln sounded sort of like Paul Harvey-the radio personality. He-how do I say this politely? He seemed like one of those people that thinks you have all the time in the world, so his stories run long(kinda like mine. ha.). Then again, it was his whole life that we were covering in an hour. He had some excellent one liners. My favorite was something like, "If you get married or if you don't get married, you'll regret it."
Good one.
Mrs. Lincoln, I found more likable than I thought I would. You always hear how she was nuts but they didn't have group therapy in those days and it makes you wonder, how Prozac might have affected history if it had been available because she seemed to me to be a prime candidate. Also, they told, she was a shopper and that doesn't qualify you as a crazy person because otherwise The Shish better get her sparkly hat ready, ya know what I'm sayin'? Mrs. Lincoln was responsible for inserting style into the White House. Maybe she should have been on the five dollar bill.
The whole thing was set right before the Lincolns were leaving for the Ford Theater. Mrs. Lincoln interrupted him and told him it was time to go-that they were running late and not long after that the audience heard a shot which scared the crap out of everyone (gun shots as entertainment in 2009? Hmmnot so much.) and then the Lincolns came out and answered questions kinda like Stump Abe or something. Then it was over and everybody clapped hard.
I got back and I was out with Grantley who started waggin' like a madwoman when she recognized Mary Next Door coming out of the building. I said, Hey Mary, Lincoln freed the slaves. And she said, I know what you wanted me to say before. (Mary speaks softly like a cross between Cleopatra and a Miss America pageant winner.)
What? said I, ever so innocently.
You wanted me to tell him 'thank you'. said Mary Next Door with a smile on her face. I just about bent over laughing thank goodness it was all so extremely silly on a very snowy day.
He was appearing at the Oak Park Public Library with his wife, Mary Todd Lincoln. On the way, we bumped into Mary Next Door and I said, I'm going to see Lincoln. Do you have any messages for him? She looked at me like she always looks at me, slightly strangely with a large portion of bemusement, and said, Umm no.
But this was just after she'd noticed that she was standing next to a pole that had one of my rescued Christmas decorations on it, which she fingered with her elegant brown glove and asked,"Is this you?" and I said, "Of course, it's me. I have to entertain the neighborhood, don't I?" and she just laughed and then we both realized it was snowing and we were on our separate ways.
We passed the bent over woman with the sparkly sequined turban who was struggling down the snowy edge of Oak Park Avenue with her walker. The Shish always makes the 'Awwwww' noise of sympathy when we see her out and then she says, 'That's gonna be me' because of the bling on the turban and I always say, Hey, at least she's out, ya know? That takes determination. But today I stopped and offered to carry her two bags down to the Oak Park Arms but she was having none of that. I asked once and then 'are you sure?' and I was on my way. (It's one thing I love about working at a Senior Citizen Center. You feel like you are continually in a state of grace for doing less than nothing-like popping someones walker up the three stairs so they don't have to struggle which is, in terms of human effort, less than nothing to the walker-less.)
Abraham Lincoln sounded sort of like Paul Harvey-the radio personality. He-how do I say this politely? He seemed like one of those people that thinks you have all the time in the world, so his stories run long(kinda like mine. ha.). Then again, it was his whole life that we were covering in an hour. He had some excellent one liners. My favorite was something like, "If you get married or if you don't get married, you'll regret it."
Good one.
Mrs. Lincoln, I found more likable than I thought I would. You always hear how she was nuts but they didn't have group therapy in those days and it makes you wonder, how Prozac might have affected history if it had been available because she seemed to me to be a prime candidate. Also, they told, she was a shopper and that doesn't qualify you as a crazy person because otherwise The Shish better get her sparkly hat ready, ya know what I'm sayin'? Mrs. Lincoln was responsible for inserting style into the White House. Maybe she should have been on the five dollar bill.
The whole thing was set right before the Lincolns were leaving for the Ford Theater. Mrs. Lincoln interrupted him and told him it was time to go-that they were running late and not long after that the audience heard a shot which scared the crap out of everyone (gun shots as entertainment in 2009? Hmmnot so much.) and then the Lincolns came out and answered questions kinda like Stump Abe or something. Then it was over and everybody clapped hard.
I got back and I was out with Grantley who started waggin' like a madwoman when she recognized Mary Next Door coming out of the building. I said, Hey Mary, Lincoln freed the slaves. And she said, I know what you wanted me to say before. (Mary speaks softly like a cross between Cleopatra and a Miss America pageant winner.)
What? said I, ever so innocently.
