ALL TV ALL THE TIME

Respect the Can, Man

2012-02-20T18:54:00.003-05:00

It's the little things that do you in. Sure, aliens could land in my neighborhood like they landed in Tom Cruise's neighborhood in War of the Worlds. Sure. And, who knows, maybe I would find myself as resourceful as old Tom's character in getting out of Dodge and surviving the attack. Maybe.

That's not a little thing. That's not having to buy yet another garbage can.

I have lived at my current address almost 8 years and I'm on my 3rd or 4th garbage can. To some people that may be no big deal, but I really don't see why a freakin' garbage can should wear out, or more exactly, be destroyed. It's a GARBAGE CAN. It's plastic or metal, you stuff bags of garbage in it, you haul it to the street once a week, and someone empties the contents into a garbage truck. So why have I come home to garbage can debris scattered in my yard, driveway, and the street?

The first can was inherited and it didn't have a lid - which just won't work. Not only does it rain into the can (I don't have a garage or outdoor covered storage place, don't get me started on that...) but some of the lovely critters that inhabit my island climb and tear and scatter. Critters like cats (and you know who you are), armadillos, possums, dogs. And please remember this is Florida where it does get quite hot and humid in the summer. The inside of those garbage bags are petri dishes and one small hole or tear and the smell, o heavens, the SMELL.

So I bought a Rubbermaid $30 can with a lid and wheels. The wheels because I'm not carrying pounds of garbage to the curb and it's noisy and embarrassing to drag it down the driveway. Within days the handle had been broken. Really? Within weeks the lid had been tossed into the street and run over several times by friendly neighbors. Within months one of the wheels had disappeared. So I spent the next year or two pounding the ill-fitting lid on it and dragging it up & down the driveway.

Next I bought a cheapo $15 can (with lid & wheels) at K-Mart. Awesome. $15! They broke the handle the first time they picked up the trash. I "fixed" it with duct tape. That lasted for many months. That must have irritated them because one day I came home to find the axle and wheels sitting next to the can. REALLY?! And I could NOT get the axle reattached to the can. So I spent the next year dragging the can back and forth on the driveway.

Last week, after intense internet research and reading of customer reviews, I found my can. No matter that it was $70. No matter that it was 40 miles away. I would get that can. I enlisted my daughter's help (she has a huge trunk in her car) and we drove to the Big Box Store in Palm Coast that had my can. Well, they didn't have the 30 gallon can I wanted, but for the same $70 they had a 60 gallon can by the same manufacturer. Bought it. Didn't fit in the trunk. With rope and additional string from the store we got a piece of it in the trunk and secured it all around. Drove home with the wind whistling through the lid.

Last night I proudly rolled my trash can to the street and parked it. I threw down my challenge. And when I returned home from work today, my can was sitting neatly on the grass next to my mailbox. Undamaged. Granted, they left the lid open (it's attached). A message, I assume. Fine. My can and I are up to the challenge.

How old are you?

2010-07-28T20:56:00.000-04:00

from wikimedia commons/author rich007

So I'm proving a point AND writing my blog. I can blog and watch TV at the same time. I can watch TV and blog at the same time. Cool.

So I'm watching this special on PBS; Paul McCartney, 'scuse me, SIR Paul McCartney is receiving the Gershwin Lifetime Achievement Award for Songwriting. I didn't know what the special was about; I'll admit I was channel-surfing looking for anything when I spotted Sir McCartney being interviewed about the upcoming performances. I thought he was doing all the singing, but it turns out he opened the performances and then relinquished the stage.

I started thinking about age because Sir McCartney sounds darn good for his age! I mean, the man is in his 60's and, though his voice roughens on the upper notes, he sounds like the Paul McCartney I listened to in high school. I watched the Obamas and realized they were 15-20 years younger than Sir McCartney. (I looked it up: McCartney was born in 1942 and Obama in 1961.) Holy cow! Barack and Michelle probably didn't even listen to Wings when they were in high school! President Obama is just a year older than my sister; I wonder if he was a fan of Shaun Cassidy, too. (smirk) The smirk is for my sister; she doesn't like being reminded of her high school crush.

So first Sir McCartney sang "Got to Get You Into My Life". Then Stevie Wonder sang - and Stevie sounds great and looks great, too. Then the announcer introduced the Jonas Brothers. Who? The cameras panned to the two Obama girls; they were lit up like Christmas trees! Oh yea, the Jonas Brothers. They came out and sang a Beatles hit (They were singing it when I started typing and I've forgotten the song I'm going on memory here, folks.) and they were GREAT! They could have been the young Beatles; their voices were pitch perfect and their accompaniment was spot on. The Obama girls were experiencing the Beatles almost as I experienced them. Young, good-looking guys singing and having a great time.

(Elvis Costello is singing Penny Lane right now. Not so pitch-perfect, but hey! it's Elvis Costello!)

The whole age thing blows me away at times. Last week I was taking my morning vitamins and our summer intern Jenn was watching me.

"Fish oil," I explained.

"Oh," she nodded. "My grandfather takes that."

%*$(#*%&#(*$#

the more things stay the same....

2010-07-22T21:32:00.000-04:00

When I walked through the kitchen door yesterday the first thing I saw was garbage all over the floor. I gasped, but I did not yell or scream or flail my arms. As I stood there the FLB* trotted up with his tail wagging. I glared at him and pointed at the mess. He looked. Then he remembered. Oh. His tail lowered and his whole body slumped. All I said was, "Bed.". He slunk off to his doggie bed.

I didn't have to clean up the worst of the garbage: a handful of chicken fat cut from some chicken breasts, gooey barbecue sauce, and a hairball cleaned up a couple days ago. The FLB* ate those treats. So my part of the cleanup was pretty quick.

Of course I'm waiting for the denouement. He ate raw chicken fat and a hairball. I'm sure there will be some gagging drama in the middle of the night soon. Sigh.

After I cleaned up the mess and did some other chores I decided to release the FLB* from his timeout and take him outside. I wanted to get my two new plants out of the car. One plant with tiny purple flowers at the end of its long green leaves looked like it had some white spots on some of the leaves, so I decided to leave it outside and spray-wash it for a few days before bringing it into the house. As I set the plant on my patio a tiny 3" lizard leaped from the plant to my hand. I heard a shriek and I think there were some body tremors before the lizard jumped from my hand to the patio. I'm proud to say I did not wet my pants...not even a little.

I do have some sad news. My houseplant palm tree did not survive. I'm not sure what happened. This was the plant that the FLB* liked to sniff around and stare at. I thought I watered it carefully but it started to yellow and brown and before long it was dead. When I took it to the street to be added to the yard waste pile I thought I saw the blinds move in my living room. Was the FLB* watching me? Was he...laughing?
I purchased a replacement palm last week and so far it looks wonderful in the living room and the FLB* seems to be ignoring it.

I have some great news, too. I have a new grandson. Evan Philip Carter was born less than 30 minutes before Fathers' Day. He is beautiful and sweet and cuddly. Here is his one month old picture:

And this is little Evan with his big brother 3-yr-old Noah. It looks like Noah is sucking the brain right out of Evan, but he's counting to 5 while kissing his little brother - as directed by his mom so she can get the photo.

*FLB = Harley, mixed terrier.

Bumper Crop

2010-04-27T22:45:00.000-04:00

I drive an 11-year-old VW Cabrio. I love my car. It is black and has a black canvas convertible top. (This is its second top since its first top was vinyl and mildewed and rotted after just a couple years. I held it together with duct tape for awhile - attractive! - then finally invested in the new top.) I have no car payments and no plans to ever sell or trade in my Cabrio. This year became the pivotal year when I decided that it wasn't worth paying for comprehensive insurance due to the Kelly Blue Book value and probable insurance payout in case of a severe accident. All these factors led to a momentous decision.

I added bumper stickers to my car.

I love bumper stickers - especially sarcastic, funny, cynical, outrageous bumper stickers. I started conservatively: a round sticker advertising my favorite beachside restaurant: FA Cafe. Then I added an oval sticker advertising the St. Augustine Lighthouse and Museum. Last summer I added a black and white bumper sticker for my favorite local band. The bumper sticker just lists their web site and says:
MID-LIFECRISIS.NET. Most people who see it don't think it's for a band. giggle.

Next was SAVE THE TATAS. The pink breast cancer ribbon on the sticker has mostly faded in our bright sun, so many don't get the reference. I've had more than one person (including my sister!) ask, "What's a tata?" It has special meaning for me - not because I've had breast cancer, though I had a tiny scare a couple years ago, phew! - but because my granddaughter uses that term for breasts. She once lifted her tee shirt and shouted "TATAS!" while on a scenic boat cruise with her parents. For no reason other than she wanted to - she was 2.

I bought a round LIFE IS GOOD bumper sticker with the brand's little terrier dog holding a marshmallow over a campfire. A nod to my FLB*.

I was on a roll now. Local shop Notions 'n' Potions carries a nice selection of fun bumper stickers. And I was ready to make a statement. So my two favorite bumper stickers now ride proudly on my car's rear:
One reads: DON'T PISS ME OFF. I'M RUNNING OUT OF PLACED TO HIDE THE BODIES. I think it meshes nicely with the Life is Good message. My #1 fave though is:

EVE WAS FRAMED.

Short and sweet. True. I LOVE IT. I was nervous at first, certain some gunrack-totin', tobacco-chewin', FoxNewsGlennBeckRushFanatic would trash my car or shout at me in traffic. Nothing happened. People at work noticed the stickers and teased me about them. Then one Friday it happened. A pick-em-up truck pulled up behind me at a red light, then pulled around to the lane on my left. The passenger lowered his window and yelled, "Hey!" I looked at him. "Love your bumper sticker! Eve WAS framed. By a bunch of lying men!" I stared at him for a couple of seconds, then laughed and gave him a thumbs up. WOW! What a surprise.

Since then several women have mentioned to me - in parking lots usually - that they love that bumper sticker. Then it happened again. I was driving over the 312 Bridge - my sister riding shotgun and my granddaughter Kinsey strapped safely in her car seat in the back - when a sporty car pulled up behind me then pulled around. When we slowed for the traffic light after the bridge two good-looking surfer guys hollered, "Love your bumper sticker - Eve WAS framed!" More thumbs up all around and they sped on by.

My newest is a gift from a friend at work (Carolee): WILL WORK BECAUSE I HAVE TO. I thought of putting it on the FRONT of my car so the young and healthy panhandlers flashing their cardboard signs at me in the afternoons could read it.

This afternoon I was cruising home from work with all the windows down listening to jazz on Flager College Radio. I heard someone yelling and turned off my radio. Two women were riding beside me and we were slowing for a traffic light. One yelled, "What does the rest of your bumper sticker say? The one about DON'T PISS ME OFF?" I laughed and yelled, "I'M RUNNING OUT OF PLACES TO HIDE THE BODIES!" She laughed, then repeated what I said to her companion and they both cackled. The light changed, I flashed her an ironic peace sign, and drove off.

Life IS Good.

*Freakin' Little Bastard

2010-04-22T19:56:00.000-04:00

One of the pleasures of my job (I work at a B&B.) is meeting new and interesting people. Today a nice-looking man was brewing hot tea in our lobby when I was walking through. Our eyes met and I commented on drinking hot tea when it was in the 80's outside. (It was NOT a wisecrack; it was a friendly observation.) This led to a long discussion where I learned so many fascinating things about him:

He grew up in Viet Nam in Saigon. It was tradition to keep a hot pot of tea going all day. All guests were always offered a cup of tea. They also believed that drinking hot beverages helped them to feel cool in the tropical heat of (South) Viet Nam.
His grandfather was a physician who was well-known in Saigon and who believed in treating the whole person and had a lot of ideas about eating and taking care of yourself that are becoming more popular today. Joey (he introduced himself as Joey and I'm not sure if this is the correct spelling or not - he's very Americanized so it may be...) didn't speak until he was 5 and his family believed he might be "stupid" (his word), so no one paid much attention to what they said around him. He spent all his time with his grandfather at his practice and said he knew all about menopause, having babies, and many other things by the time he was 5!
His grandfather came to America with the rest of the family, and died at the age of 88 when he was hit by a car. This happened in Pensacola, FL. An autopsy was performed because the Highway Patrol wanted to blame the accident on an "old drunk or drugged man" (meaning a foreigner) and the autopsy showed him to be not only alcohol and drug-fee, but he had the body of a 68-yr old. This happened back in 1987. The driver was never charged.
Joey is in the Air National Guard. He is 50 yrs old and looks 40. (And I only guessed 40 because he has some gray hair.) He says at his physical training for the Guard he outruns much-younger men all the time and loves it!

What a delight he is - and what stories he must have! I wish I could have spent much more time with him, but I WAS working. I filled my coffee thermos with hot green tea and drank that this afternoon. It was weird and I didn't feel cooler, but I'm going to keep at it. He also drinks room temperature water as needed.

I'm glad to be back on my blog. I deviated from my "no tv for one year" project by getting into hulu too much. And while my family was visiting for spring break they hooked the TV back up and I've had several wasted evenings back in my old habits. I heard on the radio today that hulu will start charging for their service in May or June so that will put an end to that. Bummer. It's kind of cool to pick and choose what to watch and when. For free. I'm not PAYING for it. So I'm baaaccckkk. I've got some stories - after all, I spent 4 days/3 nights in VEGAS BABY recently, and the wildlife is stirring here in NE Florida.

PS Harley is alive and well. He hacked up a 4" hairball yesterday.

Go Into the Light! Go Into the Light!

2010-03-09T20:58:00.001-05:00

Finally - finally - finally. Sunshine and warm temperatures. This morning it was 50 degrees - the warmest it has been in the morning in months. And...what's this? The forecast is for mid-70's tomorrow, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday! OK, so it's supposed to rain, too. Who cares?? It will be wonderful to be wet and not freezing!!! And next week starting on Monday - mid 70's all week!!! Woo Hoo!!!

We Floridians can now stop bitching and moaning and whining and hibernating. We can stop digging in our closets and storage units for gloves and thick socks and heavy jackets that we used to need only a couple of times a year. We can turn off our heat pumps and quit listening to their asthmatic wheezing as they start up and shut down. We can open our windows...we...can..grunt...o*p*e*n...bang!...our windows.

The lawn guy was mowing my yard today when I arrived home from work. I laughed out loud for joy! It's been three months since I've seen a lawn service truck on our street.

My neighbor spotted our armadillo the other night. Another sign it's warming up! Can the snake-in-a-bucket be far behind? And...be still, my heart....the tree frogs should start singing the next time it rains. And mating in the driveway puddles. And sticking to my backdoor. YES! And, Harley, the lizards should be sunning themselves soon, buddy!

Harley and I can go to the beach without dressing like we're hiking in Alaska. I can dust off my sandals and put my socks away! I can sit outside at FA Cafe!

Spring! Spring! I may dance naked in my backyard. I may not. Spring! Spring!

Life's Soundtrack: Part Two

2010-02-21T20:16:00.001-05:00

As I was saying....

I do believe that our Baby Boomer generation may be the first who really have their own soundtrack. Not that our parents didn't enjoy music, but theirs just wasn't as portable and as personal as ours. We were the first with small transistor radios and earplugs (No, Apple didn't invent the tiny earplug, children.)

I spent the 80's raising two daughters and still listened to music as much as I could, but I was BUSY. My daughters' soundtracks became mine in some ways. At first we listened to my musical choices. I was really pleased that they enjoyed listening to oldies from the 60's. Then they got old enough to request "their" radio stations. (What? You don't want to listen to Oldies with Mom?) I grit my teeth and tried to like Duran Duran, Aerosmith, MC Hammer, and Vanilla Ice. We all liked Richard Marx, Michael Jackson, and Janet Jackson, but I didn't like Duran Duran, Pearl Jam and Madonna.

As they gained more independence in the 90's, so did I. I spent the 90's detangling myself from my marriage, and dealing with all the feelings divorce and loss brought to my life. I dealt with my anger by listening to Sinead O'Connor and singing her bitter and angry lyrics over and over in the kitchen while cooking or cleaning. I saw the movie Thelma and Louise in the spring of 1991 (four times!) and purchased the soundtrack immediately. The soundtrack included the haunting "Ballad of Lucy Jordan" by Marianne Faithfull which had reached out and touched me in the movie. Listening to it strengthened my resolve and kept me grounded.

My sister introduced me to the Indigo Girls around this time and I fell in love with their harmonies and their lyrics. I had been an avid fan of Simon and Garfunkle and not felt or heard anything comparable since they had broken up. The Indigo Girls sang about learning to judge yourself and not letting others judge you ("Closer to Fine"), the pain of indecision ("Watershed"), and the healing that hard work can bring ("Hammer and a Nail"). As I ricocheted between denial, anger, depression, acceptance, and back again, I listened and sang Amy and Emily's lyrics and felt understood.

10 Positive Effects of this Freakin' Cold Weather and Rain

2010-02-13T21:38:00.001-05:00

1. I had fun shopping for rain boots with my granddaughter. I bought her bright yellow boots with a picture of a monkey on them. I purchased pink ones (monkeyless) for myself. Of course, we had to borrow scissors from the cashier to cut off the tags and strings, so we could both put on our boots (YOU TOO, GRENAH!) right there in front of God and everybody at Target. Then, out in the freezing cold again, Kinsey spies a nice puddle and jumps in. Yes, our feet stay dry. Can't say that for my pants.
2. Another cold Saturday is a good excuse to wear my Christmas snowflake earrings. Oh, no. I packed away all my Christmas stuff already. Of course I did. It's February in Florida. Why would I keep out snowflake earrings? duh!
3. The local vegetation is getting watered. Well, what's left of it. So much has been killed off by the freezing cold temperatures that NE Florida is going to look like Death Valley this summer.
4. Snowbirds are here and business is good. But, even our snowbirds are getting cranky. After all, they travel all the way here from Michigan and Ohio and Canada to get away from bad weather. Saying a bright "Good morning!" in the library or Publix parking lot to someone with out of state plates can get you run over.
5. Isn't it wonderful to spread joy and laughter? That's what happened today when I asked various salespeople if they had any gloves left. They laughed and laughed. So glad I could brighten their day.
5. The local wildlife which enjoys terrorizing me has not been spotted in a while - no tree frogs, no armadillos, no snakes. No, they are all safe and warm in their burrows having lots of sex so they can have millions of babies when spring does arrive.

There are no more positive effects. It's either cold and wet...or cold and sunny. It sucks.
49 out of 50 states had snow yesterday. Stupid Hawaii.

Life's Soundtrack: Part One

2010-02-10T21:28:00.000-05:00

I believe that we are the first generation (Baby Boomers) who live with a soundtrack in our heads.

