Time For a Change

I can't escape it - there's something about a new year that makes me feel the need to clamber (word-of-the-week) onto the bandwagon with all the other poor saps like me who are less than physically fit.

So here goes.

Four goals for 2009:

1. Go to the YMCA six days a week.

Sounds like a bit much, but if that's the goal, maybe I'll make it for three or four of the six and thatsa notsa bad. The Y is a whopping five minutes away, which helps.

2. Drink more water.

Soooo, more public bathroom adventures. That'll come in handy on days that I have nothing to blog about (something for you to look forward to!).

3. Count my calories (and keep them below 1,750).

We'll see how that goes - I'm not very good at writing anything down. Every important number is in my head. Phone numbers, account numbers, passwords. I'm surprised my brain hasn't run out of room. It's still storing phone numbers from my childhood. But somehow, calorie numbers don't do so well in there. They mysteriously disappear, causing me to think I still have room to eat a few more bowls of Grape Nuts. And then I get bigger.

4. Take my vitamins.

Sounds like the easiest one. You would think. But not for someone who is the polar opposite of a creature of habit. I've been working on the flossing habit for nearly 40 years and it still hasn't stuck. I'd probably get chewed out at my semi-annual cleanings, but my dentist can't seem to master the habit either, so he wisely keeps his mouth shut, so to speak.

So here I go, taking the plunge,

getting on the ball,

hopping on the bandwagon,

rolling up my sleeves,

taking action,

getting down to business.

Whew. All that activity is making me tired. I'd better schedule a good long naptime if I'm going to get anything accomplished this year.

A Flat Miner

No, that's not a typo, silly. It's what you get when you drop a piano into a quarry.

I do love minors (not miners, mind you). The most beautiful Christmas carols, to me, are the ones with lots of minor chords.

It amazes me that a one-note change to a chord results in such a significant change in feeling. Only a few years ago, I learned how to find a minor chord on the piano. Find the regular chord, and move the middle note down just one key.

Voila! Beautiful, haunting melodies like "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel," and "What Child Is This?"

Put that note back up where it was, and we're back in the majors, with uplifting songs like "Hark! the Herald Angels Sing" and "Joy to the World" and "O Come, All Ye Faithful."

But it's the minors that have my heart - "We Three Kings" and "Do You Hear What I Hear" and "I Wonder As I Wander." Is it the melancholy in me? I don't know. What do you prefer?

There's Off, and Then There's Off

I really need tomorrow's day off.

I don't think we have a single clean dish left. No forks. No plates. No glasses.

Hardly any clean laundry either. Especially unmentionables socks. One needs clean socks on a daily basis if one is not to be gross.

I can't find my dining table. I'm sure it's in the dining room somewhere; I may need a shovel. And a divining rod. And some Junior Mints (to keep up my strength).

Buddy is almost out of cat food.

The dry cleaning has been lying across the bikes in the hall for several days. That would be fine, but I really need the bikes for hanging up the winter coats.

It rained all night, and Buddy doesn't care to use his spacious outdoor bathroom in the rain, so my foot discovered a wet spot on the bathroom rug this morning. I folded over the rug and left it there, since I was racing against the clock to get ready for church.

I've lost my camera card, and I have a sinking feeling that I may have vacuumed it up. That'll be a fun job.

I need to clean off my bedroom dresser. Nearly sprayed my hair with athlete's foot spray the other day. And the hairspray fused my toes together.

Then again, I may just curl up with a bowl of Grape Nuts and a good book and fritter the day away.

Around Town

Flutterbug loves to run errands. (YAY.)

She has a tendency to get stir crazy like her dad. Doesn't appreciate her chair like I do mine. OR puttering around the house. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen her putter.

Today she offered to run to the grocery store. We gave her a list of things NOT to get.

Mike said, "Make sure you don't get me any mini lemon pies."

And I said, "And make sure you don't pick me up any candy corn."

And Mike clarified, "Make sure you don't get me FIVE mini lemon pies."

I'm proud to report that I haven't had any candy corn since that one little slip-up before halloween. Mike, on the other hand, is turning into a lemon pie.

~~~~~

You should see Flutterbug in action as she cruises through the crazy traffic around here.

"Dude! Watch where you're going!"

"Look at this guy - driving like an old woman!"

"Good grief, lady, use a blinker!"

She may have only had her license for a couple of months, but she's got it down.