You wanted me to tell him 'thank you'. said Mary Next Door with a smile on her face. I just about bent over laughing thank goodness it was all so extremely silly on a very snowy day.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Outside
Grantley is staying close tonight. She's even found a more inconvenient place to sit which is right behind my chair. Yesterday, she was on the floor between me and the keyboard. The cold weather brings her closer or is it that I just made a hamburger at 10:11 at night. Coudda been that too.
Jane called and said, "You really are sick." after I answered. She thought I'd crossed over into fiction, but that's not until next week. It's been a magnificent cold. I've enjoyed every bit of it except the cloggy ear parts-that sort of throws you off brain-wise and the split lip was sort of temporarily bad but when you look at the kitchen window sill and see the three inches of snow piled up? You realize what a gift a cold can be. Permission to take care of yourself. Full-time.
Plus I was all organized with the lentil soup. I made it just as I went down and so, while I slept the first day, it did the thing that all good soups must do, it sat in the fridge and decided to taste even better. That accompanied with the dulling of my taste buds might have made this pot eligible for best soup ever. Possibly.
We went on a grand march with Bob and MK and Greg their upstairs neighbor who bailed 3/4th of the way out because he was finding it way too slippery. Wrong shoes, I'm guessing. The moon was gigantic, people were out shoveling, the weather was perfect and we all shuffled along.
Jane called and said, "You really are sick." after I answered. She thought I'd crossed over into fiction, but that's not until next week. It's been a magnificent cold. I've enjoyed every bit of it except the cloggy ear parts-that sort of throws you off brain-wise and the split lip was sort of temporarily bad but when you look at the kitchen window sill and see the three inches of snow piled up? You realize what a gift a cold can be. Permission to take care of yourself. Full-time.
Plus I was all organized with the lentil soup. I made it just as I went down and so, while I slept the first day, it did the thing that all good soups must do, it sat in the fridge and decided to taste even better. That accompanied with the dulling of my taste buds might have made this pot eligible for best soup ever. Possibly.
We went on a grand march with Bob and MK and Greg their upstairs neighbor who bailed 3/4th of the way out because he was finding it way too slippery. Wrong shoes, I'm guessing. The moon was gigantic, people were out shoveling, the weather was perfect and we all shuffled along.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Living Room
If you have a cold, it's nice to curl up with an afghan.If you don't have an afghan, a corgi will do nicely.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
In my head
Okay so. What if, when someone went to adopt a dog, the shelter measured the persons nose against what's called the 'stop' on the dog (that's the little slope from the forehead to the muzzle) and then if it's a good fit they can live happily ever after?
It was just an idea.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Monday, January 5, 2009
Thyber Thspace
So, my computer makes all these noises now because my genius nephew came and fixed it-which is contrary to most fixing because usually things making a funny noise need to be silenced, right? Or that's how it was in the olden days, right? Now, from my bed in the other room, I can hear the plink of the arrival of an e-mail or the fffffffff of someone signing off of something and even as I'm sitting here it's no longer me taking a peek into my inboxes. Every 60 seconds there's a little whirring thing and a number pops up. Mostly it's the same number but sometimes it pops up by one.
You can just barely feel the subtle adjustment of your old behavior being replaced and then one day will come when you'll forget that pressing send didn't used to make an airplane taking off noise that made your dog hide the first time she heard it.
The downside to all this technology is, ya still can't make the incoming e-mail say what you want it to. You can't make it arrive when it hasn't been written. You can't adjust the mood of the recipient who receives one of yours. And you'll never really be able to remove that teeny bit of smirk from the face of your genius nephew who can fix your computer in ways that you can't even imagine ahh but why would you want to?
You can just barely feel the subtle adjustment of your old behavior being replaced and then one day will come when you'll forget that pressing send didn't used to make an airplane taking off noise that made your dog hide the first time she heard it.
The downside to all this technology is, ya still can't make the incoming e-mail say what you want it to. You can't make it arrive when it hasn't been written. You can't adjust the mood of the recipient who receives one of yours. And you'll never really be able to remove that teeny bit of smirk from the face of your genius nephew who can fix your computer in ways that you can't even imagine ahh but why would you want to?
Sunday, January 4, 2009
In and out
So, we were out walking tonight and I was thinking about this Jack Russell Terrier that we had saved-naah I don't think that way-I was thinking that maybe it would be helpful to share our patented dog catching method in case it comes up for anyone else.
When we see a loose dog, I start talking to it-just your regular blah blah blah stuff. Keeping everyone calm and when I say ''everyone" I mean, of course, me. Then Grantley takes the dog for a twirl around the yard-as I start steering them toward the nearest front porch. It's my one of my dog walking innovations that a porch is at least an enclosed space perfect for corralling any size pup.