Our parents were born in the 1920's and grew up in the Depression. They listened to radio programs, went to movies, and marveled at TVs invading their homes in the 1950's. Music was important to their generation; they sang and danced to the jazz and big band styles that were popular. Rosemary Clooney, Artie Shaw, Count Basie, Dizzy Gillespie, Cab Calloway, Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, and the Dorsey Brothers defined 1940's music and provided a lot of the soundtrack to our parents' generation especially during WWII. After the war our parents settled down, raised families, and music often took a backseat to the TV in the home.

Most of us Boomers don't remember the days before TV. Most of us grew up with Saturday morning double features. I think I can say, though, that we are the generation where music became our constant. The first of the Baby Boomers embraced the rockabilly sounds of Carl Perkins, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Little Richard. Hank Williams brought country and western music to a national audience. And then there was Elvis. A lot of parents and people in authority didn't like Elvis's music and dancing, and that just made him all the more appealing to the younger generation.

Middle Boomers thrilled to the emergence of Rock'n'Roll and the British invasion. Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Joni Mitchell, and other artists contributed to the restlessness of the younger population unhappy with the war in Viet Nam, corporate and government corruption, and the status quo. The Civil Rights Movement would not have been the same without its own soundtrack of We Shall Overcome, Oh Freedom, and Blowin in the Wind.

What set both Black and White Boomers apart from their parents, I believe, was the transistor radio. We were the first to carry around a small radio with an earplug so we could listen to "our" music any time we wanted. We could listen by ourselves or share with our friends. We carried radios to the beach, to picnics, and family barbeques.

In addition to my transistor radio I had a record player and later a small stereo in my bedroom, and that's where I spent all of my spare time. I danced and sang to all my favorite artists. I inserted their lyrics and their songs into my life as my soundtrack. When I left home for college the most important piece of equipment I took with me was my stereo. It didn't matter that my roommate had one, too. We sampled each other's favorite artists (on 8-track tapes by then) and found our horizons expanding. We went to sleep to her radio every night.

This love of music and having it around all the time has continued throughout my life, except when I was first married. I got married in 1973 and had my first child in 1976. I don't really remember a lot of music during those years, but when I go back and research those days, I see the popularity of The Who and the Rolling Stones, neither of which were my favorites. The Beatles had broken up and I was not fond of John Lennon at that time. I liked some Chicago songs and bought one of their albums, but it never was a favorite. Disco? Uh, no. No wonder there was a gap. And remember, in those ancient days before CDs, iPods, MP3s, and the Internet, there was just the radio for music. And not a lot of choices there.

Certain songs bring back times of my life so vividly that I can see, smell, and almost touch those days.

The Name Game written and recorded by Shirley Ellis (1964): After school - late afternoon -playing outside and hearing that song for the first time - wow, what was that? Play it again!

Elton John's Crocodile Rock and Carly Simon's You're So Vain (1973): Winter quarter at Reinhardt College, first time living away from home, having a boyfriend and being in love.

Billy Joel's I Love You Just the Way You Are (1977): Driving my baby to the babysitter's house before work, and picking her up after work, and singing that song to her at the top of my voice.

Jimmy Buffet's Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes (1977) Dancing around my living room with my baby girl.

What about you? What songs evoke vivid memories for you?

Venturing Out....Back in the Saddle Again

2010-02-08T20:01:00.000-05:00

I am searching for writing support and it has been a slow, gradual process. I attended a book festival back in September, then attended a meeting of the Ancient City Writers in October. November and December screamed by with family visits and the holidays. In January I missed the first class of a Creative Writing Class by one day. I consoled myself with the thought that it was really an "Introduction" to Creative Writing Class and I hoped I was beyond the "Introduction" part of writing. I also determined I would not let any more opportunities pass me by!

I found a Sisters in Crime group meeting in Jacksonville the first Saturday of the month, so I made plans to attend the February meeting. Since my granddaughter Kinsey was spending the night Friday night (her parents' wedding anniversary) I knew I would have to be razor sharp Saturday morning to get us both up, dressed, fed, and out the door in time to make my meeting more than 40 miles away. My plan included a list of errands, a quick bite to eat, a quick trip to Publix, and then playtime at home before bedtime. Friday evening clicked by right on schedule and Grenah and granddaughter were both in bed by 9:00pm and asleep by 9:30!

Harley helped out by jumping on the bed and waking us both up at 2:00am to be let out! *FLB!!!! He has never done that before! I woke up enough to leash him up, take him out (with Kinsey holding my hand - "It's DARK, Grenah!"), bring us all back inside, and get Kinsey and myself settled back into bed. She went back to sleep immediately. I tossed and turned and finally dropped off after 2:30am.

Saturday morning dawned foggy and damp and chilly. I showered while Kinsey watched Milo and Otis in my bedroom. We had a quick breakfast and took the *FLB (AKA Kinsey's "BEST FRIEND HAHRY") for his morning walk. We packed up her things and I dropped her at her mom's house about 15 minutes behind schedule. I tore up US1 to Jacksonville and only made one wrong turn before I found the SE Branch of the Jacksonville Library.

The presentation had already begun, but the secretary Pam was gracious and signed me up as a new member and took down my information. I found a seat - not too hard, there were only about 10 people in attendance. The speaker was a traffic accident reconstructionist who also investigated crime scenes. He had brought a slide presentation of an actual case and he demonstrated step by step how he started with the evidence at a crime scene and then worked backwards to see how each piece of the scene ended up where it did. Among other things he had to determine where the shooters were standing, how they were standing (upright? crouched?), where the victim was standing, how he was standing, the path of the bullets from starting point to ending point, etc. The main differences between real life and the CSI shows seem to be: 1. CSI's don't solve crimes in real life, and 2. what happens in less than an hour on TV can take weeks in real life. He logged 178 hours on just this one case in Alabama.

After the talk I met a couple of the members and found out about their book club, too. Networking, it's all about the networking. One of their future speakers teaches a Creative Writing class - great! I received a great boost from attending this meeting and getting "out of my comfort zone".

I ran an errand and treated myself to lunch, then drove home on A1A with the ocean on my left, sun shining brightly through my windshield, and my windows down to catch the breeze.

*FLB=Harley

4 Months and Counting Since I Unplugged the TV....

2010-01-26T21:19:00.000-05:00

My cousin Nina mentioned to me (by email) that I hadn't talked about living without TV in awhile. Funny. That was the focus of my blog when I started.

I used to come home after work and turn on the TV. First thing. Now my TV only gets turned on when I watch my two Netflix movies per month, or when I watch a DVD. I watched Get Shorty a couple weeks ago. I love that movie. I also watched a VHS tape (OMG!) of It's a Wonderful Life on Christmas Eve. My daughter gave me the DVD of Inglourious Basterds for Christmas, but I haven't taken the plastic off yet. Watching my TV set has become an "event" instead of just background noise in my condo.

That being said I have found that the Internet is just as addicting and time-consuming as TV. I boot up my laptop every evening and

Check my facebook account. OMG facebook. I don't spend as much time on facebook as I did when I first signed up. I don't play Farmville anymore. BUT I do spend a lot of time commenting on my friends' posts and clicking on links - and then those links often lead to other links - and more links.
Check my Google mail. I set this account up when some A-hole hijacked my Yahoo address book on Christmas Day and sent all my contacts emails with ads for Canadian Viagra. I actually had one friend who asked why I had sent it to her. sigh. I think it hurt her feelings that I thought she needed Canadian Viagra. I had to explain the hijacking thing and then I pointed out (kindly, I thought) that WOMEN don't take Viagra anyway. dur. (BTW... is Canadian Viagra different than American Viagra? I've never dated a Canadian guy....)
Check my Yahoo mail. Because some people will NEVER update my email address to the new Google address no matter how many times I ask them.
Check my Hotmail mail. Because there are still a couple people who have never updated to the Yahoo mail. I must be the most patient friend in the world.
Check my Blogger home page and read the Blogs I'm following. Sometimes I comment on their blogs, or click on the blogs they are following and so on and so on.
Check my bank account. That doesn't take long. sigh.
Read the local paper online because someone always wants to TALK to me during my break at work when I'm TRYING to read the local paper. Reading the paper online tends to lead to reading the Jacksonville news online which can lead to watching short video clips of interest.
And maybe write something on my own blog.

Seriously, I was doing all this online stuff AND watching TV before I unplugged the TV so I don't feel too bad about it. It does cut into my WRITING.

As far as TV is concerned the Winter Olympics, the Oscars, and some TV series I miss will be on. When I was a kid, if I missed an episode of something, that was it. I had one chance to maybe catch the rerun in the summer. Now, between listening to the radio and accessing the Internet, information is always available. If I'm still interested next September when my project is complete, I can Netflix or Hulu to my heart's content and catch up on my favorite story lines and characters. We'll see.

St. Augustine: an afternoon stroll

2010-01-13T21:46:00.000-05:00

One of the joys of working in downtown St. Augustine is being able to play tourist. I brought my camera to work today and promised myself an afternoon of taking pictures and just walking around. I looked forward to it all day.

At the end of my workday I stuffed a few dollars into my pants pocket and unhooked my car key from my main key chain. I pocketed my car key and put the rest of my keys in my purse. I debated taking my cell phone, then put it in my other pocket. I left my office about 3:15pm (I work 7am-3pm with just a short breakfast break at 10:00.) and placed my purse in the trunk of my car. I slung my camera over my shoulder and strolled out of the parking lot. Even though the sun was shining brightly it was still pretty cold, and I found myself hunching in my corduroy jacket. I pulled the sleeves down around my cold fingers and picked up my pace.

As I walked past houses dating back to the late 1800's I watched for good photo opportunities. I also watched where I was stepping because the sidewalks are uneven and St. George Street is paved with brick to give it that old cobblestone look. I've stumbled more than once because I stepped into a hole while I was staring at some interesting piece of architecture!

I turned east on Bridge Street and I could see the Matanzas River sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. I walked a couple blocks east and snapped this photo. The building on the left is the Kenwood Inn - notice how it's built right on the street.

I backtracked to Aviles Street (the oldest street in the oldest city) and walked past the Casa de Solana Bed & Breakfast whose main building was erected about 1803 or so. Then past a series of shops that beckoned to me with antique maps and books, jewelry, pottery, and art. Today I would not succumb to the temptation of shopping. I was on a mission to relax, take photos, and enjoy my town.

If you're walking north on Aviles Street it ends at the Plaza de la Constitucion. Most southern towns have a square in the middle of town. Because our city was planned and built by the Spanish we have a plaza. It is rectangular and contains several monuments, a gazebo, large, stately trees - cedars and live oaks mostly, a structure known as The Market, and several cannons. I strolled around the plaza and snapped some pictures and just enjoyed being outside. I even sat for a few minutes on a bench, but it was still too cold to do that for long.

I turned my attention back to walking and headed over to St. George Street again. North of the Plaza St. George Street becomes a pedestrian walkway bordered by shops and restaurants. I hurried because I was not shopping today and quickly turned east on Hypolita Street. Facing east I could see the waterfront again. Tourists were out in abundance enjoying the sunshine and warmer temperatures. I passed two cafes that had recently closed. The economic downturn has wreaked havoc on our locally-owned restaurants and shops. I slowed as I passed Claude's Chocolates, but I did not stop. Claude is French and crafts the most exquisite Belgian chocolates...I must stop as my mouth is watering. The light looked interesting on Charlotte Street so I headed north. A large motel backs up to Charlotte Street on the east side of the street so no photo ops there. I turned west on Cuna Street and noticed that a toy store had been replaced by a book shop. I made a note to come back and spend some time browsing in there!

By this time I had been walking for 45 minutes and I was getting cold and thinking a hot cup of coffee would be delicious. I turned left on St. George Street and headed to Cafe de Hidalgo. This little cafe serves delicious gelato, all kinds of delicious coffees, and sandwiches. Just as I opened my mouth to order a coffee to go I saw the handwritten board that advertised Mexican Hot Chocolate. Oh, my. I ordered the Mexican Hot Chocolate. Made with real chocolate (not a powdered mix), milk, cinnamon, and a dash of hazelnut, it sounded too wonderful to pass up. The woman at the register said it would be about 5 minutes so I grabbed a small table and relaxed for a few minutes.

There was a couple sitting next to me - the man and woman looked to be in their early thirties. A server brought out huge cups of coffee to them. Then a server brought out a huge piece of apple pie a la mode and served it to the man. I wasn't the only one who noticed; several of us were taking covert peeks at what looked like heaven-on-a-plate. It was huge so the assumption was that the man and woman were sharing it, but no! Another server brought out the biggest piece of cake I have ever seen! Seriously, this looked to be almost a quarter of a very tall cake! Someone at another table said, "I guess they're not sharing!" and giggled. The woman who had ordered the cake looked mortified, but we all started giggling at the huge piece of cake and she seemed to relax. She leaned over to me and offered to share. I told her thanks, but no thanks. I asked her where they were from, and she replied, "England". I apologized for our extremely cold weather (We Floridians tend to take responsibility for the weather, you know.) She said they were having a great time, and we agreed, "At least it's not raining!" She added, "Or snowing!" and I had to tell her that we had had snow on Saturday just 30 miles south. She was stunned and amazed. I picked up my hot chocolate and bid them farewell.

I strolled back to my car - taking another 30 minutes or so to get there. What a great afternoon!

HARLEY - Six Years Old - and Counting...

2010-01-09T16:10:00.001-05:00

I took down my Christmas trees today. I was picking stray pieces of plastic and lint off the carpet when something caught my eye under my desk in one of Harley's beds(1). I got down on my hands and knees, looked closely under my desk, and gasped. Shards of glass glittered up from the brown and tan cotton-covered bottom of his bed. I couldn't believe my eyes. The *FLB had chewed up a glass ornament.

I looked at him. He looked at me. "What?!" he seemed to say.

You're probably thinking, "Well, did you rush him to the Emergency Clinic?"

You're new to this blog, aren't you. No, I didn't rush him to the Emergency Clinic, and I probably won't mention it at his next vet appointment. It's been weeks since I first put up the tree, and weeks since any ornaments would have hit the ground and not been noticed by me. Whatever he's eaten or swallowed has been through his system and exited. And, before you call PETA on me, I saw quite a bit of glass in there; it could be that he didn't swallow any of it.

Besides, sigh, this isn't the first time the *FLB has chewed on something or eaten something that should have, at the very least, made him really sick.

He stole one of my granddaughter's small stuffed animal and hid it in his bed after one of her visits. Sibling rivalry. I found it and saw a small hole chewed in it and threw it away. Later I was vacuuming the carpet and all of a sudden I heard, "clinkaclinkaclink" as a lot of small somethings rattled through the machine. I stopped and, yes, got down on my hands and knees, and felt around his bed. There were hundreds of small pearl-sized plastic balls next to his bed and in his bed. Had he shaken them out of the little stuffed animal? Probably. If he'd sucked them out I think they would have been gooey with Harley liquids. Had he thrown up recently? No. Anything unusual in his....spoor? (Classy word, eh?) No, but I don't get up close and personal with his...spoor. I shrugged and cleaned up the rest of the little balls.

A co-worker and friend who has since returned to the Czech Republic (Hi, Luci!) created a beautiful and original Christmas gift with cookies and birthday candles. I displayed it on my table under my Christmas tree for a weekend. When I returned from work on Monday it was gone. Not a gram of cookie or candle anywhere. I interrogated the *FLB but he denied any knowledge of said gift. I watched his...spoor...for several days and did see flashes of yellow, but chose not investigate further.

When I brought this dog home from the pound he was one year old. It was January. So I celebrate his birthday in January. The date is flexible; it depends when dog products go on sale and I find something inexpensive (CHEAP) and appropriate for the *FLB. So far I haven't found anything that, A. the little guy wouldn't just chew and eat in one sitting (rubber/plastic), or B. something that the *FLB will use to spread stuff all over my carpet for months (braided rag chews). His toys currently consist of :

1. a small tire purchased by my brother that is advertised as INDESTRUCTIBLE and is made of tire-grade rubber. I can vouch that, although the *FLB has invested many hours gnawing on the tire, it looks as new as the day he got it.
2. a rock that the *FLB stole from my office. I brought the rock back from a beach in Nova Scotia. It is a ragged piece of quartz and I was using it to prop open the compartment door where I keep my computer tower and modem. Since both machines can run hot I like to keep the door propped open. (Why did I buy a desk that had a closed compartment? I don't know. Seemed like a good idea at the time.) So I used to use the rock to prop the door open, but I would come home from work and the rock would be missing. I would find it in Harley's bed. I finally gave up and let him keep it. Although it does embarrass me when I have company and he brings out his rock. "What's that?" they will ask. sigh. "That's his rock," I will explain. "BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
3. a red and green un-stuffed thing from which all the stuffing has been removed and spread all over my house (I removed the squeaker); he just likes to chew on the fabric.

He used to have one of those really hard plastic Nylabones that's supposed to be safe for dogs, but I can't find it.

Uh-oh.

*FLB=Freakin' Little Bastard

(1) In the Old Days dogs were lucky to have a towel or some other rag on which to sleep. My childhood pets slept outside. Even Lassie slept on the floor at the foot of Timmy's bed - no special bed for Lassie! Now they have dog beds and, evidently, one is not enough. You should have a dog bed in every room so your dog will have somewhere safe and comfortable to sleep in every room. (It's Me or the Dog) Harley has a crate and 2 dog beds. I am so politically correct.

ENOUGH!

2010-01-08T19:43:00.001-05:00

What the heck!?

OK. This is Florida. Sunshine. Beaches. Oranges. Manatees. Miami Vice. You know.

So, please, what the heck kind of weather forecast is this?

The HIGH for today was 39 and the LOW is 38?!

And here's the latest:

Slight chance of snow flurries after midnight

I know you guys up north have no sympathy for us down here. Please remember that it was just a few years ago we had hurricanes up the wazoo - back & forth & back & forth. Then the next year - more hurricanes! We were all over the news. Remember? Isn't that enough? Before that (and before I moved here) it was the embarrassing 2000 election with the hanging chads. And Floridians have been laughed at for decades about their early bird specials, old folks, swampland for sale, and cockroaches the size of small dogs.

What makes all the humiliation bearable is knowing that while you are freezing your cans off in January we are wearing shorts! And when we are sweating in July with our 95 degree heat and 150 percent humidity we know that the rest of you will be shoveling snow out of your driveways so you can go to work in February! So what if we have snakes in our backyards living under buckets? You have constant rain and fog and cold weather during the winter. Hurricanes? You guys have earthquakes and fires and tornadoes and ice storms and blizzards!