~~~~~

The other night Flutterbug and I took Buddy for a little ride. Buddy LOVES going for a ride. Flutterbug drove, and Buddy danced around on my lap. Next-thing-you-know, we were laughing so hard we couldn't breathe, or see (a new driving experience for Flutterbug).

It started with a simple, maybe exaggerated, head-bobbing thing, accompanied by a "wwwwwop" sound, as I enjoyed a Christmas song that was playing, and then there were dog toenails on bare skin and shrieks and other inconsequential things, that taken as a whole made us laugh uncontrollably until we couldn't breathe.

Or see.

Or control our weak limbs.

Or certain organs that start with "b". (Flutterbug is saying, "Speak for yourself!")

Good thing that child's an ace driver.

The To-Do List Is Shrinking

There's a table under here somewhere. Hopefully it'll appear tomorrow.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not complaining. It was a good day. Cranked up the stereo and kept pace with the beautiful rhythms and soaring melodies of Andrea Bocelli and Mario Frangoulis and Yanni (go ahead and laugh, I have a thick skin).

While looking for links just now, I also came across this video, which has always given me goosebumps - check it out.

I lit a few candles to make the house smell good. And took out the trash so the candles wouldn't have to work so hard.

I kept the washer and dryer busy all day.

I ate what I wanted for supper - a philly cheesesteak pizza (it makes Mike gag!) and Buddy ate the leftovers from my plate. No doubt I'll find it in a different form somewhere on the floor in the morning. Nothing I can't handle. When you have a throw-up'n dog like Buddy, you get used to it.

I spent a good amount of time scrounging around for things to sell at Saturday's yard sale. I walked around the house about 50 times, saying to myself, "Now, what can I live without?" Slapped a sticker on Kiki, but then she looked up at me with those huge eyes and I had to tear it off.

In case it sounds like I'm perfectly happy alone, let me clarify - I miss my Bubbas, both Big and Little! Buddy feels the same way, spending most of his time lying around at the front door.

Now when I go to bed, he'll be wide awake; he will wait for me to fall asleep and then he'll suddenly bark furiously at a noise; he'll get a terrible itch and take 15 minutes to scratch it while sitting on the bed; he'll hop down, hop back up, hop down, hop back up.

I'll be awake anyway - that pizza gave me heartburn, the neighbors will probably have another 2am fight five feet from the house, and I'll be hearing creepy noises all night. H.U.R.R.Y. H.O.M.E. H.U.B.B.Y.

Where's My Vim?

I'm sitting in my chair in a daze.

Haven't gotten out of it for, wow (looking at my watch), 2 hours.

I waved goodbye to Mike and Flutterbug this morning. They headed to South Carolina (for his bi-monthly arthritis treatment) without me.

Thought it'd be good to take some time to catch up on those pesky things that were hanging over my head.

And here I sit in my chair!

But, in my defense, it is 9pm, and I worked all day, on my feet the entire time except for a short lunch, and then I went grocery shopping.

So do you see why I am in my chair, in a daze, watching ALF?

Tomorrow I will be full of vim and vigor and I will dig in and all kinds of wonderful things will be accomplished and, hopefully, at around 9pm I'll be sitting in my chair again, relaxed and refocused and regrouped, and not watching ALF.

Guess I should get out of my chair now . . .

. . . nah, maybe after Andy Griffith.

By the Numbers

Two bikers and a jogger headed toward the river today.

We popped three cell phones into the bike basket, and six feet pedaled (and jogged) past the first of two marinas, with dozens of white boats in lined up, their masts bobbing in the calm water.

Crossed paths with a couple of fishermen, a handful of walkers, and two big poodles straining at their leashes (one white and one black).

Three huge brass ship propellers decorated the local park, where we wound past eight markers describing the history of the naval shipyard just ahead (founded in 1767!).

A battleship sat majestically in one of the dry docks, raised clear out of the water.

Two paddle wheel ferries shuttled pedestrians across the river.

And one mayor, in his sleek black convertible, window down, made his way slowly into the entrance of the parking garage.

Two bikers and a jogger enjoyed the scenes and sights of their unique city on a beautiful autumn day.

Reading Rainbow

Tonight's dessert:


Yum, yum, sugarfree gum! (A veritable smorgasbord)

I spent some time at the Victory Home warehouse sorting books - my favorite job. Look at all the old books I found:


It's hard to tell from the picture, but the one called "How People Work Together" has a neat coppery sheen. I love old textbooks. Well, I love old books. I try to keep the thrift store well-stocked for others who do, too.