We just captured this JRT on Saturday.(Did you know on the Jack Russell info website they actually discourage people from getting one? A dog is not a toy, ya know.) We've changed our walking route since the great dog screaming incident of 2008-we're gone all residential where people don't have meat on their sidewalks-and a very nice Jack Russell with a pink collar marched right through an intersection to meet us. We got her up on somebodies porch just as her pink leash-toting person came around the corner. All was swell.
Hmm, I thought. That's kinda funny. And she did it again and again as we went up the block. After we got home, I went to the fridge and got some water and as I drank, I noticed there was someone watching me intently.
Yup. Doris Day Violation. I let her water bowl get empty.
There's some sort of moral to this story. I wish it'd be more of a 'It takes a village to raise a dog' than, 'let she who is without sin cast the first stone' but yeah, as they say, my bad.
In other matters, Grantley shares her couch with an alligator...
or maybe it's a crocodile. It was one of those things I saw in the basement of the Economy Shop. This giant stuffed gator had no takers. I think I saw it in the toy section for three weeks in a row and I finally said, okay if it's still there next week, I'll take it home(it had been marked down to $1.50)and it turns out that it's not actually a toy. It's officially a bolster-that's what it said on the tag which proved it was brand spanking new and looking for a home.
I thought this was a kind of a cool pose because it's usually Grantley that goes upside down on the couch as the alligator rests. If there was a moral to this story, it's that when you think you've got a good handle on how things are? You just never know what can happen.
Coolness.
When we see a loose dog, I start talking to it-just your regular blah blah blah stuff. Keeping everyone calm and when I say ''everyone" I mean, of course, me. Then Grantley takes the dog for a twirl around the yard-as I start steering them toward the nearest front porch. It's my one of my dog walking innovations that a porch is at least an enclosed space perfect for corralling any size pup.
We just captured this JRT on Saturday.(Did you know on the Jack Russell info website they actually discourage people from getting one? A dog is not a toy, ya know.) We've changed our walking route since the great dog screaming incident of 2008-we're gone all residential where people don't have meat on their sidewalks-and a very nice Jack Russell with a pink collar marched right through an intersection to meet us. We got her up on somebodies porch just as her pink leash-toting person came around the corner. All was swell.
So, tonight I was thinking about being a dog catcher as I walked Grantley up Scoville and I started noticing that she was doing something strange.
Licking frozen puddles.
Licking frozen puddles.Hmm, I thought. That's kinda funny. And she did it again and again as we went up the block. After we got home, I went to the fridge and got some water and as I drank, I noticed there was someone watching me intently.
Yup. Doris Day Violation. I let her water bowl get empty.
There's some sort of moral to this story. I wish it'd be more of a 'It takes a village to raise a dog' than, 'let she who is without sin cast the first stone' but yeah, as they say, my bad.
In other matters, Grantley shares her couch with an alligator...
or maybe it's a crocodile. It was one of those things I saw in the basement of the Economy Shop. This giant stuffed gator had no takers. I think I saw it in the toy section for three weeks in a row and I finally said, okay if it's still there next week, I'll take it home(it had been marked down to $1.50)and it turns out that it's not actually a toy. It's officially a bolster-that's what it said on the tag which proved it was brand spanking new and looking for a home.I thought this was a kind of a cool pose because it's usually Grantley that goes upside down on the couch as the alligator rests. If there was a moral to this story, it's that when you think you've got a good handle on how things are? You just never know what can happen.
Coolness.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Friday, January 2, 2009
Inbox
Nothing unusually strange today unless you count some grand theft library items. I know. Can you believe that? I've been slacking on my librarying because I've been trying to read the books I've picked up along the way but something got me to the library this past week and I was checking my record and it said I had six items out and umm I'd like to say that I did, but I didn't.
I didn't worry about it, I figured it'd straighten itself out as these things usually do but today I got one of those reminder e-mails about the six DVDs that were soon to be overdue. It's almost kind of hilarious. I have such a hard time picking out a movie. I could stand at the video store itching my head for 20 minutes and not know which box to pick up. Our Jewel just got one of those red box machines where you can score a DVD overnight for a dollar? I was so excited, until I went closer and looked at the selections. Dumb and dumber and dumber and dumber. I can't commit two and a half hours to dumbness. Not unless I'm gettin' paid.