So when we have a whole week of really cold weather we get crabby. And when the weather forecasters have the nerve to mention the "snow" word....well, we can get downright ugly.

I may just sleep until Friday - when it will be in peeking distance of 70 degrees. BAH HUMBUG!

The Ultimate Beauty Tool

2010-01-06T20:54:00.001-05:00

I purchased a package of cotton swabs the other day and, as I had nothing better to do, I read the package. I was shocked at the variety of tasks that that these little cotton sticks could perform.

First of all you can use them for FIRST AID. Next time I cook dinner and I chop part of a finger off (I'm quite the chef, you know) I am going to grab a cotton swab. The cotton will absorb the blood and I can use the pressure from the stick to stop the bleeding. I bet EMTs have to carry a boxful on their trucks. Picture them arriving at a car wreck, or at a condo where a chef is bleeding to death from an amputated finger. "Ralph, grab the cotton swabs! We have a bleeder!" Cotton swabs make great splints also - as long as you have enough of them.

Second, you can use cotton swabs to CLEAN AND DUST ELECTRONICS. I've been using those stupid cans of air to clean my laptop keyboard. Silly me. I have a couple TVs that are gathering dust, and an all-in-one printer/fax/scanner, and a CD player. My goodness. I'm going to have to buy more cotton swabs!

Third, BABY CARE. The picture on the box shows a baby staring warily at a cotton swab sitting in front of his nose. We all know where that cotton swab is going and it's not going to be pretty when it comes out. I'm glad the box doesn't go into any more detail. I really don't want to see boogers in advertising. I don't have a baby and I don't plan on having a baby, but I do have two small grandchildren and a third on the way. My granddaughter is 3 and seems to enjoy taking care of her own nose with her very own finger at this stage. Maybe I'll give her a box of cotton swabs.

I don't see cotton swabs replacing baby wipes any time soon, though. Gross.

Fourth, HOUSEHOLD USE. The picture shows a cotton swab poised in front of a bathtub faucet. Holy cow! On my next vacation I'm going to take a case of cotton swabs and REALLY clean my tub!!!

Fifth, but should have been FIRST: ULTIMATE BEAUTY TOOL. I've been using a putty knife to apply my makeup since I turned 50. Dang, this sounds so much better. A cotton swab has pure soft cotton and a flexible stick and I can use it not only to apply, blend, and touch up my make up, but also to remove it. My face has quite a bit of....acreage....and it may take me some valuable time in the morning to apply and cover. I know! I can tape several together! American ingenuity comes to the rescue!

For the life of me I can't remember why I bought the cotton swabs in the first place, but now I have dozens of uses for them. So many things to do with them; I'm going to have to stock up!

You're not the boss of me!

2010-01-05T21:22:00.001-05:00

I had such good intentions for this week. Put away all the Christmas stuff. Get all my paperwork sorted, organized, shredded, filed, etc. Normal household chores. Maybe even start that walking thing - you know, exercise?

But it's cold. I'm not talking chilly...I'm talking "freezin' butt cold" (as my friend Susan calls it). It has stayed in the 40's and 50's during the days and below freezing at night. My heat pump is set for 68 degrees - very "green" of me. And it's COLD in my home. I would never set my A /C to 68 degrees! For one thing that would be a waste of energy and money. For another thing it would be freakin' COLD in here!!!! YET YET YET it has not been above 68 degrees in my home since Saturday.

All I want to do when I get home is wrap up in a quilt and get warm. So I wrap up in my Grammy's crocheted quilt and then I snuggle in my big, fat chair, and I read. Or I wear one of my two jackets and get on my laptop. Or I eat - after all, that brings up the body temp considerably. What haven't I done? Put away the Christmas stuff. Get ALL my paperwork sorted, organized, shredded, filed, etc. Normal household chores. And forget exercise! It's COLD outside and I have little outerwear - a couple jackets, no gloves, no hats (unless sunhats & visors count), and no warm scarves. And there's no way I'm stripping down to some stretch pants and a top and doing yoga in this cold meat-locker living room of mine.

I will admit that I have sorted a lot of paperwork and put a lot away - not all I had hoped. AND I unloaded, reloaded, and ran the dishwasher. But that's it. That's all.

Well, whaddya know? ....my hands are much warmer now. Maybe a little tantrum was just what I needed. I'm feeling much better and I believe I have some things to do .... after all...it's only Tuesday!

All I Wanted Was a Houseplant

2009-12-30T20:57:00.003-05:00

Before Christmas I purchased myself a BARGAIN houseplant. I paid just under $8 for it. (Then I spent $34 on the pot for it, but it was still a good deal, right?) You can see it in the photo...behind the white oscillating fan..and to the left of the dancing elf. (She was singing and dancing to Jingle Bells sung by my dancing poinsettias, but that's another story.) Although it was cool outside, it was imperative to have a fan going. (When a 3-year-old visits there is NONSTOP activity which can cause women of a certain age to SWEAT.)

Although my houseplant and I got off to a shaky start due to a tree frog hiding in the watering can, I am now enjoying the newest addition to my living room. I believe the palm tree is happy with its new home as it is filling out, sprouting new leaves, and not developing any brown areas. It adds a bright spot of color to that corner by my front door and I just enjoy looking at it. Everything would be perfect...except...except for ...

the *FLB.

Yes. Him! He spends a lot of time staring at the tree. Up close and personal. He will walk up to it, sniff around it, stick his stinkin' little nose in the dirt and sniff...

sniff....sniff....

Then he will startle... and stare ... at SOMETHING he sees or thinks he sees in the tree. He will back off and sit and stare. Move closer. Stare some more. Eventually he forgets what he's doing and wanders away. He is driving me crazy.

I picked up that tree and plunked it in my shopping cart and hefted it into the back seat of my car and lugged it into my home. If there was something IN the tree wouldn't it have jumped out and gotten me then? Wouldn't it?

Today I remembered a story carried in the St. Augustine Record last July. I looked it up and here is the headline: "Garden Shop Reopens After Rattler Bites Shopper". I am not kidding. A man was shopping in the fern section of the St. Augustine Wal-Mart Garden Shop when his girlfriend's child dropped or threw a baby bottle onto the floor. Said customer "reached under a plastic shelf" whereupon HE WAS BITTEN BY A PYGMY RATTLESNAKE! He survived - after he was hospitalized.

The garden shop was closed so a wildlife professional could be called in and "assess the area". Here's my favorite quote, "What is not known is whether the rattlesnake got into the garden center from nearby woods or if it came in on plants delivered to the store."

WHAT????!!!

Since 2006 three incidents were reported of snakes attacking customers in Wal-Mart Garden Shops around Florida. In the almost-requisite "What to watch for" part of the article appeared my 2nd favorite quote: "The ornery pygmy rattlesnake is a 'sit-and-wait' predator that sits coiled in one spot, waiting for its prey to approach."

Nice.

So I'm sitting here wondering what the heck my dog is sniffing and staring at in my palm tree. I bought it at Home Depot, not Wal-Mart. Thank heavens. I'm not going to DO anything with the palm tree like pick it up and move it - not anymore.

And I keep my eyes WIDE OPEN when I'm watering it - after I have checked out the watering can thoroughly.

Damn. Just damn.

*Freakin' little bastard

TV - THE GREAT NUMBING EFFECT

2009-12-27T21:41:00.000-05:00

For some reason I wanted to watch TV very much this week. I wanted the noise and the "company" that TV could provide, especially yesterday and today. It was like a craving - no reasoning to it - just WANTED it.

I knew that the TV would be full of AFTER CHRISTMAS SALES & LIQUIDATIONS commercials. I reminded myself how annoying those would be. Still wanted TV. I tried to analyze this craving: did I associate TV with Christmas? I was unable to dredge up any memories of TV and Christmas - no parades or events that I would miss. Still wanted TV.

I finally decided I was tired. I had hosted dinner for my family Christmas Day and, even though we all had a great time, I was beat. TV would be so EASY...just sit there and click click click my way into numbness. Nothing (besides sleep) is as EASY and as MIND-NUMBING as watching TV. And when I say "watching TV" I was not thinking of any particular show. I still like certain TV shows and look forward to watching them in the future. When I craved "watching TV" I craved sitting in my big chair with the remote and staring at the TV and tuning out.

Instead of watching TV I cuddled up in my big chair with my new Sue Grafton mystery, and read. What a pleasure to read something as well-written and intriguing as U is for Undertow. Unlike so many writers today who take a formula and just basically "fill in the blanks" as they crank out book after book after book (can anyone say James Patterson?), Sue Grafton crafts each and every book the same way an artist creates a painting or a sculpture. She experiments with point of view, she is attentive to detail, she creates living, breathing characters who you care about - even if they end up being the "bad guy".

I start a new Grafton mystery by allowing myself a chapter or two at a time, but I always end up devouring the final chapters as the suspense builds to a surprising climax. I finished this book last night. I was sad for a few minutes - sad and satisfied - and then decided it was time to read the series from beginning to end again. The series is so good that you can read and reread the books and enjoy them over and over again.

I've been reading a huge collection of Flannery O'Connor stories and I'm ready to be finished. What a tremendous talent! I've learned a lot about writing, but I'm ready for something ... sunnier. Not a lot of laughs in Ms. O'Connor's stories. Same for Eudora Welty...another Southern writer with a very twisted way of looking at things. I have The Tin Drum by Gunter Grass waiting for me at the library. I may release my hold on that one - again, not a happy funny novel - and start rereading A is for Alibi.

DOGS, COPS, AND DAUGHTERS

2009-12-22T22:29:00.002-05:00

"Back in the day" when I used to watch TV I would use it to lull myself to sleep, or to pass the time when I couldn't sleep. My ex and I divorced in 1992 and the following August I bought a house in Lake Capri, a quiet community of mostly older folks who had moved there in the 1970's and 1980's to retire. Atlanta suburban sprawl had caught up to this part of Rockdale County and now it was just another suburban neighborhood. I loved the area with its spring-fed lakes and walking trails, and I liked the house.

My older daughter, a senior in high school, moved in with her father, and my younger daughter stayed with me. Our house had two bedrooms upstairs that shared a large bathroom and, on the weekends when my older daughter came to stay, the girls could have all the privacy up there they wanted. The master bedroom was downstairs and I could also have all the privacy I wanted and needed at that time. The house had a large fenced yard and the girls' two dogs lived back there. Snoopy and Jodi were two mutts that the girls adopted at the pound when both dogs were just puppies. Snoopy was a black chow-mix and Jodi was a huge hairy collie-shephard-and-something-else mix. The dogs were my responsibility (problem) now as they were older and the girls had moved on to bigger and better things.

One winter night I could not sleep and I was channel-surfing, clicking from one station to another, looking for something, anything to watch. I had put the dogs into our large utility shed because it was going to be below freezing that night. Melissa was asleep upstairs (or so I thought) and Mary Lee was at her dad's. I was in the divorcee's typical sexy nighttime outfit - an over-sized tee-shirt and panties. Click. Click. SCREAM. I jumped and clicked. One of the channels must have had on a horror movie and I clicked on it just as some poor victim let out a bloodcurdling scream. It gave me shivers and I made a note to skip that channel if I surfed near it again. Click. Click. What's that? Boring. Click. Click.

Let's change the point of view. My daughter Melissa, who was 13 or 14 at the time, was upstairs just dozing off when a bloodcurdling scream woke her. She froze in her bed as the scream was cut off! MOM!?! She listened and heard nothing. O MY GOD! Had something happened to Mom? She reached for her phone and pulled it under the covers with her. 9-1-1. She told the operator that she had heard her mother scream downstairs and she thought someone was in the house. The operator immediately dispatched two deputies to the address and kept Melissa on the phone. Was there any way she could get out of the house? No, the stairs and front door were by her mother's room. Was her bedroom door locked? No, yes, maybe, sometimes it didn't lock all the way. Did she want to check? No! She was too scared to even get out of bed. For all she knew her Mom was dead and someone was coming up the stairs to get her! The operator tried to calm her and kept her on the phone while the police hurried to our address.

Point of view shift: Mom is watching some stupid movie or program downstairs totally unaware of what is going on in her daughter's room. All of a sudden she sees lights dancing on the wall outside of her bedroom door. Mom rubs her eyes; the lights are still there. It looks like someone is shining a flashlight through her living room windows. Holy crap! Someone is trying to break in! Mom is terrified! She mutes the TV and slowly climbs out of bed looking for a weapon. Nothing! She tiptoes to her bedroom door and peers around the wall into the living room. There are two people standing at her front door shining flashlights through the window! One of them raps on the door and says, "Ma'am! Police! Can you come to the door?"

Police?

"Just a minute!" she says. She stumbles to the door and slides back the latch. She hears her daughter's bedroom door slam open and her daughter stampedes down the stairs saying, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Mom, I'm so sorry!"

Mom opens the door to the police who are relieved that we are both all right, but supremely aggravated that, in checking out the house before approaching the front door, they had heard noises around back and opened the utility door. The two excited dogs had bounded out, jumped all over them, and had run away. My daughter apologized for calling 9-1-1 and they were very kind to her and told her she did the right thing. I was mortified to be standing there in an over-sized tee-shirt, wild hair, and clueless. They apologized for releasing the dogs, and made a halfhearted attempt at rounding them up before they gave up and drove away. Melissa ran back upstairs and fell asleep. I put on some sweatpants and a jacket and retrieved the dogs.

THE OMEN

2009-12-20T13:07:00.002-05:00

Something caught my eye as I eased up my driveway. The afternoon was bright and sunny, but with the long shadows of approaching winter. I turned my head and peered through my windshield and what I saw caused me to slam on the brakes. A large bird - I think it was mostly brown both on its body and its wings, and I could only see it from the neck down and from below - swooped over my car and then rose over the back fence and the house behind. A snake dangled from its beak! (At this point I'm still fairly sure it was its beak and not its talons, but I was in awe and my memory is imperfect.)

The snake was colorless in the strong sunlight. It was about one and a half times as long as the bird and I believe it was still writhing in protest. Of course, it could have been swinging but I think it was moving. The bird flapped its wings and soared over my neighbor's house, then descended out of my sight. I wondered at the time if it was going to land in my neighbor's front yard and finish off the snake. I sat in my car for several moments just letting the feelings wash over me. Amazement. Wonder. Creepiness (afterall, it was a SNAKE). The awe that nature inspires.

My part in the small drama was over. I started my car and pulled into my parking spot. As I walked to my backdoor I kept turning around and looking for another glimpse of the bird and its prey. I wondered what kind of bird it was. What kind of bird hunts snakes? I opened the storm door, unlocked and opened the back door. The *FLB stuck his nose out in greeting and I invited him to come out and relieve himself. I watched him as I thought about the bird. Was it an osprey? An eagle? Some kind of hawk? Harley decided to run off as I stood there.

Twenty minutes later I caught him five buildings east of mine. Unlike a large dog who will galumph around a neighborhood in the joy of being FREE FREE FREE to run, the FLB is like a nosy neighbor who takes the opportunity to check up on everyone. He trots up to all the doors and sniffs with great gusto. He snuffles the various pet scents and he checks out other wilder scents: armadillos, possums, whatever floats his dastardly little boat.

I didn't call for him. I knew it was a waste of time and, besides, I was embarrassed. I knew better than to let him out of the house without a leash. He didn't even have his halter with his ID tag on it and I was just a tiny bit afraid I would lose him for good. That would be my punishment for being careless. I spotted him bouncing up the sidewalk of a pale yellow triplex and kept my eye on him as I approached. When I was even with him I called out his name in a voice like you would use when you run into an old friend.

He looked up from his snuffling and actually looked happy to see me. He took a few steps in my direction and stopped.

"Harley, come!" I said in a more serious tone.

At that point he decided to give in, but he wouldn't do it without a small win on his side. He cowered. He crawled to me on his belly looking like the most beaten, pathetic, abused animal you have ever seen. I tried not to look around to see if anyone was watching; that would make me look even guiltier. I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and looped the leash around him in a slip knot. As soon as the FLB realized he was caught and was not going to be kicked and beaten (at least in public), he jumped up and headed for home, pulling on the leash, wagging his tail, and holding his head high.

When we got home I filled his water bowl and he drank all of it. Running away is thirsty work. Then he laid down to rest. I will never never never let him out again without his leash. (Famous last words.) I should have known when I saw the bird and the snake that something bad was going to happen.

I looked up birds of prey last night, and I've decided it must have been some kind of hawk. The osprey is primarily a hunter of fish and, though it could have been a juvenile eagle, odds are it was one of the seven species of hawk that either live here or migrate here in the winter.

Postscript: I have a new palm tree in my living room that I purchased on clearance at Home Depot last week for only $7.00. I needed to water it this morning, so I retrieved my cheap plastic watering "can" from the back patio where I leave it for my granddaughter Kinsey to use to water Grenah's outdoor plants. I filled it and when I tipped it to pour onto the palm, the water gurgled and only trickled out. What? I guessed that some kind of outside gunk had gotten into the spout. I carried the plastic can back to the kitchen sink. I fished a bamboo skewer out of my kitchen supplies and was just sticking it into the spout when something caught my eye.

A tree frog looked up at me from the watery depths of the watering can!!!

My blood ran cold, my bowels turned to water, and I nearly fainted.

I grabbed the watering can and carried it carefully to the back door. The frog swam frantically from side to side while keeping at least one of its bulging eyes on me. I fumbled with the door knob. Oh crap, it was locked! Was the frog getting ready to jump? Keeping one bulging eye on the tree frog, I flipped the lock, pulled the door open, pushed the storm door open, set the watering can down on the patio, and backed away. Then I ran back inside and slammed and locked the back door.

The palm tree will have to wait.

*FLB=Freakin' Little Bastard

HARLEY - ONGOING FUN & GAMES

2009-12-12T14:43:00.002-05:00

Things I do to torture Harley:

I play the CD Songs of the Humpback Whale. The CD contains no instrumentation or vocals - just the whales. Sometimes the whales even sound a bit...er...romantic. I was deciding whether or not to keep the CD, and noticed Harley cocking his head back and forth. Oh, he would try to ignore it! How he would try! Then when he couldn't stand it anymore he'd run over to the speakers and stare at them, cocking his head. Sometimes he'd utter a sharp bark. It's so easy to get my jollies....
I go outside without him. I don't do this to torture him or punish him. The fact that it bothers him is a side benefit. He will stare mournfully out the storm door at me or run into my bedroom, jump onto MY bed, and bark out the window at me.