And we offer plenty of not-so-old books, too.

It may be 80 degrees outside, but fall is in the air at the thrift store. Does anyone else get butterflies in their stomach when autumn arrives? It just takes a few orange leaves (even if they're fake), that woody smell in the air, and the sight of a pumpkin for my tumbly to get rumbly with anticipation.

Delicious autumn!

My very soul is wedded to it,

and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth

seeking the successive autumns.

~George Eliot

Will Holly and Will Ever Make It Home?

May I introduce the Stuff of My Middle School Nightmares:

The SLEESTAK.

I looked forward every Saturday morning to "Land of the Lost" which was over-the-top dramatic and hilariously amateurish - and I loved it. Or was it Will the teenaged boy that I loved, I'm not sure.

Here's the intro that drew me in every week - note the realistic river ride!

Poor kids nowadays, stuck with the likes of Spongebob Squarepants. If you could just give 'em a bowl of Freakies and plunk 'em down with Sigmund, H.R. Pufnstuf, and a Sleestak or two, they'd be ready to tackle the world. After a good long nap, anyway.

Freakies and Lollipops

Wow. Google Images is a blast. I had to get some images for a flyer I'm working on...


...and I had a great time entering key words and seeing all kinds of wonderful (and a few not-so-wonderful) pictures come up!

It got me thinking...I wonder what would happen if I search for something really obscure, like my favorite book in Junior high?

Voila!

How about my favorite TV show in fourth grade?

Ta da!

In case you're younger than me (or older - it was only on the air for a couple of years) that's Sigmund, of Sigmund and the Sea Monsters. Talk about a great premise: a cutie sea monster from a disfunctional family of sea monsters (brothers Blurp and Slurp are always out to get him) is befriended by a couple of human kids who keep having to sneak him into the closet to hide him from the housekeeper!

So, then I decided to search for a record album that I loved to stare at when I was little. Don't really remember the music - just loved that cover.

And here it is:

And the piece de resistance:


I grew up eating Shredded Wheat, Grape Nuts, Cheerios and Wheaties (no sugar added, either), but every once in a while my mom would suffer from temporary insanity and buy a sugar cereal. We kids were able to wolf down massive amounts of cereal in the mornings, and I'm sure we bounced off the walls after eating Freakies. Yum-m-m-y. All sugar. And the most awesome prize inside: a genuine plastic Freaky figurine ("Collect all Seven"). And I collected 'em. All seven.

Wow. That was so fun. Now I have something new to do during "Hannity & Colmes."

Next search: Sleestaks. That one might stump my folks, but there are plenty of you out there who are my age and know exactly what I'm talkin' about.

Have a good night, and try not to dream about three-fingered, insect-eyed, hissing creatures chasing you through the Lost City. Better make it a friendly sea monster instead.

Saturday Stuff

I've never been so mad at a parade.

Well, I've never been mad at a parade before. But I was two streets away from my neighborhood this morning and could not find a way to get home. A Shriners parade was IN MY WAY. It took me over 30 minutes to figure out the one and only way to get to my house, which I could nearly see from my car. Grrrrr.

I felt like I was trapped in one of those mazes with a mouse at one end, a piece of cheese at the other, and lots of dead ends in between. Do the mice in those things shriek and moan and whine and pound their heads on their little steering wheels when they go through the maze?

I eventually made it home and met with a chimney expert, who gave us an estimate on installing our "new" parlor furnace. Turns out it doesn't burn WOOD! I'm so disappointed - it would look so good in our living room. Maybe we can turn it into a TV stand or something.

Tomorrow Mom & Dad come for a visit! So I've been cleaning stuff that I've never bothered to clean before, like tops of door frames, bottoms of closets, and Buddy's armpits. They'll surely never notice this stuff, but you know how it is (if you're a girl, anyway!).

Now I must head upstairs and run a duster over the six-foot high armoir. Just in case my dad or mom stand on a stool at the top of the stairs and almost get a glimpse of it.

Kojak Who?

Lexicon (lĕḱsĭ-kŏń): (n) a dictionary. A member of my family used that word to describe what he has to have on hand when he reads my blog. I had to look it up. In a dictionary. I really did.

But I do understand why my family members need to refer to a lexicon now and then. I’ve been known to use obscure references from time to time (I’m sure there’s someone outside my family who has NEVER HEARD OF KOJAK). So to help them out, I’ve developed a mini-lexicon of my own.