I want a movie that's good and smart and funny and feel-good and unpredictable would be nearly too much to ask for, right? (Always accepting recommendations-by the way.)And I don't want to be able to figure out the ending by looking at the box. One of my lesser known skills-oh you will think I am kidding-but when I was a security guard, our supervisor would walk around with The Jumble hidden behind a folder and he'd have us try and work on it standing still-now that I think about it, that man should have been nominated for sainthood-and my particular skill was that I could guess the answer from the little Jumbley cartoon. I ruined it for everyone. But I think it's the same thing for book covers-especially mysteries. Don't be all showin' the noose on the cover because I'll be watching for it from the get-go, anyway, speaking of mysteries, I called the Circulation Department of the library to Clear My Name.
Just kidding. Nobody would believe for one second that I took six DVDs at one time. (I could get the girl from the video store on the corner to testify on my behalf. I'm such a bad customer, we don't even wave at each other anymore.) And so, the guy on the phone had to read through all the titles and I had to deny each one individually-which was kinda funny that he didn't just go with my 'I can never even find a movie' statement. Perhaps there are legal ramifications or something.
Anyway, yeah, he said my card had been compromised. And I said, are you kidding? Is this some sort of a trend? And it seemed as if he wasn't able to commit to that officially but assured me he was making a report of the entire deal for his supervisor and that a fresh library card would be prepared for me at no charge.
A lotta times lately I worry about people becoming too dumb to think. I'm not banging into brilliance as much as I'd like to as I make my way throughout the world. You know, those people who make your eyes open wider? Yeah. What movies do they watch? I'm guessing they aren't watching Daddy Daycare but I guess now they can't because it's found it's way into some weasel's private collection.
If it had been grand theft encyclopedia? I think I might have been a little bit happy.
I didn't worry about it, I figured it'd straighten itself out as these things usually do but today I got one of those reminder e-mails about the six DVDs that were soon to be overdue. It's almost kind of hilarious. I have such a hard time picking out a movie. I could stand at the video store itching my head for 20 minutes and not know which box to pick up. Our Jewel just got one of those red box machines where you can score a DVD overnight for a dollar? I was so excited, until I went closer and looked at the selections. Dumb and dumber and dumber and dumber. I can't commit two and a half hours to dumbness. Not unless I'm gettin' paid.
I want a movie that's good and smart and funny and feel-good and unpredictable would be nearly too much to ask for, right? (Always accepting recommendations-by the way.)And I don't want to be able to figure out the ending by looking at the box. One of my lesser known skills-oh you will think I am kidding-but when I was a security guard, our supervisor would walk around with The Jumble hidden behind a folder and he'd have us try and work on it standing still-now that I think about it, that man should have been nominated for sainthood-and my particular skill was that I could guess the answer from the little Jumbley cartoon. I ruined it for everyone. But I think it's the same thing for book covers-especially mysteries. Don't be all showin' the noose on the cover because I'll be watching for it from the get-go, anyway, speaking of mysteries, I called the Circulation Department of the library to Clear My Name.
Just kidding. Nobody would believe for one second that I took six DVDs at one time. (I could get the girl from the video store on the corner to testify on my behalf. I'm such a bad customer, we don't even wave at each other anymore.) And so, the guy on the phone had to read through all the titles and I had to deny each one individually-which was kinda funny that he didn't just go with my 'I can never even find a movie' statement. Perhaps there are legal ramifications or something.
Anyway, yeah, he said my card had been compromised. And I said, are you kidding? Is this some sort of a trend? And it seemed as if he wasn't able to commit to that officially but assured me he was making a report of the entire deal for his supervisor and that a fresh library card would be prepared for me at no charge.
A lotta times lately I worry about people becoming too dumb to think. I'm not banging into brilliance as much as I'd like to as I make my way throughout the world. You know, those people who make your eyes open wider? Yeah. What movies do they watch? I'm guessing they aren't watching Daddy Daycare but I guess now they can't because it's found it's way into some weasel's private collection.
If it had been grand theft encyclopedia? I think I might have been a little bit happy.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Americans usher in '09 with cheer, optimism, funny hats, streetloaf
We were making our way through the Shish's former red car parking spot(sniff snif)to MK and Bob's neighbors Melanie and Terry's rockin' New Years Eve celebration last night when Bob said something hopeful about this being a better year than last and MK and I went all coocoo for cocoapuffs on him(poor brave Bob-taking us on two at a time. ha.)because, as for she and my house? We had an excellent 2008.
Bob was referring to all the rotten stuff that's gone on worldwide and we kept countering with all these cool adventures we've had in the past 12 months(Ann + 10k=whoa / Mk + 60 mile walk=super whoa) and okay yeah, depending on your perspective-it may not have been the year that produced your most brag·ga·do·cio-lo of a holiday newsletter but taken over a whaddayoucallit? Like a...you know like an arc? Shoot. We're still here, aren't we?