Oh, come on! When I first adopted Harley I let him outside to do his business and he would come right back. "What a well-trained dog!", I thought. Boy, was I stupid. One night he didn't come back. In fact, as soon as I opened the door to let him out, he bolted into the dark and never looked back. Of course, I chased him. It's human nature. He never looked back. I took a flashlight and walked my street calling for him feeling like an idiot. It is not fun to yell "Harley" throughout your neighborhood. And, deep down, where I didn't want to admit it, I was terrified I'd lost him for good.

When I got back to the house my phone was ringing. A woman who lived on the street behind me had found him. The day before this runaway episode I had put a tag on his collar with a web address, so if someone found him they could put in his code number (also on the tag) into this web site. The web site had my name, address, and phone number. Oh, he had his county tag on, but I think we all know how well those work. Besides, my real fear was that he would get hit by a car because he has no street smarts.

So I drove over to the nice woman's house and listened to her tale of the little wet dog that greeted her when she arrived home from church. He must have crawled through a hole in the old fence that surrounded a retention pond, mucked around in the surrounding grasses, then crawled under a broken piece of fencing on her side. (That fence around the retention pond has since been replaced!) She said he jumped all around her and was just so happy to see her. She took him inside and toweled him off and fed him cheese. Her husband (a very smart man) jumped on the Internet and looked up his tag information and made her call me. I think she would have kept him, but her husband must have sensed T*R*O*U*B*L*E. I thanked her and almost cried with relief. I then pulled and dragged the *FLB into my car. He didn't want to leave the nice lady with the cheese, you see. A month or so later she dropped in on me so she could visit Harley. She brought him pieces of cheese and brought me several issues of the Watchtower. Harley is the gift that keeps on giving.

I only take Harley out on a leash and I find I can't do quick chores with him tethered to my wrist. I also will tie him to one of my Adirondack chairs but once he starts hunting lizards he gets tangled. I tied him to the fence near my car once, thinking that there was nothing on which to get tangled. He ended up crawling under my car then whining because he didn't think he could get out. sigh.

Who's torturing whom?

*FLB=Freakin' Little Bastard

STAPLES AND PIERCINGS AND NICKNAMES

2009-12-09T17:27:00.001-05:00

My darling cousin Melanie Sherman writes a great blog about her life in the Northwest. I recommend it. The address is http://melaniesherman.blogspot.com. She is also a writer of fiction and has completed a historical fiction about a young American girl who is mistaken for a boy, kidnapped off the streets along with her two male cousins, and pressed into service on a British ship. She's doing the final edits now and soon soon soon will be signing that publishing contract.

Her most recent blog - "Stuck with the Stapler" - struck a chord with me as I love the little funnies in life. Like the fact that I purchase the office supplies at work and I love buying staples from Staples! It is just so - KARMA-like - that you can have a box of staples in a red box labelled STAPLES in big black letters. That line of thinking led me to an incident that happened a few years ago.

When I started working at the Inn there already was another employee named Karen. My boss thought it would be too confusing to have two Karens, so asked if I'd mind going by a nickname. I have to admit my first thought was, "What?" I mean, I managed to get through school and other jobs that also had other Karens and it didn't cause problems, but it was my first day at work and I didn't want to start trouble on my very first day. I always wait for the second or third day, you know. So I said, "No problem, how about Max? That's what kids called me in 8th grade."

Actually kids called me Maxwell Smart in 8th grade because the TV show Maxwell Smart was running at the time (oh, quit doing the math, I'm 55!) and...I was very smart! So being called Max at work seemed to be no big deal.

Being Max has caused quite a bit of confusion. When I answer the phone people almost always ask me to repeat my name. "Max?" they ask. Then it starts. "As in Maxine?" And sometimes, Lord help me, I just say, "Yes!" so I can get on with my day. The real fun happens when I'm making a business call to the cable TV company or phone company and they ask for my name. "Max," I say. "And your last name?" they ask. Ooops. Didn't know you were going to ask for that. "Maxwell," I say. There is ALWAYS a pause. "Your name is Max Maxwell?" And then I have to explain. To people who really don't care and just want to fill in their blanks correctly.

One of my coworkers thought it was quite funny that I was the OFFICE manager and that my name was MAX, so he started calling me OFFICE MAX. I liked it. In fact, I liked it so much that the next time I was buying supplies in our local Office Max store I looked for some Office Max mugs or other such items. I didn't find any, so when I was checking out I decided to ask about it.

"Do you carry any mugs or other items that have your Office Max logo printed on them?" I asked politely.

At that time the clerks in Office Max all looked like high school dropouts with multiple piercings and dull, glassy expressions on their faces.

"What?" the clerk asked.

I repeated my request.

"Nah," she answered.

"See, my nickname at work is Office Max and I thought it would be fun to have a mug or something with your logo on it - get it? Office Max?" I said.

The young lady picked at one of her (do you call them earrings if they are in your eyebrow?) piercings and just looked at me. I stood there for a minute and decided that, yes, I felt silly now and I could leave. I picked up my stuff and left.

I still think it was a good idea.

HARLEY: HEAD COLD AND HEAD GAMES

2009-12-04T23:18:00.001-05:00

Head colds are so stupid. They make you feel soooo sick, but then, it's "just a cold". My latest cold virus hit me last night and kept me tossing and turning most of the night. I often heard Harley, my little mixed terrier, sighing from his bed in the corner; I guess I kept him awake. Around 4:30am I got up, took some ibuprofen, emailed my boss that I was not coming in, and went back to bed listening to a CD-book. I also remembered to turn off my cell phone and my alarm.

At 6:30am I awoke with a start when someone or something jumped on my bed. Going to sleep with a Stephen King story being read can make your mind go funny places. It took me just a few seconds to realize it was Harley and for my heart to retreat from my throat. I closed my eyes again and tried to go back to sleep. Harley wanted me to wake up and stuck his nose in my face. He pawed at my exposed hand. I put my hand back under the covers. He barked. I managed to croak a stern, "Quiet!" and he laid down on my bed and stared at me. I didn't open my eyes to confirm he was staring at me; if he saw my eyes open he would take that for me being awake and would start the pawing and barking again. I felt his gaze on my face, though, felt it like a hot nasty dog breath on my face even though he was at the foot of the bed. 'Way too much Stephen King. I tossed and turned some more which made him finally jump off the bed, and I finally fell into a deep sleep.

When I woke later he was ready to go out and I took him out first thing. He had been "good" and not had an accident (like anything he has done has EVER been an "accident"..) and I fed him his breakfast and gave him 2 OK release commands as a gift. (He's still jerking me around with that OK release command.) He laid next to my chair as I snuggled with a blanket and box of Puffs tissues. Every time I got up - to move a trash can next to my chair for all those Puffs, or to get a glass of water, or to make a cup of tea - he got up and followed me. He even looked concerned. I was touched.

I made myself some homemade chicken noodle soup and set it on the dining room table. Harley was sitting on the arm of the sofa looking back and forth from me to the window. I felt a tug on my heart and decided to give him a treat; I also decided to take his halter off. I called him over and removed the halter and hung it in the laundry room. When I returned - talking out loud about getting him a treat - he was jumping off the dining room chair.

*FLB.

I don't know if he stuck his nasty conniving nose into my soup or not. I ate it anyway. And I did NOT give him a treat.

*FLB.

Don't worry. He's fine. I just told him to go to his bed in the living room. I wanted to put my slippered foot up his butt....but....butt....but....I didn't.

=*freakin' little bastard

KICKIN' BACK IN KENNESAW GEORGIA - AND WITHOUT A GUN

2009-11-30T23:06:00.002-05:00

Destinations really make the vacation, don't you think? A vacation to...say...Trenton, New Jersey...should not be compared to a vacation trip to...Dublin, Ireland. Not to put Trenton down. Although, if you read Janet Evanovich's series about an inept but daring bounty hunter in Trenton, you could then put Trenton down. Her description is - to say the least - unflattering; however, there must be fun places to visit and fun things to do in Trenton. Otherwise, why would anyone live there?

I just returned from my vacation to Covington, Georgia. My daughter, son-in-law, and grandson (darling Noah - see above left!) live in Covington, Georgia. We never actually visited or drove by or through the actual TOWN of Covington. Their mailing address is Covington, but they live in a very rural part of Newton County. Covington does have a very picturesque town square which you may have seen if you ever watched the TV series In the Heat of the Night starring the now deceased Carroll O'Connor. My daughters were raised in the neighboring town of Conyers and had occasion to see some of the stars of the series and to actually watch a scene being filmed one time. Watching a scene being filmed is like watching paint dry; however, meeting celebrities - that was fun!

We were dining in Po' Folks Restaurant** one Christmas season and who should walk in? Alan Autry! He played Captain Bubba** Skinner on the series. My daughter Mary Lee watched every episode of In the Heat of the Night and was enamored of Bubba. She cried out his name as soon as she saw him. He was being escorted by our booth and stopped to say hello. He looked at Melissa's Santa hat, and said, "Nice hat." Melissa retorted, "Yours, too!" He was wearing his signature cowboy hat. He laughed and moved on to his booth.

I did not see any celebrities in rural Newton County or in downtown Conyers this trip. The weather was cool and crisp, and, although leaves were being blown from the trees, there was still quite a bit of beautiful fall color to enjoy. I set aside the last two days of vacation so I could spend Saturday and Saturday night with my friend Susan, then drive home to Florida on Sunday.

Susan lives in Kennesaw, Georgia.

Now, if you Google "Kennesaw GA" you will get some basic information links (like the original name of Kennesaw was Big Shanty - - nice - -) and several links that refer to "Gun City". You see, on May 1, 1982, the city passed a law that required every head of household to "maintain a firearm together with ammunition". It was passed partly in response to a 1981 handgun ban in Morton Grove, Illinois. Now before ya'll get all scairt - this law was amended in 1983 to "exempt those who conscientiously object to owning a firearm, convicted felons, those who cannot afford a firearm, and those with a mental or physical disability that would prevent them from owning a firearm". Phew! I wonder how many financially disadvantaged conscientious objecting disabled felons purchased firearms before the amendment?

Another interesting sight to see in Kennesaw is Wildman's Civil War Surplus. Also known as the "Best Little War House in Kennesaw". RoadsideAmerica.com describes the shop as being "run by a gun-loving bigot". Susan has offered (threatened) to take me to Wildman's several times, but, since most gun-loving bigots are misogynistic, too, I've been concerned that I would burst into flames as soon as I entered such a place. So far I haven't been treated to a visit there. Even though I was having to enter the city limits of Kennesaw I was still excited about visiting my dear friend Susan. We always manage to have fun.

A couple hours after I arrived we were sitting around drinking coffee when we heard a big WHUMP and the power went out. The power stayed out, too; however, it was a sunny and fairly warm day and we didn't need no stinkin' electricity to have fun so we just kept talking. Susan's boyfriend Karl checked with the neighbors and confirmed the outage was not just us, so we all figured a transformer had blown. Susan and I decided to go shopping and hopped in my car for the short drive to Wal-Mart. (Hey, better than Wildman's!). We got to the neighborhood entrance and found several cars stopped. Uh-oh. Maybe it was more than just a blown transformer. Oh, you bet. We parked and walked out to the main road. Looking to the right we saw this truck and this pole tilted and these power lines in the road.

This is what I could see using my zoom lens. The pickup is pretty well trashed; that was a camper shell on the back.

The accident happened "a ways down the road" from Susan's neighborhood, but you can see the lines block the entire street in that direction.

We walked to the left to get this shot - this is what you would see looking left from her neighborhood. A firetruck had blocked the street and the power guys were shoring up the lines that had been pulled and snapped when the truck hit the other pole.

What is unbelievable - besides the fact that the two people in the truck sustained only minor injuries - is that the truck hit the pole so hard that it BROKE OUT A PIECE OF THE POLE (see behind the left rear wheel?) which then went over the truck and destroyed the camper shell before landing behind the truck. Speed limit on this street? 35mph. Driver's story: He had a sneezing fit and that caused him to floor the gas pedal and swerve into the pole.

Right.

Susan (pictured at left) took a lot of ribbing about the "good time" she was showing me in Kennesaw. Once the cops decided that we could turn left out of the neighborhood without wildly swerving to the right and plowing into the downed lines, they let us out one by one. Then the good times really started: Wal-Mart - didn't have what either of us wanted; however, I did have a snack of 1 (one) Pringle (served on a napkin) with a small swallow of Coke Zero. I believe that is the only time in my life I have only eaten one chip. Ever.

Then Susan took me to Kroger where some redneck woman and her son tried to run over us several times in the liquor aisle. Then she took me to the Dollar store where I picked up Christmas bags really cheap. It is truly the THOUGHT that counts. Then she took me to Publix where she introduced me to Bob who had just prepared samples of Greek Tilapia and Greek Cucumber Salad. Since I hadn't had anything to eat since 10:00am (well, except for that chip and swallow of Coke Zero) and it was almost 4:00pm I was very grateful to Bob for this sample. I even thanked him after I growled, snatched it from his hand, and stuffed it in my face.

I will admit that Susan later took me to Taco Mac (with her boyfriend Karl and her sister Meloney) and Taco Mac had the best frozen Margaritas I've ever had! And good food! And even the Florida State (SEMINOLES) and University of Florida (GATORS) fans hollering at the multiple screens broadcasting the annual rivalry game didn't bother me; in fact, it was like being back at home in Florida. We did get out before the Georgia-Georgia Tech game started; that would have been too much excitement. And bloodshed.

So my vacation ended on a high note: power outage, redneck car wreck, Wal-Mart, and football. Kennesaw. I'm writing a review for tripadvisor.com and giving Kennesaw a thumbs up!

**Po'Folks Restaurant - yummy Southern cooking including fried green tomatoes, fried chicken, mashed taters with white gravy. Good eatin'....

**Bubba - not just a rural legend - this name exists and is found frequently south of the Mason Dixon line.

VACATION OVER - PICTURES FOR THE RECORD

2009-11-29T22:05:00.003-05:00

"Disney World" for dogs. Harley loves this backyard. Picture taken from backdoor/patio..steps lead up to pool (closed for winter). Blond dog with curly tail looking at the camera is Lilly - named for a character on Days of our Lives. She is 9 years old and the alpha dog - Queen - of the backyard. The little dog behind her is the *FLB.

*FLB=freaking little bastard

Bo and Harley being friends for the camera. Bo (also named for character on Days of Our Lives) is the no-way-alpha-ever dog and just LOVES Harley. Bo shares his doghouse with Harley on cold & dark winter nights. Unless they are all in the garage - on REALLY cold nights.

Lilly looks on as Bo & Harley frolic.

My daughter baked a homemade chocolate pound cake from my grandmother Maxwell's recipe. She set it on the dining room table while we were working on something else in the kitchen and I advised her NOT to cover it for awhile. It has a nice crunchy-brownie-like crust on the outside and if you cover it tightly the crust softens. A few minutes later I noticed a little face peeking out from behind the cake. The little face seemed to have crumbs on it and looked rather pleased. I motioned my daughter over to the door and we both watched. Then she went and examined the cake.

Yep, someone had been scraping off pieces of the cake. Some 2-year-old grandson! Noah (NOT named for anyone on TV) was mighty pleased with himself and we have a Thanksgiving story.

HARLEY - ON VACATION

2009-11-25T21:27:00.001-05:00

Harley is having a great time on vacation. He loves it in the backyard here. It is completely fenced and about a half-acre in size. Imagine you are a 20-pound mixed terrier and your greatest obsession is marking your territory. You are let loose in a large yard with lots of bushes and trees. Heaven. Add in two more dogs for company and you have the perfect vacation for a dog.

The other two dogs are named Lilly and Bo. Lilly is a blond & tan 50-pound mutt of indeterminate origin. She has a long, crooked, curly tail, the long sleek lines of a greyhound, and the rounded nose and floppy ears of a hound. Bo weighs in at about 80 pounds and has the unfortunate genetic background of Basset Hound and Labrador retriever. Unfortunate because he is as thick and heavy as a Labrador, but his big body sits on Basset Hound legs. He also has Basset Hound ears and can raise the hair on the back of your neck with his howl.

All three dogs have been adopted and all have their own issues. Put them together and they get along fairly well. Lilly and Harley skirmish over alpha status. Bo follows Harley around the yard while Harley marks his way around the perimeter of the fence. Lilly and Bo make Harley wait until last before he can eat. Sometimes they all bark together at some imagined threat or noise. One afternoon the fire station about two miles away released the trucks, sirens blaring. All three dogs howled. And Harley and Bo play in weird dog ways; this afternoon Harley was lying on his back and Bo was licking his belly. It was a little too Caligula for me.

It's dark and chilly tonight. Lilly is snuggled in her dog house; Bo and Harley are bunking together in Bo's doghouse. I don't ask and they don't tell.

BAREFOOT AND ...NOT...PREGNANT

2009-11-23T12:29:00.000-05:00

Thanks to the Merriam Webster online dictionary:

Main Entry: ¹va·ca·tion

Pronunciation: \vā-ˈkā-shən, və-\

Function: noun
Usage: often attributive
Etymology: Middle English vacacioun, from Anglo-French vacacion, from Latin vacation-, vacatio freedom, exemption, from vacare
Date: 14th century
1 : a respite or a time of respite from something : intermission
2 a : a scheduled period during which activity (as of a court or school) is suspended b : a period of exemption from work granted to an employee
3 : a period spent away from home or business in travel or recreation
4 : an act or an instance of vacating

I'm on vacation. I am enjoying a respite from work and the daily routine, and for the first few days I have enjoyed suspending a lot of activity. Every once in a while I feel a twinge of "should" as in what SHOULD I be doing? I bat it away with a shake of my head. It's almost noon and I'm still in my pajamas and barefoot and wearing my daughter's Snuggie.

Every morning so far (this is my 3rd day of vacation) my grandson Noah and I have enjoyed coffee together in the dining room. We discuss the view outside the French doors which includes trees, leaves falling from the trees, rain (yesterday), sunshine (Saturday), clouds (this morning), and Harley. We discuss the deliciousness of the coffee while stirring our coffees with our spoons. Mornings are the best.

I have to admit staying TV free has been a challenge. At home I've rarely been tempted to watch since I unplugged 9/1/09; however, here in my daughter's house temptations are everywhere. My first afternoon here the family went to a birthday party (for a 1-year-old) and I stayed here to take a much-needed and appreciated nap. I snuggled on the couch with an afghan and a magazine. The magazine, Entertainment, had the Twilight-series' stars on the cover and lots of talk about the movie New Moon, but lots of the magazine was devoted to current TV shows and what's happening on various series. Suddenly I was salivating about Dexter and wondering about new shows I had never seen! I put the magazine down, pulled the afghan over my head, and slept soundly.