From the posts: Where's My Cane? and Happy Birthday Melanie!

Sifnos: an idyllic Greek island in the Aegean Sea.

Idyllic: charmingly simple or rustic.

Charmingly simple: an extremely appealing thought for one whose life often feels uncharmingly complicated.

From the post: Where's My Cane?

Kojak: a TV detective, known for his bald head.



That’s just how much hair I would have if I plucked out the gray.

Fibercon: a fiber pill or powder to relieve bloating constipation.

Wow, in print, that’s a little embarrassing.


From the post: I Spy...

Punch Buggy: a car game generally played by young children in which participants hit each other upon sight of a Volkswagen Beetle.

We just yelled “Beetle” when I was a kid, but most people I know call out “Punch Buggy.” Good thing my sis didn’t know about the hitting part or I’d be dead now.

From the post: Rain, Rain, Go Away

Roly-Poly Bug: A common nickname for a woodlouse. Found in damp places like under rocks.


If you search Google Images, there will be about 20,000 pictures that come up of little kids with palms open, holding the little curling creatures. I admit that if I were to hold one in my hand, and it were to wriggle, I’d probably let out a blood-curdling scream, too. How do I know? Been there, done that.

From the post: Cupcake Teeth

Noogie: Sometimes called a Dutch Rub, Monkey Scrub or Russian Haircut, noogies are performed by placing the victim in a headlock and using the middle knuckles of the fore and middle fingers to cause friction by rubbing them across the surface of the skull quickly and firmly.

I’m not certain that we gave Little Brother noogies per se, but I’m sure there were comparable pranks he endured at our hands – we took seriously our position as older, in-charge sisters!

From one of the pictures on the left:

DD: Blog lingo for Dear Daughter. There’s also DS, DH, and DSCOR (Dear Second Cousin Once Removed)

Dad and I may be the only people on the planet that can explain a second cousin once removed. I won’t bore you with it here. But I COULD do it. Dad trained me well.

A family member also questioned the strange BLOG NICKNAME I gave my daughter. We don't actually call her that in person. Well, not very often, anyway. It was a security measure to avoid using her real name. Really, it’s a formality, since her name is all over her own blog, which is linked to mine. But I feel like I should at least attempt to be prudent, so when I began my blog, I nicknamed nearly everyone but myself.

Now BUBBA does have pretty strong connotations, conjuring up images of brawny (or flabby) redneck men with strong country accents.

And Little Bubba doesn’t really look much like that.

Or talk much like that.

I’m not sure how we all ended up calling each other some form of Bubba, especially since we’re essentially northerners. But I had an EPIPHANY.

Maybe it's time to give Little Bubba a new nickname that is softer, prettier, more ladylike. My mind is already jammed full of a zillion useless things to ponder, so I’d like YOU to do the work!

Leave a comment with your suggested nickname (you can just put the name itself in the comment, plus a way to contact you if one doesn’t automatically show up) and I will pick a winner next Sunday evening. You may enter as many times as you would like. You may not know Little Bubba personally, but give it a shot anyway. It’ll be fun!

What will you win? Hmm…what do I have around the house that I’d like to get rid of? Ok, you will win an unusual book ( I have a lot of them lying around) PLUS some really yummy chocolate. (If you live far, far away, and are concerned that the chocolate will melt, I’ll substitute something else yummy that doesn’t melt.) AND I’ll throw in a tube of good-smelling Bath & Body Works lotion (if you’re a man, it makes a good gift!).

How’s that for incentive? I may have to enter a few times myself. And folks, keep the lexicon nearby, I’m not quite ready to eschew obfuscation.

Ho Hum

I WISH I could get to the point where I could think of things to write every day. But some days are just days, and they flit by uneventfully.

I must say, though, this is the longest I've EVER lasted in my attempts to write or keep a journal!

But adventure is always right around the corner, and in my mind's eye, I see blog material materializing very soon.

Unfortunately for you, my lovely readers (Hi again, Mom), it looks like it'll begin with another animal puke story.

But I won't dwell on it OR take photos, as much as I may be tempted.

And the story has no place to go but up! But it's still unfolding, so I must keep you in suspense. There's a sombrero involved, if that helps.

I Spy . . .

City living has its advantages and one big advantage this summer is that we have practically the whole YMCA pool to ourselves. When we lived in the suburbs, the pool was jammed like a can of wriggling, splashy sardines.