Then, on the first day of the new year, Grantley decided to scare the crap out of all of us.
One of two things I cannot manage to get her to do is A)Home nail trimming because I cannot take that particular crunching noise-and those things bleed too, ya know? And if it gets too close to the quick, the dog is stepping all over the house bleeding and silently saying ouch. I can't do it. I am weak.
And the worst one is the sidewalk soufflé. Even Shish, who thinks the world of Grantley, is disgusted by her eating streetloaf, as I stand back posturing and shaking my head and scrunching my nose and doing this: Oh COME on, don't EAT that. Yuck. YUCK. Gaaah. Put that DOWN routine of which nobody pays attention because I am afraid to stick my hand in her mouth because I did it once and one of those giant cube shaped canines came right down on my thumbnail-Captain Crunch with Crunchberries style and I cannot stick my hand in there again.
This evening, she was on top of this meat(we think)thing before the rest of us even spied it and it was huge and she was wolfing it down and I did my usual having a partial fit thing and I don't even know what happened next except one minute I'm just standing there and the next minute, I'm standing there watching my own dog scream.
I say to Mk,"What do I do? I don't know what to do!" And I move toward her belly and sorta Heimleich it as Mk performs the patented Isabel vitamin swallow maneuver.
We wait. We watch. She breathes.
And then I got really mad at her from scaring the crap out of me so I did this whole ultra-dramatic finger shaking/you are a very rotten girl/you can no longer be trusted/billy goats gruff voice bit o drama but we were all catching our own breath from that 25 seconds when we were helpless and time stood still.
There was a man who commited suicide in his storefront right before Christmas and our local paper sent out one of those newsflash-type 'This just in from the newsroom" e-mails with all his personal details. His family became very upset with the invasion of privacy and exposure of personal information about his compounding debt and recent divorce and I thought, huh. They don't really know us that well if they think that we'd judge someone else for his imagined solution to a very scrambled life, because that is not who we are at all-head shakers and passers of judgement.
We're still here, aren't we?
2009. Bring it.
Bob was referring to all the rotten stuff that's gone on worldwide and we kept countering with all these cool adventures we've had in the past 12 months(Ann + 10k=whoa / Mk + 60 mile walk=super whoa) and okay yeah, depending on your perspective-it may not have been the year that produced your most brag·ga·do·cio-lo of a holiday newsletter but taken over a whaddayoucallit? Like a...you know like an arc? Shoot. We're still here, aren't we?
Then, on the first day of the new year, Grantley decided to scare the crap out of all of us.
One of two things I cannot manage to get her to do is A)Home nail trimming because I cannot take that particular crunching noise-and those things bleed too, ya know? And if it gets too close to the quick, the dog is stepping all over the house bleeding and silently saying ouch. I can't do it. I am weak.
And the worst one is the sidewalk soufflé. Even Shish, who thinks the world of Grantley, is disgusted by her eating streetloaf, as I stand back posturing and shaking my head and scrunching my nose and doing this: Oh COME on, don't EAT that. Yuck. YUCK. Gaaah. Put that DOWN routine of which nobody pays attention because I am afraid to stick my hand in her mouth because I did it once and one of those giant cube shaped canines came right down on my thumbnail-Captain Crunch with Crunchberries style and I cannot stick my hand in there again.
This evening, she was on top of this meat(we think)thing before the rest of us even spied it and it was huge and she was wolfing it down and I did my usual having a partial fit thing and I don't even know what happened next except one minute I'm just standing there and the next minute, I'm standing there watching my own dog scream.
I say to Mk,"What do I do? I don't know what to do!" And I move toward her belly and sorta Heimleich it as Mk performs the patented Isabel vitamin swallow maneuver.
We wait. We watch. She breathes.
And then I got really mad at her from scaring the crap out of me so I did this whole ultra-dramatic finger shaking/you are a very rotten girl/you can no longer be trusted/billy goats gruff voice bit o drama but we were all catching our own breath from that 25 seconds when we were helpless and time stood still.
There was a man who commited suicide in his storefront right before Christmas and our local paper sent out one of those newsflash-type 'This just in from the newsroom" e-mails with all his personal details. His family became very upset with the invasion of privacy and exposure of personal information about his compounding debt and recent divorce and I thought, huh. They don't really know us that well if they think that we'd judge someone else for his imagined solution to a very scrambled life, because that is not who we are at all-head shakers and passers of judgement.
We're still here, aren't we?
2009. Bring it.
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