Later that day my daughter was laughing at the latest Survivor shenanigans and told me she wished I was watching it this season, because one of the "survivors" was really sly, manipulative, and smart. (Not always a combination you find on the show.) He's president of an oil company and doesn't care (or at least he says so) about the million dollar prize. I found myself laughing at his antics as retold by my daughter, but not really tempted to watch. Then I asked her about Amazing Race and she told me about the gay brothers who pretended to be straight to woo the girl teams, and the Harlem Globetrotter team members who were very down-to-earth, and funny as all get-out. Why did I ask? Self-torture.

Last night I was listening to my audio book in my room as I relaxed before bed. When I realized I was dozing off and missing whole sections I decided it was time for lights off. I walked into the living room to say good night and...my eyes were drawn...unwillingly...to the TV...to the episode of....Amazing Race...that was playing. A little voice in my head screamed, "Nooooooooooooooooooo." I turned, I turned back. There was Phil, the good-looking and wry host of Amazing Race. I gasped, "Where are they?" My daughter answered, "Prague". Oh my, the Czech Republic. Maybe I'd just watch for a minute. I confess. I watched almost the entire episode.

Was this a slip? Would I have to attend TA* meetings again? Did I have to call my sponsor?

Naaaahhhhhhh.

I went to bed with an almost-clear-conscience. About 96%. Pretty good for a recovering Catholic.

This morning the TV is on and Noah has watched an episode of Backyardigans, some Einstein show on the Disney channel, and now some dinosaur train show on PBS. They are just background noise while I catch up on email and blog. I did stop to sing the Backyardigans' songs. I'll be getting dressed eventually; it's still cold and overcast outside. My daughter has a cold so we'll be staying in today. Whatever. I'm on vacation.

*Television-addicts Anonymous

Audio Books and Driving

2009-11-21T22:01:00.001-05:00

Blogging remotely from Covington, Georgia

When I decided to spend Thanksgiving with my daughter's family one of the most important items on my to-do list was : get audio books at the library. The drive from St. Augustine to Covington is six to seven hours depending on traffic congestion, road construction, and determination in "making good time". I've made it in seven and I've done it in six. Audio books keep me entertained and awake, two important ingredients for driving long distances by myself. A third ingredient is plenty of caffeine: I know all the Starbucks on my route.

So last night I had the *FLB in the backseat; he sits in the pink Princess car seat that my other daughter gave me last Christmas so my granddaughter could zip around town with me. Harley doesn't seem to mind the color or the Princess logo repeated all over the seat; he's secure in his sexuality - or what's left of it after I had him neutered.

In the front passenger seat was my CD player, the audio book A Most Wanted Man by John LeCarre', backup audio book for the return trip Nightmares and Dreamscapes by Stephen King (a collection of short stories), and my purse. You might be wondering why I had a CD player on my front seat instead of using my car's CD player. Well, the car's CD player finally died earlier this year. It didn't quit working all at once; no, that would be "normal". Instead, like all things electronic in my family, it died piece by piece.

It was the kind of CD player where all the CDs are loaded into the CD changer in the trunk. A wonderful invention where I could load 6 music CDs or 6 Audio CDs and listening to all 6 would get me almost to my destination. When the CD player started to die, it died one CD disc holder at a time. So on one memorable trip up to north Georgia I listened to DISC#1, then DISC#2, then DISC#4....WHAT? At least for that trip I was listening to Christmas music and not an audio book; skipping whole chunks of a book would have driven me nuts. Over the next couple months the CD player continued to quit working one disc at a time. Finally it just died.

So with a fresh set of 8 "C" batteries and my first CD disc loaded I headed north towards Florida. Just as I merged onto I-95 my cell phone rang; it was my long-time best friend Bonnie who lives in St. Petersburg. (Florida not Russia) We hadn't talked in weeks, so we spent the next hour catching up. I had to be careful; traffic wasn't too heavy, but the last time I got in a cell-phone discussion with Bonnie while I was driving long distances, I overshot my destination exit by 15 miles! This time, HA!, I saw the sign for I-295 WEST just in time to cut across two lanes of traffic and make it. We talked all around Jacksonville and hung up as I merged onto I-10 West. Traffic was very heavy by then and I had to pay strict attention. Besides, Bonnie had to go.

I listened to my first CD disc of A Most Wanted Man after I filled up with gas in Macclenny, Florida. And may I just say that Macclenny was a bit nerve-racking. There was a Wal-Mart with a gas station on the outer perimeter of its parking lot, and people were lined up for gas like it was on sale or something. (It wasn't.) Just past the gas station a couple had parked their pickup truck on the grass and she was holding up a hand-lettered sign that said FREE PUPPIES and MOMA FREE TOO. "Moma" looked like a pit-bull-mix as did the puppy that the man was holding up. No thanks. And please, they couldn't spell Mama? Momma? Anything but MOMA.

I spotted an oasis in this rural outback - STARBUCKS - and got myself a grande vanilla latte at the drive-thru. Thus fortified I returned to the gas station and grabbed a pump without any problem. Once safely out of Macclenny I started my CD player and enjoyed the first installment of my book. By the end of the disc I was in Georgia. It was dark as pitch and I didn't think I should be changing discs while hurtling along I-75 north in a construction zone. I waited until the construction zone ended and at the next exit pulled off for a drink (LARGE diet Pepsi with a shot of cherry) and a disc change. I also took the *FLB for a "walk".

The 2nd disc finished just as I passed Macon. I couldn't tell you one detail or memory of that part of the drive. I must have been watching the road, but I don't remember it. My mind was totally on the book. If I thought about it much I guess I'd be scared, but Harley and I made it to my daughter's house in one piece.

Epilogue: This morning when my grandson ran into the living room to see his darling Grenah, he ran PAST me and to the French doors where he hollered: HARLEY! HARLEY!

*FLB=freakin' little bastard

ONE HOUR (USED TO BE ONE TV DRAMA OR TWO SITCOMS)

2009-11-18T21:31:00.001-05:00

Last night I babysat my granddaughter for just over an hour. Now there's not a lot you can do in just an hour. The previous week I babysat for about 2 hours and we managed to squeeze in a trip to Staples, a walk to Barnes & Noble, chocolate milk in the Starbucks Cafe, a bathroom break, playing with the train set in the children's department, and a quick walk back to Staples to meet mommy.

For our hour last night I thought we might have a picnic: get a bite or a drink at the drive-in, and sit at one of the outside picnic tables and just enjoy the evening. (Grenah was a bit TIRED.) Kinsey got out of her mommy's car with a milkshake in one hand (forget the bite or drink!) and her daddy's flashlight in the other. I buckled her into the Princess seat and as I buckled myself in, she told me, "I saw COW!"

This was exciting news. Cows are very important to Kinsey and me. You see, Kinsey has always loved stories and books. And when she was very small, just toddling-around size, about 12 or 13 months old, she was staying with me one day and learned she could close the door to the laundry room. My back door was bolted (so she couldn't escape!) and the laundry room was fairly safe, so I didn't immediately open the door and check on her. I knocked, and she opened the door, and I asked, "May I come in?" She LOVED that. For a couple weeks just playing with the door was enough.

Then one afternoon she let me into the laundry room and we were just kind of standing in there and she asked me to tell her a story. I didn't have any books in there and I really don't know why this story came out of my mouth, but I told her a story about Kinsey playing at Carousel Park and COW drops in for a visit. And COW wants to swing, Kinsey says NO, COW gets on the swing anyway, CRASH goes the swing. And the same with the slide. And the carousel. Then Kinsey tells COW that it's time for COW to go home. So Kinsey rides in her car (with mommy and Grenah) and COW follows. They find a farm and the farmer is very happy they brought COW home, and COW is so very glad to be home. The End.

Then please tell me more story - so I'm thinking this is easy - and it's Kinsey at the beach. Here comes COW. COW tries to do human things like surf, boogie board, build sand castles....disaster results...Kinsey takes COW home.

And so on. COW in Target. COW at Grenah's house. I had a million of them. And for weeks she would take me in the laundry room and ask for a COW story. I was a hit. A star! THE GRENAH OF THE AGES! She would pass these stories down to her grandchildren and tell them what a loving and wonderful Grenah she had....oh...the immortality...the fame...the love.................

Then one day we were in the laundry room and she clung to me and asked if COW was there?! She was scared!!!!! of COWS!? I went from a loving Grenah to a PHOBIA-CAUSING NUTCASE. The stories never had COW as a villain - more of just wanting to be a little girl! What was I going to do? And Kinsey still wanted COW stories, but she would hold my hand and peer around me looking for the maniac cows. This couldn't go on! I would be vilified! The topic of therapy sessions and tell-all autobiographies. The example of evil in every grandparenting book!

So we entered our PC phase where we talked about how COW was lonely and just wanted to have some fun. I bought her a couple of little stuffed cows - she wouldn't touch them! We learned the Old MacDonald Had a Farm song - especially the MooMoo here and MooMoo there. Still scared. When we were driving or riding around I would point out COWS everywhere I saw them - kind of desensitization therapy for 2-yr-olds. Luckily, Chick-fil-A is big on COWS and there were big friendly COWS on their billboard, and inside the Chick-fil-A the welcome mat had a big picture of a COW, and there was a cardboard cutout of a COW near the counter. Lots of pointing and touching and talking about COWS. I also watched for any and all books that featured COWS in a positive light. TIME will tell if I'm truly successful. She seems more fascinated than scared now. If Kinsey becomes a large animal vet or studies agriculture or marries a farmer - not so bad. If she becomes COW-phobic,cannot venture outside any city limits as an adult, and needs years of therapy, I will deny deny deny.

So back to last night, Kinsey tells me she saw a COW and she's very excited. I realize her milkshake comes from Chick-fil-A (It's called a CLUE, Grenah!) and that must be where she saw the COW. (Her mommy confirms later in a phone call that Kinsey was very excited and yelled "MOMMY, LOOK! COW!" while she was ordering.) So I tell Kinsey we are going on an adventure and looking for cows. It's only a 10 minute drive west to farm country; it's at least 40 minutes to sunset. Plenty of time. So we head west and then my cell phone rings. Can I bring the car by the mechanic's just for a minute? They have to SEE the hose they are replacing so they are sure to order the correct part. Sigh. We do a U-turn and I tell Kinsey we have to run a 5-minute errand. She doesn't mind. She says, "We go get Harley and go on adventure." (You see, she's decided the *FLB is her **"best friend" now.) I say, "I don't think we'll have time to go get (gritting teeth) Harley." She just nods her head and says, "We go get Harley. Harley my best friend. We take Harley on adventure."

That damn dog.

We wait at the automotive place 30 minutes instead of 5. Kinsey is fascinated by the constant stream of people in and out, and by the picture of the Daytona Race Track painted around the top of the waiting room. She alternately chews her straw and sucks her milkshake. Several people speak to her and get the 3-yr-old mute stare. I tell John the owner that she will not speak to him and he promises me that she will. When we leave I say, "Bye, John!" with a smirk, and Kinsey says, "BYE!". He laughs us out the door.

Now we have about 30 minutes left. No time for Harley (HA!) and no time for COWS. So we drive one mile east and around the big curve and park at the beach. We spend the next 30 minutes walking and racing (well, she raced and I pretended) and picking up shells and climbing on mounds of sand and having a great time. We get back to the car just as the sun truly sets and darkness surrounds us. We meet her parents, shake off most of the sand on her shoes and rear end (when you climb you have to slide and fall dramatically, don't you know), hand her daddy his flashlight, and hand her mommy a milkshake cup with shells.

All in one hour.

*FLB=Freakin' Little Bastard

**A couple weeks ago Kinsey arrived at my condo and I took Harley out on his leash to meet her. It's the first time she hasn't run to me and jumped in my arms. She screamed, "HARLEY!" and ran to him. FLB.

MONDAY MUTTERINGS

2009-11-16T20:57:00.001-05:00

Mondays. Why is it you start off the week with the best of intentions and you end up in your big fat chair after work with a frown on your face?

It starts at work with a computer that decides not to boot up - what? A simple reboot turns into a 30-minute long OH CRAP I'M GONNA HAVE TO TAKE IT TO THE SHOP adventure. You mess with it and finally it looks like it's THINKING about booting up, so you walk away from it before your impatience makes you click or tap on something which delays the fix. Besides, you are ready to punch a hole in your monitor even though you realize with the thinking-side of your brain that the monitor isn't the problem. So you leave it and take your coffee to the kitchen computer just to get a few things done while your computer decides what it's doing.

So you work on the computer in the kitchen where the A/C blows directly on your back and drops your body temperature to about 45 degrees and your coffee drops from hot & lovely to cold & forget it. Then you try to help the Front Desk because their printer quit working Sunday and no matter what trick you try it won't freakin' work and you just don't want to give up because you hate saying I CAN'T FIX IT and IT'S BROKE. But you finally come to your senses and realize it is dead and it will cost $90 to call the computer guy in to confirm, or the inn manager can spend $100 for a new one.

Then you go back to the office and your computer has booted successfully. For no good reason. It's just the universe screwing with you. And this is all before 9am.

And you've planned to drive to the outlet mall after work and you decide to print that $10-OFF coupon before you forget and then you read the small print and it's $10 OFF YOUR $100 PURCHASE. Uh, no, you weren't going to spend $100. But wait! There's a 2nd coupon - 20% OFF - cool - but it starts on THURSDAY. You didn't want to wait until Thursday, but in the interest of saving a couple bucks you will. But now you're irritated.

And you get home and you let the *FLB out of the house for a quick pee - no leash - because he does it and goes right back in the house EVERYDAY, but he spots SOMETHING that YOU can't see and he's off like a shot barking at whatever it is. You sigh and go into the house and grab the leash and come back out and he's sniffing and rooting around the big tree next door - just past the BUCKET where the snake lives. So you call him and he runs around the tree and you're trying to make like you're NOT chasing the *FLB and he knows you really ARE chasing him and you're worried the snake is NOT in his BUCKET but out here in the yard enjoying the sunny afternoon and if you see him or step on him you're going to have a coronary and then you get up close to your darling terrier and grab that sucker by his neck. You're NOT going to look up in the tree where HE'S staring because it could be ANYTHING up there; you just make the leash into a quick slip knot and lead your pet gently into the house.

And you open up your email and even though you've gotten 2 estimates for gutters the other condo owner wants just one more from "his guy" and that delays the gutters again. sigh.

And you read some short stories in your Glimmer Train Winter Issue and they are well-written but the last one punches you in the gut and you toss it aside and decide to do something else, but you feel like crap.

Then you read your daily Dave Barry column and, even though it's from July 2001, it makes you laugh. It's about taking his baby daughter on a 4-hour flight and involves projectile vomiting. And on the Georgia news you read that a bug from Asia has appeared in Georgia and it loves to eat kudzu. The bug is called the globular stinkbug and the last line of the article says it all: "But if the bug if threatened, it will put off an odor." What? How bad an odor? Like a skunk? Considering the forecasts that if scientists don't stop the spread of kudzu it will eventually cover the entire southeast, I think southerners can put up with a little odor. Can't be as bad as that plane ride with Dave Barry's baby.

*FLB=Freakin' Little Bastard

MOVIE BUDDIES - GOT ONE?

2009-11-15T20:07:00.001-05:00

Finding a good movie buddy is vital to maximizing the enjoyment of a movie. You want someone sitting next to you who is scared with you, or sad with you, or, best of all, laughing with you. It just makes the movie experience much more fun.

My first movie buddy was my friend Bonnie. I learned quickly that Bonnie would watch just about any movie with me, but there was a price to pay. Bonnie would grip my arm if there was any suspense at all, and, as the tension built, so did the pressure on my arm. Her nails would dig in if there were any shocking and/or surprising scenes. While she was tearing up my arm she would cover her eyes and peek out between her fingers if something really scary or gruesome was going on.

She was also my first X-rated movie buddy. We were 17 years old and extremely sheltered Catholic school girls and we wanted to use our 17-year-old status to see a "dirty" movie. So we contrived this big cover story about seeing some movie in South Miami; it had to be a movie that wasn't playing in our local movie theater so we could account for the extra drive time. Then we drove up to South Miami to see Clockwork Orange. CLOCKWORK ORANGE? Neither of us had a clue what was going on between the thick Cockney accents and the invented language and the manic pace of the movie. What a waste of an X-rating and a good cover story; we were both disgusted. We did manage to see The Last Picture Show sometime that year and got our first real dose of NUDITY in film.

Other than temporary paralysis or a few scratches, Bonnie remains a wonderful movie buddy to this day. Unfortunately she lives in St. Pete on the west coast of Florida and I live on the east coast of FL - 4 hours apart. The last movie I saw at the theater with Bonnie was either Blue Crush or American Pie: The Wedding. For both movies we were the oldest people in the theater. The most memorable movie seen with Bonnie was a B-movie about witch-hunters (Mark of the Devil) that ran at our cinema for many weeks while we were in high school. The theater was supposed to give out free vomit bags with all the tickets. It remains one of the bloodiest and most gruesome movies I have ever seen. My arm was useless for weeks.

I wanted my ex-husband to be my movie buddy, but his taste ran to cheerleader movies and (stupid) adventure movies. So that's when I became my own movie buddy. The first movie I saw by myself? Ordinary People. Man, it is weird to cry that hard all by yourself in a movie theater on a Saturday night. I guess my worst experience at going to the movies by myself was seeing Terms of Endearment. I knew NOTHING about the movie beyond the trailers and I honestly thought it was a comedy. I managed to drag my tear-stained face to the car after the movie and I sat in the parking lot crying my heart out for 15 minutes.

My sister was my movie buddy for awhile in Atlanta. I will always associate Thelma and Louise with her. We were both so pumped up after seeing that movie the first time! She had to restrain me from robbing the nearest convenience store. (Maybe it was just me that was all pumped up?) We saw that movie together 3 or 4 times.

Susan became my movie buddy after my divorce. We started going to a movie every Friday evening after work at a theater near our office. We lived on opposite sides of the city so this was the most practical way of seeing each other without driving for hours. Susan has a very high tolerance for violence and a great sense of humor so our tastes matched on most movies. There were times when we disagreed on our movie choices. She gave me HELL about seeing The Hours; she seemed to think it was depressing. Was it my fault Virginia Woolf drowned herself? I think not. I wanted to see Frieda and when she wanted to see something more....pedestrian...I gave HER hell. Then there was the time I let her pick the movie and it was supposed to be about some couple who were attacked in their home in France....but this movie was set in California and there was no couple. Ten minutes into it I realized we were in Memento. Now Memento is a FABULOUS movie but, because it takes place in reverse time (hard to explain), being confused from the start is not HELPFUL.