(On a side note: I have a strange relationship with sardines; I enjoy them and am repulsed by them at the same time. Describing them as wriggling and splashy has pretty well tipped the scale away from any possibility of enjoyment - in fact, my gag reflex is beginning to express its own feelings.)

This afternoon Little Bubba and I slipped away from work to take a dip in the pool. I can't think of a better place to play hookie. We splashed around and made up silly games.

Racing from one end of the pool to the other holding onto one foot was interesting.

Then I swam a couple of slow, lazy laps.

First on my back,
barely kicking,
staring up the pale, nearly cloudless sky.
I watched the trail of a jet, so high it was noiseless.
The huge pin oak came into view, leaves softly rustling.
The corner of my eye caught the rainbow-colored umbrella, shading a table.

A wave from Little Bubba's flailing legs washed over my face and up my nose.

Then the breaststroke,
none of that blowing out of air underwater,
just a slow, easy stroke while daydreaming.
I spied a dragonfly hovering over the turquoise ripples in front of me.
Another jet, this time coming in low and rumbly for a landing in the airport.
A horn blared on the nearby highway.
The dragonfly skittered off in search of adventure.

I swam right into the hard plastic lane divider.

On the way home we played our favorite in-the-car game: "I Spy an Idiot." It's a lot easier to rack up points with this game nowadays, with all the kids scuffing along with their pants around their knees, and people too busy yakking on their cell phones while eating french fries to stay in their lanes. Besides, there just aren't many Punch Buggies out there anymore.

We headed back to work refreshed and relaxed, ears sloshing and fingertips pruny, laughing and calling out "I spy an IDIOT!" all along the way.

Where's My Cane?

I’m getting old. I can tell by a number of signs.

1) My jawline’s getting a little lumpy. Or, well, pudgy.

I don’t know how to describe it; all I know is that I would greatly benefit from a little duck tape under my ears, pulling that pudginess back.

Hmmm. Flesh-colored duck tape. I could patent it and only charge half of the cost of plastic surgery and retire to Sifnos.

2) I have to get up in the night to use the bathroom.

It may not be a big deal to someone who keeps a neat house, but I’m not that someone. So I have to clamor for my glasses on a bedside table littered with books, jewelry, and, I might as well admit it, two cupcake papers from muffins I had for breakfast about a month ago.

Then I have to remove the cat from between my feet, untangle the sheets from around my legs, gingerly step across the room, avoiding any number of obstacles, usually related to laundry, and sneak past the door behind which is a very light-sleeping dog.

There is no possible path that avoids the squeaks and creeks of a hundred-year-old floor. Believe me, I’ve tried. Hug the wall – nope. Hug the railing – nope. Pick out an Indiana Jones style path – nope. I might as well invest in a chamber pot.

3) I can’t spend an entire day at a water park.

Hubby took me to one on Monday. Oh, the sights – hairy backs, pasty flesh, lumpy bodies that have no right to be in swimsuits.

And that was just us.

We started off strong, running up the massive flights of stairs, barely breaking stride. Then I don’t know what happened. After about 4 hours, it was all we could do to drag ourselves to the car and crawl down the highway (in the left lane) to get home and take a nap before the early-bird special at Myrna’s Buffet.

4) If I pluck out all my gray hairs I’ll look like Kojak.

So I guess I’ll bite the bullet and pay a ridiculous sum to get them turned brown.

No, home hair color is not for me – the last time I tried to color my hair I had to go straight to a salon to get it fixed before I could be seen in public, and the stylist asked if she could take a before-and-after picture. She’d never seen such a bad job! And of course, I had to fork out a ridiculous sum. It might as well be put in the budget, right alongside the Fibercon.

5) Teenagers drive me nuts.

Not mine, of course – she’s a middle-aged woman in a teenager’s body. But all the others!

I want to go up to the girls and stretch their shirts over their bellies and give all the “sagging” boys wedgies. One of these days a rapper is going to wear his BVDs on his head and we will officially become a nation of underwear-headgear idiots.

6) And lastly, I love to sit in my chair. Love it, love it, love it.

Can’t wait to get home in the evening and sit in my chair and put my feet up. No, I don’t want to go shopping. No, thank you, I don’t care to work out at the Y. Nope, I think I’ll pass on playing tennis. Pretty sure that would mean getting out of my chair.

Get me my Fibercon and my vibrating slippers and my chamberpot. I’m in for the night.

Nope, Can't Do It

Things I CANNOT do (for those of you who have a distorted view of my abilities):

I cannot for-the-life-of-me keep a fuschia plant alive. I try every year. Every spring I purchase a beautiful red and purple specimen and within six weeks it looks like this:

I cannot swallow sushi. I have made many attempts at this and am a dismal failure. Ditto for shrimp. I know, I know, who doesn't love shrimp? So sue me. And go eat a sardine. Oh, gross? Well, I can.

I cannot tell a joke all the way through. Punch lines elude me and important details escape me. That is why last night was so strange. I was very tired, and drifted off to sleep in my chair while Hubba watched TV. When we toddled off to bed at around 1am, I got a second wind and suddenly felt wide awake. I became sharp as a tack and rattled off four jokes in a row, without a stumble or missed line. My sleepy husband, whose back was turned to me in the bed, rolled over, incredulous, and stared at me like I was an alien.


I cannot speak French. Now, I know I'm not the only one around who can say that, but not everyone took French in all four years of high school AND minored in it in college. Say vray, sill voo play.


I cannot play the violin. Oh, I have one. I asked my friend's daughter to teach me a few notes. But I couldn't practice - every time I tried, the cat would come running, circle my feet repeatedly, meowing, and then sink her teeth into my ankles. Evidently she doesn't appreciate good music.


I asked my dear Hubba and Little Bubba for input on things I cannot do, and they're having altogether too much fun. They're rattling things off without taking a breath. Can't keep track of my keys...can't hang onto my cell phone...can't stand up for long without going sprawling...can't rollerskate in a buffalo herd (huh?)...can't read in a car...can't keep the checking account balanced...I'm starting to get a complex...


BUT this is kinda fun, so, to continue,


I cannot get all the way through a C.S. Lewis book (with the exception of the Narnia Chronicles). I have never read all of "The Screwtape Letters" - lots of attempts, though. I can't get past page 18 of "The Abolition of Man" and I've been wading more and more slowly through "The Pilgrim's Regress" which is sad, because I found it fascinating at first. Maybe I need to remove it from the bathroom. That may be the whole problem.


Which leads to another problem. There are two things I cannot seem to do without reading. One involves, um, the bathroom. The other is EATING. And it works in reverse, too (no, not the bathroom part), I cannot read without eating. No wonder I can't fit into my clothes.


In case you're curious (you, meaning my mother - who else would care?), currently on my bathroom shelf:

• "The Summer Book" by Susan Branch. Recipes, garden tips, pretty watercolors of watermelons, pansies, adirondack chairs.

• "The Shaping of England" by Isaac Asimov. If only I were as attentive to my haircolor roots as I am to my genetic ones.

• "The New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy." Some of us have to cheat a little to keep up with the smarties.

• "Uncle John's Fast-Acting Long-Lasting Bathroom Reader." Where else can I learn that I have 4,000 wax glands in each ear, or that Sweden consumes the most breakfast cereal (Melissa, are you Swedish?)

• "The Art of War" by Sun-tzu. I don't know why. I just open it up anywhere and see if anything interesting pops out at me.

• "Atom" by Isaac Asimov. Poor man, he refused to acknowledge God, yet marveled at the intricacies and order of the world around him.

• "Pilgrim's Regress" by C.S. Lewis. Still workin on it...

• "Spanish Phrase Book." Hey, I'm no quitter - there may be some language out there that'll click.

• "Uncle John's Slightly Irregular Bathroom Reader." You really can't have too many of his books. Did you know that non-dairy creamer is flammable? Or that King George II fell to his death off a toilet? (He was de-throned, if you will.)

• "Winnie-le-Pooh Prends Son Petit-Dejuener" by A.A. Milne. Fortunately, it has pictures.
  

So there you have it. The narrow road ain't for perfect people, and for that I am grateful!

Doesn’t it just figure that the day we lose an hour’s sleep to Daylight Savings is the kind of day we need it most?!

My plans to make a bunch of muffins to take to the thrift store were threatened when I realized I was out of paper cupcake thingies. I will NOT make muffins without those thingies – I end up with crumb cake that has to be eaten with a spoon. So I got up when my hubby left for work (the ungodly hour of 6:15) and hopped…well, that word may be inaccurate, how about crawled, into the car to head to Walmart. Forty-eight muffins later, I was ready to hop in the car again, armed with a stick of butter (which I made the mistake of putting in my purse and forgetting about), napkins, three containers of flavored creamer for the coffee, two big bags of salt-water taffy to set out in bowls, oh, and the muffins, which Little Bubba carried for me, along with her 40 lb. computer bag, several books, her purse, camera case, and other assorted sundries. Naturally, it was raining.