Susan was there for me when I sobbed so hard through The Patriot that she thought I was going to have a complete nervous breakdown. She was really, truly worried during the movie, and even when I explained that it had to do with my dad's recent death and my childhood pastime of playing Swamp Fox with my cousin, she was still really, truly worried about me. Since then she has used this personal knowledge to make fun of me and heckle me with "Remember The Patriot?" . Brat. We'll always have Memento, won't we, Susan?!

Here in St. Augustine I sought a movie buddy, but my girlfriends twitched and moaned whenever something even mildly violent happened. One friend got upset in Slumdog Millionaire (she thought it was a musical), and another friend thought The DaVinci Code was too violent. So I told myself that's OK; I'll see "girl" movies with my girlfriends, and other more "exciting" movies by myself. So I watched Sex and the City, Mamma Mia, and Julie and Julia with my girlfriends, and took myself to see Star Trek.

Then District 9 came out. Wonderful reviews and produced by Peter Jackson. I took a chance and asked my brother Dan if he wanted to see it. Sure! We both hung in there through the long introductory documentary part. We hung in there through the hard-to-understand (at times) South African and Nigerian accents. We both flinched, then giggled at the zip gun (as my brother nicknamed it) and its massive...zapping power. We both appreciated the incongruity of the Nigerian gangbangers in the midst of the alien ghetto. We both "got it".

How about Inglorious Basterds? Quentin Tarantino? Brad Pitt with a Southern accent? Nazis? Sure! "We're in the Nazi-killin' bidness; and bidness is a-boomin!" Next it was Zombieland. This time Dan's stepdaughter Jeannette and my brother-in-law Pete showed up, too. There were giggles galore as zombie after zombie bit the dust. And much sharing later of tag lines such as "It's time to nut up or shut up." and "Double tap."

Today we saw The Men Who Stare at Goats, George Clooney, Ewan McGregor and Jeff Bridges in a satire about the army training psychics to become "Jedi warriors" or "supersoldiers". As we agreed afterward, it was no Zombieland, but it was still pretty good. Bob: "Gees, you had the whole desert to drive in, Lyn."

"WOMEN'S MAGAZINES" - ARE THEY MAKING YOU CRAZY!?!?

2009-11-13T23:53:00.001-05:00

I don't like so-called "women's magazines". These are magazines that are "for women" (because we're all the same, you know). These magazines are supposedly about "being women" (like that's a job or something to "work at being"). At various times in my life I have subscribed to: Seventeen, Glamour, Redbook, Ladies Home Journal, Good Housekeeping, Ms., Cosmopolitan, and Southern Living. I'm not picking on any of these magazines by themselves. (And Ms is in no way a "women's magazine" like the others; no, no, no. I was going through my ANGRY period when I subscribed to Ms.) I'm just pointing out some similarities. In fact, I picked up a Southern Living today at my mechanic's and enjoyed flipping through the gardening section. (Good thing I wasn't looking for timely information; the issue was from 2005!) But even Southern Living can fall into some of the categories below.

Did you ever notice that most "women's" magazines have the same topics month after month after month? Really. Month after month; year after year. Next time you're waiting in line at the grocery store, take a look at the covers. (I'm not including gossip/celebrity magazines in this group.)

On the covers of the "women's" magazines you will see a beautiful model or celebrity air-brushed to perfection (or if it's a holiday you might see children and/or food, etc.) and headlines that tell you:

YOUR HOUSE IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH. These articles are about being a good housewife and mother - housekeeping and cleaning (code word de-cluttering) and cooking. This category also includes decorating and makeovers. Hang with me here for a few minutes.
YOUR BODY IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH. These are articles about losing weight either through diet or exercise, or a combination of both. Headlines also includes code words like "slimming" recipes. Ironically the same magazine will also contain headlines about baking Christmas cookies, or Thanksgiving feasts - these will be featured in the Housekeeping Section.
THE WAY YOU DRESS IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH. These fashion how-to's so often include the code words "making you look slimmer, leaner, younger, etc".
THE WAY YOU SHOP IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH. Shopping tips and how-to's (because it's just so difficult, isn't it?) for buying anything for yourself or others.
YOU ARE NOT GOOD ENOUGH UNLESS YOU HAVE A MAN. Men - you need one and here's how to get one or keep one! And you better pay attention to HIS feelings and what HE wants because you may LOSE him and then you will be ALONE.
THE WAY YOU FEEL IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH. How to be happy - either at work or home or both. How to succeed. How to balance home & work.

Here are some samples:

Seventeen Magazine November 2009:

Nothing on the cover about housework, but click on the link and you will see a slideshow of pictures about the actress on the cover. The last image on that slideshow is an ad for a Dyson vacuum cleaner.
"Get Your BEST BODY EVER Without Working Out"
"525 Fashion and Beauty Secrets/Shiny Hair/Perfect Makeup"
"Cute Clothes Under $20"
"Real Guys Confess: What Really Turns Them On and Off!"
"Win Tickets to See New Moon" (What else would make a lot of teen girls happy?!)

Glamour magazine December 2009:

OK so Glamour's not big on cleaning your house or decorating...it's about how you look.
"How to Eat Drink and Not Gain Weight even during the Cookie Season"
"Easy Beauty Tricks - Three Minute Miracles Inside"
"39 Cutest Holiday Outfits for Your Body & Budget"
" Relax! Seven Reasons Guys Love You Just the Way You Are"
"Serena: Strong and Happy. ALSO: 12 Winners Give You Life Advice"

Cosmopolitan Magazine December 2009:

Cosmo is sooooo not into decorating or housework.
"Get Rid of Muffin Top - 7 Belly-Blasting Tricks."
"Colors that Make a Man's Heart Race." "14 Sexy Party Hairstyles"
No shopping mentioned on the cover - but I bet there's plenty inside.
"His #1 Sex Wish" AND "Why Love is Harder in Winter" AND "He Shoots He Scores: Wacked Out Things Guys Say in Bed" AND "What His Hug Reveals"
"The 10 New Rules for Success" "Is Stress Turning You Into a Raging Bitch?"

Good Housekeeping December 2009:

"The House Looks Great - How to Clean Up in 12 Minutes Flat" "Holiday Cookbook: 3 Festive Party Menus, 32 Mix & Match Recipes, Foolproof Fabulous Cookies"
Nothing about your body in the December issue- Just wait until the January Issue! Of course the December cover is full of Christmas cookies!
Nothing about fashion either - too much space given to holiday partying and recipes. I'm sure there are party dresses etc inside....
"Best Toys of 2009", "Amazing Gifts for $.99 to $30"
Nothing about men - this is Good Housekeeping's December issue - just bake him cookies!
"The Power of Forgiveness" "Enter to Win $25,000 Dream Holiday"

Please notice the words used in Seventeen's cover: "secrets" "perfect" "best body". Can we say anorexia or bulemia?
Glamour talks about eating, drinking, Cookie Season, and not gaining weight. Again: eating disorder alert. Also uses the word "miracle" about beauty - that's encouraging. Oh, and WE can relax because HE likes us just the way we are. PHEW! I was worried for a minute.
Cosmo is supposed to be for sexually liberated women, but it's all about HIS sex wish, what HE says in bed, and analyzing HIS hugs. Really.

I now subscribe only to magazines that are about something. For example, I subscribe to Writers' Digest. The articles are about writing and publishing and those interest me. Sure, they tend to repeat themselves, but the articles are on topics that challenge ME and engage my MIND. I joined the Florida Writers' Association and I receive their quarterly magazine which is also about writing and about other writers in Florida. I also subscribe to Glimmer Train, a small press dedicated to publishing stories from new writers. I have received their Fall 2009 issue and I enjoyed reading the variety of short stories it contained.

DEAR GWENN

2009-11-08T20:40:00.002-05:00

Dear Gwenn,

I'm sorry I didn't get up to the North Georgia Mountains to visit you in October. As it turned out my two girlfriends Ann & Gaelyn did their "Fall Festival Tour" the 3rd weekend of October, but I had to miss it. It was not a good time to miss work; we were upgrading our reservation software at the Inn and I needed to be there. I missed seeing you and visiting you in Blairsville more than anything!

I thought of you a lot yesterday. My 3-yr-old granddaughter Kinsey spent the morning with me while her mommy had a hair appointment. I used - and used it knowing how much you would love me doing it! - the cup and saucer with the lovely purple flowers and gold trim you painted several years ago.

I made coffee and then mixed lots of milk and sugar and a tiny bit of coffee in an old china pot I had purchased at an estate sale in Tampa. While Kinsey watched with eyes as big as - you guessed it! - SAUCERS, I got out the special cup and saucer she had been eying for weeks. While I set the table and got her ready for her special coffee, I told Kinsey about my special friend Gwenn who painted the flowers and the gold on the cup and saucer. She was so very excited to be using her Grenah's special things.

I brought her the coffee and the cup & saucer and brought my own cup of coffee to the table. We had the best time! Just two girls drinking their coffee and talking! She was very respectful of the special cup. I asked her to be very careful, but also explained that nothing would ever be as special as she was to me.

When she finished her first cup of coffee she asked if she could pour more and, of course, I said yes. She was so careful; she used two hands. She warned me that it was very hot and that she would be very careful not to burn herself. I just love it when she is so serious and is being so "adult" in modeling her behavior. And her imagination! That "coffee" was cold cold cold.

As we were sitting there and the quiet settled around us I thought of you and the first time I met you at the fall festival. I couldn't remember if it was the Hiawassee Festival or the Sorghum Festival in Blairsville, but I did remember that you and I hit it off from the very beginning. I loved your artistry, and then, the more you talked, the more I loved your wonderful personality. And your spunk and your laughter! I fell in love with an English Squat Pot and told you I wanted to buy it. You said I could only buy it if I promised to use it. I was horrified! No way! It was too gorgeous! I knew I'd drop it or crack it against something or the boiling water would destroy it. You took it back from me and told me I couldn't buy it then! You told me in no uncertain terms that the pot was made for steeping tea and that you meant for all you artwork to be used and enjoyed. I promised to use it and I still do to this day. I still enjoy the short fat shape of it and the delicate pansies you painted on the pot.

I was thinking today that it must be close to 15 years since we first met; I can't believe it has been that long. Year after year my girlfriends and I would drive up to Hiawassee to enjoy a 4-day weekend in the fall colors of the mountains. And we would hit every festival we could while we were up there - big and small. Year after year my favorite part was hunting for your booth and for your smile. A couple years - when you weren't feeling well, you weren't there. I missed you badly. And the next year I would be so anxious looking for you and so relieved when I saw your smiling face!

Yesterday, before I served the coffee, I used my little Aerolatte whip to whip up some milky foam for my own coffee. After we had been sitting there for awhile and just talking and sipping, I asked Kinsey if she would like some foam, too. She nodded her head and I took some foam from my cup and added it to her cup. Of course, I knew that wouldn't be enough. She asked if she could do it, and she took several spoonfuls of foam. We got a little silly after that because when you drink a nice lovely foamy cup of coffee, you tend to get a foamy mustache! So that's when the giggling started.

Eventually Kinsey filled her cup to the brim with "coffee" and foam so she couldn't lift it without spilling. I showed her she could just lean down and sip from the side (Emily Post I'm not) and she got foam on her nose and on her lips. This led to a major bout of giggling from both of us.

I understand why keepsakes are to be treated with respect and also why part of that respect is to use them. I could put all my treasured painted-by-Gwenn porcelain pieces on a glass shelf and admire all those pieces until the day I died. I could write notes on each one explaining why it mattered to me. I could hand the pieces down to my daughters and they to their children. Some of that may still happen. But the magic happened Saturday morning with my granddaughter and using the porcelain cup and saucer and the memories and the foamy giggles.

Gwenn & Karen April 2009

St Francis Inn, St Augustine

Love you, Gwenn, and miss you so much!

Karen

HAVE I BROUGHT THIS ON MYSELF?

2009-11-05T21:31:00.000-05:00

I really really was not going to post about this again. I don't want this to be the dog & critters blog, but I've started to wonder: have I brought this on myself? There is this school of thought - New Age, whatever - that what you envision is what you will receive. So if you think about a fabulous new career you will eventually obtain that fabulous new career. And the reverse is true; if you think only negative thoughts then your life becomes full of negativity.

So...can blogging about critters bring MORE critters? You tell me.

Last night I was surfing the 'Net and saw this headline: WOMAN: DEAD FROG IN GREENS. So who could resist that, right? The story is about a woman in East Texas who purchased a bag of Glory Mustard Greens (and I have purchased Glory Collard Greens & Turnip Greens & even Kale) who put her greens in a pot and noticed "a pair of eyes staring out at me". Jiminy Cricket! Is nothing sacred? Greens are actually GOOD for you and now I can't even buy those anymore! This is beyond gross...and ....he looks like a tree frog, doesn't he?

So I started getting a small case of heebie-jeebies and decided that was enough. I walked to the back door - which is a storm door and the screen was rolled up to let our delicious autumn breeze in - and just before I called Harley for his goodnight walk - I saw him. A little tree frog on the glass of my storm door. And he was very alive - all pulsing and throbbing and oozing. I decided Harley could hold it until morning.

This morning I take Harley for his morning walk - without incident. I get back home and I open the dishwasher to pull out a glass and what runs on the inside of the dishwasher door?

That's right: a Palmetto bug. The first gxd-damn Palmetto bug I have seen in my home since I moved here 6.5 years ago. GD...son-of-a-bitch...shxt! Now I am pissed off! This is beyond gross and I will not put up with this! He has crawled (scuse me if I make many typos - I am flinching and twitching and running my hands thru my hair like a nutcase as I type) on top of a large bowl. My trusty lizard/frog-killer Harley is standing right by my side. I c.a.r.e.f.u.l.l.y lift the bowl out of the dishwasher. The disgusting filthy animal stays. So does the bug. I tap the bowl on the floor in front of my trusty lizard/frog-killing machine and the bug lands right at Harley's feet. The bug sits there and Harley looks at me like, "What"

I yell, "Get him, Harley, get the bug!" This startles the bug who starts skittering on the floor - the motion FINALLY catches the *FLB's attention and he's starts after him....and....

The gd s.o.b effing bug goes under the refrigerator. Damn, Harley! I could have stomped him but I thought you'd be faster. I didn't say this out loud to Harley but I sure did think it. I moved Harley out of the kitchen and grabbed my can of RAID and sprayed a killing perimeter all around the refrigerator and then under it, too. Stupid effing bug might get out but he wouldn't live to enjoy it.

I then placed a step-stool next to the refrigerator because the step-stool bugs Harley and it would keep him away from the killing field all day. Then I went to work.

I was busy working on my computer when I noticed a bug on my monitor's screen. It was a stinkbug. Very common down here and it's actually considered kind of a "good" bug because it eats other bugs. Every so often a couple stinkbugs will get in the office; the office sits in the courtyard of the inn and is surrounded by vegetation. Usually I let the stinkbug crawl on top of a piece of paper and carry him outside and let him off onto a leaf. So PETA of me. I let this little guy crawl around on my screen, because after seeing effing GODZILLA in my dishwasher, this little guy was like a pet.

Later I was in the lobby talking to Kelly and she said, "Hold still." and picked something off my shirt. "What is it, a bug?" I joked. She opened her hand. It was the stinkbug. She crushed him before I could stop her and tossed him in the trash. Poor stinkbug.

That afternoon Mike stuck his head in the screen door (the weather here is really really nice right now) and looked up and said, "Good grief, what's that on your ceiling?" I looked up. I kid you not - there were between 5 and 10 stinkbugs walking all over the ceiling and one was right over my chair. I didn't have a broom or anything long like that so I threw a dog toy (don't ask) at the ceiling until I knocked him down.

I am phobic about insecticide (except in the case of Palmetto bugs) but I'm about to get over that. If I have stinkbugs tomorrow, the gloves are off.

And no, that is not the end of the story. The last straw is coming.

I'm relaxing in my big fat chair reading a book tonight when I hear Harley running like he's chasing something. I get up and walk around to the dining table. It's that Palmetto Bug! (And don't give me any "How do you know it's the same bug crap....I know it's the same one because if it's not the same one I can't live here anymore!) So Harley puts his paw on it - and I realize he's been playing with it.

"Kill it, Harley!" Harley lifts his paw. The bug runs under the living room sofa. Next to my big fat chair.

So I had to write about it because I'm not going near the living room until I find its dead body. Meanwhile, Harley is whining and crying because he can't find his new toy. I even moved the sofa out from the wall so Harley could search all around the sofa. Every now and then I think he spots it because there's the sound of running feet. Then he starts whining and crying again.

Damn. Just damn.

*FLB=Freaking Little Bastard

NO TV FOR 2 MONTHS - SO WHAT?

2009-11-03T21:04:00.000-05:00

I disconnected my cable from my TV 2 months ago. Have I learned anything from this experience?

I've learned that I really don't miss the TV shows themselves. I had a pang when I realized I wouldn't get to watch "Amazing Race", but I don't sit on my couch on Sunday nights weeping and wailing and gnashing my teeth because I'm missing the show. I used to watch "Judge Judy" twice a day almost every day, yet I don't wonder about who didn't get paid for a cell phone account that they bought for a girlfriend/boyfriend, or who got stuck with a lease on an apartment when their friend/boyfriend/girlfriend moved out early, or who is suing whom for beating someone up during a bar fight. I don't miss the news, the entertainment gossip, the weather reports, the sitcoms, the reality shows, and I especially don't miss all the commercials. My God, I used to spend entire evenings salivating over pizza delivery ads and fast food ads and those ads for quick-fix brownies. (It only takes minutes in your microwave to enjoy warm gooey fudge brownies!) I don't miss the endless channel surfing on weekends, watching bits and pieces and even chunks of movies (most of which I'd already seen!), and feeling guilty for wasting yet another beautiful weekend inside watching TV. I don't even miss "Sunday Morning" as much as I thought; I have my Sunday morning coffee with NPR radio or a book.
I've learned watching TV did not cause me to gain weight, lose weight or maintain weight. DAMN. DAMN. DOUBLE-DAMN.
I've learned that I can read a tremendous amount of books when I'm not spending any time watching TV.
I've learned Netflix is really cool and I love finding that red envelope in my mailbox.
I've learned that the weather can sneak up on me because I don't watch 45 weather reports at night; however, sometimes the weather used to sneak up on me even when I did watch 45 weather reports because I wasn't really paying attention to them! I'm not worried about any tropical storms or hurricanes sneaking up on me because,

hurricane season is over, and,
I'll notice all the bread and milk gone at the local Publix.

I've learned that I can isolate myself as much as I did when I was a TV-holic.
I've learned that spending Sundays with my girlfriends is fun and refreshes my soul.
I've learned that TV did not prevent me from exercising. CRAP! (STUPID TV!)
I've learned that blogging can be fun or it can be a pain in the butt. Just like everything in life.
I've learned that I don't need TV.
I've learned that silence can be comfortable.
I've learned that I can waste just as much time surfing the Internet as I used to waste channel surfing; however, I can't surf the net with just one finger pressing a button. It takes just a little bit more effort than channel surfing. Not enough to lose significant weight or get toned, but probably enough effort that I've never done it more than a couple hours.
I've actually learned something that may be useful in other...behavior modifications I may want to undertake. I've learned that if I make something I usually do difficult to do then I won't do it. So, wouldn't the reverse be true? If I make something I don't usually do easy to do I might do it. Food for thought.

My niece Savannah who lives in Boise, Idaho has signed up to be my most recent follower. I am honored. Welcome, Savannah. Skip over the damns and craps, would you,please?

Beer and Champagne and Tequila - Oh My!

2009-11-01T20:58:00.000-05:00

For the past several Halloweens I have gone trick-or-treating with nieces, nephews, and (more recently) my granddaughter. Last night I missed trick-or-treating and the annual Florida-Georgia rivalry festivities at F.A. Cafe (attended by most of my local family) because I was invited to a Halloween wedding. I have been looking forward to this wedding for over a year. The bride's favorite holiday is Halloween and her parties are legend. So I knew the wedding and reception would be memorable.

I arrived at St. Cyprian's Episcopal Church 15 minutes before the wedding was to start. St. Cyprian's is a tiny church located near downtown St. Augustine in the historic neighborhood of Lincolnville. All week it had been hot and humid and CLOUDY and OVERCAST - decidedly un-Florida-like weather; however Saturday the sun came out and it was a gorgeous day. I parked my car in the church's tiny dirt parking lot and when I got out I was looking into a neighbor's backyard. A man and a young boy were cutting up a pumpkin and the boy was pulling the seeds and "gross stuff" out of the pumpkin while giggling with delight. I walked past the small houses and heard the Florida/Georgia game through some open windows. I wondered how many of the men attending the wedding would try to sneak in a tiny radio; we would be alert for ear pieces.

The church looks like it has about 10 pews on each side - like I said - tiny. It's all wood inside - even the vaulted ceiling is all wood. Beautiful. The vicar is a tall man with a great smile; he welcomed us all and the service began. It was simple and moving. Kelly wore a white strapless gown with a strip of orange fabric highlighting both the top of her dress and the bottom. (That's the best I can do on descriptions - not a fashion maven here.) I will insert a picture here from the reception:

Like I said - beautiful. After the service Kelly & Mike (the bride & groom) and their families waited on the steps out front and greeted all the guests. A beautiful antique white Jaguar awaited to whisk them to the reception. An old black Cabrio whisked me to the reception. The reception was held at the St. Francis Inn Bed & Breakfast in the "back courtyard" which is actually the owners' backyard. Joe & Margaret Finnegan's house sits next door to the inn and their backyard is a bricked patio with what used to be a carriage house in back. The carriage house is now called the Garden Hideaway and is usually rented to guests; tonight it was reserved for a public restroom for the wedding guests.

Appetizers were delicious and topical: mummies (pigs-in-a-blanket), a pesto cream cheese tort (delicious) was decorated with a spider and web on top with eyeballs all around the base (olives stuffed with onions). Next to the guest book was a fun photo of Mike & Kelly grimacing at the camera. Russell - an artist and friend of the couple - volunteered his services as barkeep - and his area contained a large pirate skeleton, and several collectible & creepy bottles of booze.

And here's where the trouble started.

It was VERY HOT yesterday - 84 degrees with a heat & humidity factor making it feel like 88 degrees. At the church and on the street with a lovely breeze it was nice, but the buildings blocked most of the usual breezes and it was quite HOT in the back courtyard. So my first choice was an icy cold bottle of beer. Ahhhh....

Kelly had gotten a bit overheated herself so spent some time cooling off in the air conditioned Inn while we guests chomped at the appetizers and downed the booze. Yea, another icy cold bottle of beer for me....I think I chugged this one....

By the time Kelly and Mike arrived many of the guests (I observed) were having a GRAND time. I was sitting at what Kelly dubbed the "fun" table. We were mostly Inn employees and, I have to say, the really fun people. Ellie had brought her British friend John - and it is always so much fun to abuse the British - and the rest of the seating was the Baster family - Mike and Bozena (recently married themselves) and Bozena's grown "children" Peter, Anna, and Jakub. Bozena and Anna and Jakub perform the housekeeping duties at the Inn and have been with us several years. They are from Poland and are just the most wonderful family.

Someone started calling tables to the dinner buffet and Mike ( I didn't know he was such a troublemaker) brought it to everyone's attention at Table 6 that we would be going last. Last? We were starving. We discussed this loudly that this must be discrimination against the Polish. I think I stood at one point and made some comment about Anti-Polish Racism. There was a lot of giggling at our table. Finally, the powers-that-be allowed Table 6 to eat.

Mike's family is originally from Oklahoma & Texas (although they live in Colorado now) and had prepared grilled brisket and fresh pinto beans. That brisket was the most flavorful and tender and delicious beef I've ever tasted. We also had garlic mashed potatoes and fresh-cut corn. Wonderful.

After dinner Russell waved me over to the bar. He had something special to share with me: Patron Tequila. He poured me a shot and I also requested another bottle of cold beer with which to chase it. O my goodness, just the smell of the Patron was delicious. I didn't shoot it - my goodness no - I was afraid of disrobing and performing awkward sexual acts with strangers - and there were 'way too many cameras for that - I sipped it. We also had champagne toasts and then out came the wedding cake.

Bozena & Jakub had baked the wedding cake and it was fabulous. Two layers of white cake with a delicious filling of sweetness and almonds and I - don't - know - what. Just deliciousness.

And then the dancing started. Thank God I had a camera because I was feeling pretty loopy by then and talking and laughing VERY LOUD. The camera kept me taking the pictures instead of being featured IN the pictures....although....Jakub is a fabulous photographer and I do remember putting my face right up to his lens and making some kind of face. I took 88 photographs then put down the camera and got out on the dance floor. Luckily, I switched to water at this time - I did have to drive home - and so the dancing and the lack of more alchohol helped to sober me up. Not so for many friends who are featured in my photos on my facebook page. :o)

Halloween was a blast this year - an adult blast - and my morning hangover was very mild. Congratulations to Kelly & Mike Brooks!

Wild Kingdom

2009-10-30T21:36:00.004-04:00

I was NOT going to post about this. Not again. But then...2 events in less than 12 hours?

So last night I take the *FLB out for his evening peepee. I didn't even slip on my shoes, just strolled outside in my socks. Didn't even turn on the outside light; my neighbor's outside light was on and light shined through my storm door glass. I have to admit I felt a little nervous stepping in some shadowy places. All the recent heebie-jeebie blogging has kept me in a rather agitated state - twitching now and then, feeling "things" in my hair, brushing my shoulder (what was that?). I decided to quit being a baby and just take the damn dog out and not think about critters.

After his initial marking, the *FLB insisted on walking past the edge of light and to the line of grass along our fence. I walked gingerly - looking carefully where I stepped and feeling foolish about it. He dragged me all the way there, then stood on the pavement and stuck his nose in the grass. That was going to accomplish nothing. I "encouraged" him to step into the grass but he ignored me. I became impatient and pulled him back to the patio telling him out loud, "No way, mister, am I standing in the dark so you can sniff the grass while standing on the pavement." We walked back to my patio, I opened my back door, hustled Harley inside, and something skittered across my laundry room floor.

"Lizard!" I squealed.

Harley was skittering across the floor after the lizard-thing and I couldn't see around him to see what he was chasing. I wasn't too concerned; I've had lizards (those little gecko lizards) get in the house before. Harley always hunts them down and catches them. It's his own life insurance policy. And it fits with the 11th Commandment:

THOU SHALT NOT COME INTO MY HOUSE IF THOU IS A BUG OR SMALL CRITTER. THOU SHALT LIVE OUTSIDE WHERE THOU BELONGEST AND WILL BE LEFT ALONEST. IN MY HOUSE THOU ART FAIR GAME AND WILL BE HUNTED AND KILLED.

So I encouraged Harley, "Get the lizard!", but then I saw it. It was a small brown tree frog.

SCARY MUSIC PLAYS....

I pulled Harley away; thank goodness he was still leashed. The frog looked unharmed and I really wanted him back outside. I don't like how they jump and I don't like their little sucker feet. Tree frogs don't hop like toads Toads hop and move a few inches here or there. Tree frogs JUMP 4 or 5 FEET in the air.

One time a tree frog jumped through our front door - well not THROUGH the front door - but my brother opened the door and the tree frog jumped through the open front door - and the entire family (except for my father who was watching TV in his recliner - erupted in shouting and screaming as the tree frog jumped down the hallway and around the dining room. The tree frog jumped from the floor onto my dad's HEAD and then hopped onto the living room wall with 4 kids and a beagle chasing him. We actually chased that frog back out the front door before my dad even realized what happened.

So...back to last night....I stepped over the frog and tried to shoo him out the back door but he jumped up on the door, then jumped back into the room. I screeched like a banshee - I thought the little sucker was going to jump on ME. He jumped onto the wall behind the door. He was hanging on the extra-long leash that hangs behind the door and I made one more attempt to get him out by removing the leash with him on it. He jumped again.

That must be when I peed my pants.

I was fed up and decided he had broken the 11th commandment. I unleashed Harley and said, "There he is, you can have him." And that *FLB looked all over the wall and couldn't see him! I had to practically take his face and point it at the frog! What's up with that? He can see a cat 300 yards down the street!

So the *FLB jumped up and grabbed the frog off the wall, but then he dropped it on the floor and it started hopping all around the room again. I screamed some more, but this time I added some moon-dancing and ultra-studio-54-twitch moves, too. Harley grabbed the frog again and finally took him into the kitchen to "play" with him.

Now don't get all "the poor frog" on me. I did the best I could. If his little sucker-feet had touched me I wouldn't be here blogging to you today. I did feel bad because Harley played with him a LONG time. A really LONG time. I finally couldn't listen to him anymore and went to bed. I even felt guilty.

This morning I looked for the ... remains...but Harley was guarding it. I said a quick prayer that the little frog was dead and hadn't suffered too much. No, I didn't really, but it sounds nice to say. I knew I'd find him in the afternoon and give him a proper burial - wrapped in a thick wad of paper towels and scrunched into the trash can.

I took Harley for his morning walk.

We were returning from our walk and came around the corner of our building when Harley smelled or spotted something. He was acting aggressive so my first guess was a cat. It's DARK when we take our walk and I carry a flashlight. I haven't forgotten that a green-and-brown snake lives under my septic-bucket. And I don't want to step on anything living or dead. So I pointed my flashlight where Harley was straining to go. I saw something....gray.......an armadillo. eewww. He standing over by the septic-bucket-snake-house. Harley went ballistic - barking and pulling and twisting on the end of his leash. The armadillo looked at us for a couple seconds (another big eewww) then hurried up the septic tank hill and into the brush.

Kind of explains all the little holes in the yard and the lack of slugs this summer. Maybe I'll just put a fence around the property and sell tickets.

*FLB = freakin' little bastard

I'VE LOOKED AT CLOUDS ALL DAY

2009-10-27T22:35:00.000-04:00

Yesterday it was cloudy. All day. Today it was cloudy. All day. The forecast for tomorrow is Mostly Cloudy. What gives? This is FLORIDA. Where's the sun? I did not move here to look at gray skies all day long. I am willing to take it for one more day but that is my limit. After three days of no sunshine I will start getting mean. Or depressed. Either way...someone's gonna pay.

To make it worse I just emerged from a very involving book. Compulsive readers know what I'm talking about when I say emerged; sometimes a book pulls you right into the story and won't let you go. You almost feel groggy when you take a break or finish.

I've been reading Laurell K. Hamilton's Anita Blake series about a vampire executioner. The series can be very dark - lots of soul searching (Anita was raised Catholic), violence (oh my it is very violent), and, uh, sex (though not in this particular book). Sounds like a weird grouping. It is. Though this will never be one of my favorite series - I prefer lighter reading with more laughter than gore - Laurell K. Hamilton can spin a great story. The real world just fades away and suddenly I'm in a vampire's lair, stalking a serial-killer monster, analyzing a crime scene, or fighting for my life.

In this book - Obsidian Butterfly - Anita Blake travels to Albuquerque, New Mexico to help stop serial killings that may or may not involve non-human predators. Anita lives in St. Louis, Missouri, so this was a nice break both for Anita and her sun-deprived reader. At least she was getting some sunshine in between the murder and mayhem. At least it wasn't cloudy every damn day there, but I digress. I enjoyed traveling with Anita to Albuquerque and seeing with her the great expanses of nothing but sand and grasses with black mountains in the distance. Did you know Albuquerque is 7,000 feet above sea level? I learned that Albuquerque is only about an hour from Santa Fe, NM. I have cousins in Santa Fe. They aren't vampires or monsters, though, and were not mentioned in the book.

New Mexico is still on my list of places to visit. It sounds beautiful and exotic and SUNNY.

And Anita killed all the monsters so it's safe, too.

NO ROOM AT THE INN? PUH-LEEZE!

2009-10-26T21:46:00.009-04:00

In any other city my place of employment - a bed and breakfast - would be unique, but here in St. Augustine, Florida, unique becomes weird very quickly. For those of you who were brought up with a less-than-thorough education a brief history lesson:

Many Americans know about Jamestown - the first English settlement in the North American continent. Well, big woop. Who cares about Jamestown - the 2nd oldest settlement in America. It's not even a real town! YEARS before Jamestown was settled Pedro Menendez landed here and settled the town of St. Augustine.

St. Augustine is the oldest city in the United States. (So there, Jamestown!) And don't even start with Thanksgiving in Plymouth, PUH-LEEZE.

We have almost 450 years of history here. As you can imagine ghost stories abound in our old city. And the oldest inn in the oldest city has its own ghost stories. From time to time we have psychics, sensitives, ghost-chasers, and paranormal investigators staying with us. It's gotten so common that the owner has finally put a "ghost stories" link on our website, although you have to hunt for it. Even though this is Halloween week, tonight's story is not about ghosts; it's about some other strange visitors we had at the inn recently. I heard about these guests the morning after they checked in.

I was getting my morning cup of coffee and Kelly, the Inn's manager, waved me over to the Front Desk. Her eyes gleamed as she asked, "Has anyone told you about our guests in the Dummett* (pronouced Dum-mit) Room?"

"No," I said. "What's going on?"

"Yesterday afternoon our guests were checking in and asked if the room was pet friendly," she said.

I frowned. We do allow pets in some of our rooms, but only ground floor rooms with outside entrances and only with prior approval. I knew this was a problem right away; the Dummett Room is on the 3rd floor. No way would we allow any pets up there. Kelly grinned and continued her story.

"I tried to explain that we restricted the rooms because of allergies and the extra cleaning we always have to do," she said. "They told me, 'No problem, our pets don't shed.' So I'm thinking it must be birds of some kind, and told them we couldn't have birds either because of the noise. I was starting to get worried because we were full and I didn't have a pet-friendly room for them. They were very cheerful and said their pets weren't birds either. I finally had to ask just what kind of pets did they have."

Kelly stopped and stared at me. I shook my head; I had no idea.

"Snakes," she whispered.

"Snakes?" I whispered back. I was trying not to shriek.

"Yes," she said. "They said they had $10,000 worth of snakes. They had just been to a convention. They couldn't leave them in the car overnight; the snakes would die. They had to be in a climate-controlled space."

"Snakes?" I said. "More than one?" I was getting a real creepy feeling all over my skin.

"Yes," she said. "They had 15 of them. All boa constrictors. Some were babies, most were small, but there was one large snake about 6 feet long."

"15 snakes?" I said. I should be a detective with these kinds of interviewing skills.

"You should have seen it," Kelly said. "They brought in all these plastic tubs and containers and stacked them over by that wall."

I jumped and looked at the wall. There was nothing there, but just the thought of what HAD been there...

"You let them check in?" I said.

"All the snakes were locked in the tubs; they even had bungee cords around the tubs. Most of the snakes were also in cloth sacks. You couldn't see them through the plastic; you wouldn't even know what was in the tubs unless someone told you. Besides, they had already paid for their reservation," she said.

"I know," I agreed. Sometimes you just have to say yes.

The guests were a married couple who had just been to the Reptile Breeders Convention in Daytona Beach - evidently a HUGE event. They raised boa constrictors and sold them. They were on their way home to Louisiana. Well, THAT explained a lot. (No offense, Louisiana, but when a large portion of your area is bayou a.k.a. swamp, you know that you're going to be lumped in with snakes. Besides, did you ever see that show The Exterminator on A&E? Filmed in...Louisiana!)

Once they had permission they brought the tubs in one or two at a time and stacked them in our lobby. Kelly said the creepiest part was after all the tubs were stacked, you could hear the snakes hissing. HEEBIEJEEBIES. No one else seemed to notice; a few other guests checked in while the tubs were stacked in the lobby and just ignored them.

"So where are the snakes now?" I asked while I rubbed my hands up and down my arms.

"They stacked all the tubs in the closet in their room!" she said. "They went out to dinner, had a nice time, and had a nice quiet evening at the Inn."

The process was reversed that morning after the couple had their breakfast and packed to leave. They brought the tubs down the three flights of stairs one by one and stacked them in the lobby. They showed one of the babies to Kelly and some other employees who were crazy enough to want to look. I stayed in the kitchen and peeked around the door. Then they took the tubs - one by one - out to their car. They really were very nice people and there was no mess or any problem with the extra visitors. In fact, they had such a good time I bet they'll want to stay with us next year after the Reptile Breeders Convention in Daytona Beach! I'll be taking that day off....

That afternoon Kelly and I were talking about our unique visitors. She said, with a perfectly straight face, that she was glad there was no problem, because she had to get ready for the ghost-hunters who were renting the entire third floor for the next two nights.

15 boa constrictors one night and ghost-hunters the next - just another day at the Inn.

*pronounced Dum-mit - named for the Dummett family who owned the Inn in the mid-1800's.

NOT REALLY A SEPTIC TANK STORY

2009-10-25T22:42:00.000-04:00

This is part of my backyard. What look like small rolling hills are actually part of the septic tank systems of my building and the building next door. In some parts of Florida the drainfields have to be raised because the water table is so close to the surface. You don't want the drainfields draining directly into your water table, do you? I guess the extra 4 or 5 feet of soil and rock make a difference. Hmm.