After dropping LB off at the church, I made my way to the thrift store, where I spent the morning sorting and displaying books, Barbie clothes and board games, waiting on customers, and, of course, eating muffins.

When I was good and full, I headed back to the church to work on Sunday’s music. Normally, I have the music ready to go by rehearsal time on Wednesday, but we were out of town the first half of the week and I got behind schedule. I didn’t even have a song or theme in mind to get me started, so it was slow going for a while there. But by 3 o’clock I had all the songs chosen (12 between both services), lyrics typed, keys chosen, chords written in, transitions figured out and copies made. So LB and I took advantage of a lull to go home, where she wisely crawled into bed for a short nap, and I foolishly stayed up and got some computer-related tasks done. An hour and a half later we were back at church for rehearsal.

Now I can never get enough of this time of the day – playing beautiful songs in harmony with other musicians and singers, praising God together with the gifts he has given us; music is an awesome gift in itself, moving and inspiring, convicting and encouraging, and besides, it’s so fun! I really mean it when I say I would play all day every day if I could. But alas, soon it was time to wrap up. Hubby had a class to teach at 7pm and LB had plans to go to a friend’s house, so I reluctantly climbed into the car, alone this time, and headed back home.

After guzzling (without warming it up because I’m lazy) a drinkable can of tomato soup and putting a pan of meatloaf in the oven (praise the Lord for freezers – last time I made meatloaf I doubled the recipe and stuck some in there), I worked on a financial statement I would need for a meeting the next day. There is always so much more detail to things like that than I think, and I didn’t get very far before hubby called and asked if I’d like to go get a bite to eat. Well, of COURSE I would – I don’t turn down that offer very often, so I turned the oven down a bit and got my coat.

We are blessed to live on the edge of a quaint old downtown district on a river, and there are several charming restaurants available. We decided on Brutti’s, mainly because when we finally found a parking place along a side street, the wind was howling and bone-chilling, and Brutti’s was the closest restaurant. It is a deep narrow place, with a high tin ceiling, lots of large heavily-shellacked molding, huge mahogany mirrors, quirky artwork and white-clothed tables. The waiter took about 5 full minutes to describe two specials, right down to the way they would be arranged on the plate. After all that work we didn’t take him up on the specials but we did enjoy our choices – hubby had lasagna (boring) and I had a most delicious pork chop sitting on a heap of delectable smashed sweet potato, with sautéed spinach. There was a wonderfully delicious fruity sauce poured over the chop, with a nice kick to it that kept the poor waiter filling my water every few minutes. After that, we indulged in a piece of mocha caramel cake a la mode, which we shared.

The meal put hubby to sleep about 5 minutes after we got home, but I couldn’t go to bed without Little Bubba in the house. I have a strong fear of falling asleep and waking in the middle of the night to find that she still hasn’t returned, and then panicking, which has happened before with Mike when he was having to deal with some crazy person until late. It’s no fun at all, so I opted to stay up and continue to work on the financial report (just a notch above “no fun at all.”) Buddy spent the time lying at the top of the stairs, head on his paws, waiting for LB to get back here where she belonged (how on earth are we going to cope with this child going off to college in a year and a half??).

The girl eventually arrived, said goodnight and toddled off to bed, and I stayed up, determined to conquer the report.

Experts say that it’s a good idea to go to bed earlier the week of Daylight Savings, to get your body used to the time change. Not only did I not take that advice, but I ended up staying up until 1:30am working on that stupid report. And, demented person that I am, I am now spending my entire Sunday afternoon writing this blog entry while my hubby and daughter saw logs upstairs. Well, there’s always tonight…maybe…if I can’t think of anything better to do.

February 19, 2008

Now that I have finally caught up to the rest of civilization and have a blog, my mind is a complete blank. I have nothing to say! There is nothing of interest going on in my life, in my day! Wait...this can't be right...normally my life is a beautiful, jumbled mess of frenzied activity, mishap and adventure! But is it only like this to me? Can it possibly be of any interest to anyone else? At least I have a few doting relatives. So here goes!

Well, maybe tomorrow...