So what's with the BUCKET? The bucket covers an electrical outlet that pokes out of the ground; an underground wire goes from my building to the outlet. The septic tank pump is plugged into the outlet. Oh yes, we have to have a pump because the drainfields are elevated above the tank and the...uh... liquids in the tank have to be pumped up into the drainfields. The outlet has to be protected from rain and lawn mowing equipment and a bucket has proven to be better than the plastic covers the septic tank companies install. The bare space next to the bucket is where a septic tank company recently dug up the yard, opened the lid to the septic tank, and replaced the septic tank pump. yummy.

Since I am the only condo-owner in my building - the other 2 units are rented - I have taken the responsibility of insuring that the pump is plugged in and operating. Since I installed the bucket last spring - blatantly copying my neighbors - the bucket has done a wonderful job of protecting the outlet. I've checked it several times over the past several months and the outlet and plug have been undisturbed.

Late last month my toilets were flushing reluctantly and there was an awful....AROMA...in the backyard, so I stomped over to the bucket in my bare feet and picked it up. The pump was plugged in, but there was a lot of...water...all around the area. I then stepped carefully to our building about 20 feet away and opened the circuit breaker box - AHA! The breaker had flipped off. I flipped it on. Sparks flew and it flipped itself off. I screamed like a banshee. Luckily the ground was dry by the house or I might have fried myself.

After I recovered from my brief trauma AND scrubbed my feet and legs with antibiotic soap, I called the septic tank people. The next afternoon a repairman came out and dug up that small portion of the yard. He got the job done in about an hour. When I was writing him a check for the new pump, he asked me if I'd ever seen the snake living under the bucket.

What?

"Oh, yea," he said. "He's got a burrow under that bucket. He's green and brown and kept peeking out at me while I was working." My hand shook as I finished writing the check.

I don't care if we get 24 inches of rain. I don't care if water erupts from every drain in my home. I don't care if I have to use the public bathroom in Publix for the rest of my life. I am NEVER NEVER NEVER going near that bucket again.

HARLEY GAMES - AN UPDATE

2009-10-21T19:22:00.000-04:00

Harley sits and stares at me at every mealtime. I say the "OK" release command. He sits and stares. Eventually he eats. I figure he will get over this eventually.

Today when I got home from work he greeted me at the door as always. After a quick trip outside to relieve himself he trotted back in and I heard....

...crunching.....

what?

I looked and he was eating his breakfast. Granted, the dish was not as full as when I left it this morning, but....

....he saved this all day to make me think that he SIT AND STAYED ALL DAY???

Maybe he is winning.

I MAY BE DUM BUT I AREN'T STUPID: HARLEY GAMES

2009-10-19T19:58:00.002-04:00

One of the first "tricks" or behaviors that I taught Harley was sitting and staying for his meal. In order to eat he has to sit and stay until I release him with the "OK" command. It is really one of the easiest things to teach a dog because you do it at least once a day and it involves what the dog lives for - MEALTIME. No matter how bad the dog is or how wild or how stupid he seems, he can do this. Before I ever attended a dog training class or watched "It's Me or the Dog" or "The Dog Whisperer" all of my dogs learned this behavior.

From time to time Harley does bark or jump up and down while waiting for his meal. I then remind him to sit, stay, and be QUIET, then I count to 3 (silently), and release him with an OK. In his first year with me I would often test him by saying some other word with the same tone, then stop him if he got up. Believe me, he has this command DOWN.

Several months ago I found myself repeating the OK command. I set the dish down on the floor, said, "OK" and Harley just sat there looking at me.

"OK!" I repeated. He then got up and walked to his dish. This didn't happen often enough to make me even think about it, just often enough to make me repeat myself. Then I found myself repeating the OK command more than once. I started wondering if he was losing his hearing. I didn't give it a lot of thought; I was usually rushing off to work in the mornings when this happened.

Then it started happening in the afternoons. I would find myself saying, "ok", "OK", OK! Harley! OK!" before he would get up and walk to his dish to eat. What was wrong with him? Did he really not hear me? Was I saying it differently? I still didn't give it a lot of thought, but as it continued and it started to happen at each and every meal, I became annoyed. I knew the *FLB could hear! Good gosh, he could be chewing on a toy in my bedroom and hear a dog walking up the street through a closed living room window!

It occurred to me one day that I NEVER have to repeat the OK command when I'm giving Harley a treat. What? A very nasty suspicion took root in my mind and I narrowed my eyes. "Bastard," I whispered. I decided to test him.

I touched the lid on his treat jar. He ran out from my bedroom and jumped around me. No hearing problem there. I told him to sit and I used the hand gesture I had learned at dog training. No, not that hand gesture. Just a fist that you kind of dip at the dog. He sat and wagged his tail so hard I wondered if it would detach itself and fly off.

I removed a dog biscuit from the jar and put the lid back on. The jar and lid are ceramic so the lid always makes a sound whether you are taking it off or putting it on. Harley started jumping for joy again.

"Oh, boy! Oh, boy!" he thought as he jumped around my legs.

"Sit," I repeated. He sat and wagged his tail as hard as he could. His tongue hung out and his eyes watched that treat like a cat watches a mouse just before she pounces.

"Stay," I said as I put the treat on the floor. He quivered with the strain of behaving. He drooled and stared at the dog biscuit.

I stepped away a few feet and in a normal tone of voice said, "Ok." Before I could draw a breath he had jumped on the treat and run off to the living room with his treasure.

"Hm," I mused. Slowly it dawned on me. Harley was messing with me. For months Harley had been messing with me! There was no other explanation! I felt almost betrayed! Almost. I knew he was a little bastard, but I didn't realize he could really screw with my head that way. The months of executing his little plan - what tenacity he showed. Gradually increasing the amount of OKs he would get before he would eat. DAMN.

Well, the jig was up. That afternoon at his dinnertime I called him to the kitchen, told him to "Sit", put his dish filled with food down on the floor, and said,"Ok." He sat there and looked at me as if he hadn't heard me. Oh, the treachery.

I walked away.

I sat in my chair in the living room and looked back at him. He was still sitting but he had twisted his head all the way around and was watching me. I picked up a book and began reading. Seconds ticked by. Then I heard it. Crunching.

Bastard.

NATURE VS NURTURE: PART DOS

2009-10-16T21:22:00.000-04:00

Just 2 or 3 weeks ago I was in the kitchen where I work fixing a cup of coffee to take back to the office. Carolee is the kitchen assistant and part-time chef. This particular morning she rushed into the kitchen in an absolute frenzy. She looked possessed.

"I don't know how I'm ever going to get home," she muttered. "Is it on me? Do you see anything on me?"

"No, you look fine," I answered.

"No, I mean, do you see anything ON me?" she asked. She was brushing her hands up and down her clothes and running them through her hair.

I checked her over.

"No, nothing," I reassured her.

"Good," Carolee said, but she wasn't convincing. "That means he's still in the car. How am I ever going to get home?"

Bit by bit her story emerged.

Carolee has to be at work at 7am when she is the kitchen assistant; that means leaving her home in Flagler Beach before 6:15. This time of year it is still very dark at until almost 7:00. That morning she got into her car and headed north on A1A to St. Augustine. A1A runs along the ocean part of the way, then veers inland through the Hammock, a heavily wooded area, then runs back along the ocean. For most of the trip it is dark; there are few lights until you enter St. Augustine Beach.

Carolee was zipping along just minding her own business when she passed a an open and well-lit gas station. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted something on her rear view mirror. A second horrified look confirmed that it was a ... banana spider!

At nearly the same instant that she identified the THING on her rear view mirror she passed into the darkness of the Hammock. She careened along A1A terrified that monster was going to jump on her. She couldn't stop. What was she going to do? It was pitch black on the two-lane road; she'd get run over! (Besides, if she stopped in the woods in the dark and got out of the car how many BUGS, SNAKES, GATORS, ETC. would be waiting for THEIR CHANCE to attack her on the side of the road?) She squeezed over against the door and kept staring back and forth between the road and the dark rear view mirror. Was it still there? Was it looking at her? What if it was gone? Where was it?

She rocketed out of the Hammock, past Marineland, and into the brief spot where A1A widens and has street lights next to 3 high rise condominiums. THERE HE WAS! He had spun a short web and was HANGING FROM THE REAR VIEW MIRROR. OMG! If she took a curve too fast he would start swinging and swing RIGHT INTO HER FACE!!!!

The street lights disappeared behind her; she and her passenger were thrown into pitch darkness again. She slowed a bit so she could navigate curves without causing the spider to sway or swing. She couldn't see him at all and hoped against hope that she wouldn't FEEL anything for the next several miles while she pushed ahead in the dark.

When she entered St. Augustine Beach and the accompanying street lights she looked for the spider; he was gone. GONE? Where was he? She looked all around and twisted and fidgeted in her seat; one minute tensing because she thought she felt something, the next minute brushing herself off frantically. For the next terrifying 6-8 miles she looked in vain for that spider - and dreaded feeling him on her leg or in her hair or on her arm, or ON HER NECK or ON HER FACE.

The sun was rising as she crossed the temporary bridge over the Matanzas River into St. Augustine and there he was! He was scuttling across her headliner "about 90 mph!". Thank God, he was running AWAY from her. She hurtled the last couple miles through town and down the cobblestoned and very bumpy St. George Street and into our parking lot. She slammed on the brakes, turned off her car, opened the door, and tried frantically to get out of her car. SOMETHING WAS HOLDING HER IN AND WOULDN'T LET GO! It was her seatbelt. She jammed the release button and almost fell out of her car. She slammed the door shut and stood there for several minutes, just glad to be alive and spider-free.

I really tried not to laugh, because it could have been me and I would have been just as upset, but, the truth is, it wasn't me and I started laughing and couldn't stop. That morning she didn't see any humor in the situation. She demanded to know how she was going to get home; I suggested she leave her windows down so he could get out.

"NO!" Carolee said. "Do you know how many creepy-crawlies live in the parking lot?"

I didn't have any more suggestions so I patted her shoulder and took my coffee back to the office. I ran my fingers through my hair and brushed off my arms a couple times on the way.

I don't want to say Carolee was obsessed with this banana spider, but she admitted later she asked everyone that morning for an answer to her dilemma. I don't think she met with too many sympathetic responses. After breakfast service ended she asked Mike, our maintenance guy, if he had any bug spray. He gave her a big can of Raid. Carolee opened the hatch of her Yarus, aimed and fired. She DRENCHED her car. She said she could see the spray clinging to some webs in there, so she knew the banana spider had been busy. She shut the hatch, then opened her driver's side door and DRENCHED her car in poison. She sprayed until the can was empty. Then she shut the door and went back to work.

When it was time to go home she took a couple of rags and used them to wipe her seat and the steering wheel. She rolled down her window, but left the others up. She drove home with her interior reeking of poison, one window down, and the air conditioner blowing full blast. She didn't see the spider. (That much poison probably disintegrated him!) She had been home for about an hour when her significant other Russ said he was going to take the car to run an errand. "OK," she answered.

When Russ returned he wanted to know what the HELL happened to her her car! His hands were all sticky from the door, the steering wheel, the controls. The interior was covered in something sticky and gross! What was it? She told him that if he ever LISTENED to her that he would know it was RAID and that she had bombed the car's interior to kill a spider.

Russell took the car to a car wash place and the rumor is he used the high velocity spray to clean the interior. He never saw the spider.

HARLEY - YOUR BRAIN IS HOW BIG?

2009-10-15T21:03:00.002-04:00

Three months after I adopted my trusty terrier Harley (the *FLB) from the Humane Society my daughter was hospitalized with pneumonia. This was not Harley's fault and I am not blaming him. By this time Harley and I had been through the dog obedience class taught by the Humane Society, and we had started to bond. Somewhat. My sister and her adorable 8-month-old Golden-shepherd-mix named Max were also in the class. Guess which couple got oohed-and-aahed over? The class was made up of all adoptees and catered to their "issues", such as not being socialized, psychological damage from abuse or neglect, not being house-trained, aggresiveness, and fear.

*Please note that nowhere on the ID card attached to Harley's cage when I adopted him did it list any of these potential problems. Here is what I learned about Harley in the three months following his adoption:
(we're going to compare with the ID card attached to his cage at the shelter)

Name: Harley
(Probably true - at that time he would look at me if I called him Harley - of course he looked at me if I called him *FLB, dog, WHAT THE ....!, hey you, want a treat, and want to go for a ride?

Gender: Male
Definitely true - I had him neutered before I brought him home but only a male would raise his leg so often and so high. How high? High enough that he actually flipped himself over one time. Not kidding.

Age: 1 year
I guess so. My only other guess is that he's older than Satan himself and will never be carbon-dated.

Likes: children and dogs
As I mentioned in my previous post he started a fight with a chow-mix at obedience class. By then I'd already been warned to keep a tight leash on Harley because he growled and barked at some of the other dogs - not all the other dogs - just the aggressive and scary ones. I didn't dare let him near children; however, he now has developed a "mutual respect" relationship with my 3-yr-old granddaughter. He understands that HE IS DEAD if he harms a hair on her head and that she has carte blanche with him. :o)   Not really, I have to protect them from each other. sigh.

Dislikes: cats
Dislikes is not strong enough - obsessed with cats, hates cats, despises cats.

Story: child developed allergy to dog
My butt...these people had had enough of ruined carpets, chewed up books, dog hair everywhere, and decided to dump him quick. They probably told their kids the dog ran away.

So...we had been through obedience school and were starting to bond. Sometime in April my 29-year-old incredibly healthy RN daughter Mary is hospitalized with pneumonia. And doesn't get better...gets sicker every day. Longest week of my life. I spent the entire week going to work, going home to walk Harley, going to the hospital, and going home to sleep. Thursday Mary finally started getting better. I decided to take a 30 minute break from the hospital, and take Harley over to my sister's house to play with Max. The two dogs were best friends and were the funniest pair to watch, especially since Max was more than double Harley's size.

My younger daughter Melissa had driven down from Atlanta to visit her sick sister and we both decided to enjoy the spring evening and put the top down on the convertible. I drove, Melissa rode shotgun, and the leashed-up Harley rode in the backseat. I kept the other end of the leash on my right wrist so that he wouldn't jump out of the car if he saw another dog or, God help us all, a cat. We drove the 2 miles to my sister's house and made the last turn onto her street doing about 15 mph. As I straightened the wheel I heard something funny and realized at the same time I couldn't see Harley. The leash attached to my wrist disappeared over the side of my car!

Simultaneously I screamed, "Where's Harley?!" and stopped the car. Melissa looked over her door and shouted, "He's next to the car!" I turned off the ignition, jumped out, and ran around to the passenger side. Harley was panting and limped over to me. I picked him up; the pads on his paws were all torn up. I held him to me and shouted for Melissa to drive us the few remaining feet to my sister's house. She raced around the car, jumped in, and pulled into my sister Sheila's driveway seconds later. Melissa ran into the house and I took Harley around through the back fence to their screened porch. I was in hysterics and didn't know what to do!

Sheila kept her cool and looked up emergency vets in the Yellow Pages while I tried to examine Harley. He acted like he was in shock and his poor paws looked like raw meat. I couldn't find any other injuries but I was terrified of internal injuries; I didn't know if I'd hit him or bumped him with the car. Meanwhile an awful stench kept making us all look around. It smelled kind of like feces but much much worse; however, we couldn't find anything on Harley or nearby. Sheila called the 24-hour animal hospital, got directions, and Melissa and I were soon on our way.

I am grateful for the kind personnel at the emergency hospital; they cleaned Harley's wounds (which involved trimming his pads...ewww....) and examined him thoroughly and bandaged him up. About $200 and 3 hours after Melissa, Harley, and I set off on our "quick break" we were back home. I took the pictures right after we got home. He was still looking pretty pitiful at that time. The vet said that from the appearance of Harley's injuries, she would guess that when I slowed for the turn, Harley jumped out with his legs rigid, and tore up his paws when he hit the ground, because he was stopped and the car wasn't.

The funny sound I had heard (now the urge to giggle starts bubbling in my throat)...the funny sound I heard was Harley trying to run 15 mph on legs that are about 6 inches long. What? Not funny? Just try to picture it and NOT LAUGH. And before you judge me, did you ever see American Vacation with Chevy Chase? Remember what happened to Aunt Edna's dog?

"Once again on their way, the family stops at a picnic area, only to discover that Dinky the dog has urinated on the picnic basket. Everyone is revolted — except Aunt Edna, who shrugs off the flavor and continues eating. After leaving the smelly "Kamp Komfort", in South Fork, Colorado, they learn from an enraged motorcycle policeman (James Keach) that they have driven off with Dinky still tied to the rear bumper. The deceased dog apparently kept pace with the car "for a mile or so".

TELL ME you didn't laugh when you watched that scene! Besides, Harley only ran for about 10-15 seconds before I realized what that sound was. It's not like I dragged him for MILES through the desert or anything.

And the smell? I asked the vet why my arm that had held Harley smelled liked the worst kind of feces, and why we smelled that odor all around us in Sheila's neighborhood that evening. Well... when an animal is really frightened sometimes they.... "express" their anal glands. So basically, Harley scared himself shxtless - but instead of pooping he squeezed out all his anal gland stuff. (You're not eating, are you?)

I realized during that whole episode how much the little terrier meant to me. I was really and truly scared! I went out and purchased a seat belt for him so he could ride safely in my car with the top down. I had stopped adding up the costs** of the "free pound pup". Not really, but it sounds nice to say. If you think I'm being unfeeling or cavalier about the whole thing take a look at Harley on the day AFTER the accident.

He's already pulled off one of the foot bandages (left rear). This picture shows him staring out my living room window at some offending CAT or DOG walking by HIS house. Does he look harmed in any way?

Don't you just love the cone around his head? Let me tell you...I'd take him for his walk and he would put his head down to sniff and get that cone stuck in the grass every time. OMG it was so funny! Like a Bugs Bunny cartoon! The cone would get stuck and he would still take one or two more steps before he'd realize he was stuck! He was and has been unending entertainment.

*FLB=freaking little bastard

**Adoption fee, neutering, crate, library book, new jacket, carpet, dog food, dog dishes, collar, leash, ID tag, Special Iams dog food for SENSITIVE TUMMIES, toys, obedience class fee, emergency vet bill, doggie seat belt

And thanks for all your wonderful comments! And for following my blog. It is gratifying to share my stories. Anyone want to adopt a free completely house-trained small non-shedding terrier? Just kidding. Call me. No, I'm just kidding. Seriously, call me or email. I'll pay the shipping.

HARLEY THE WONDER DOG

2009-10-14T21:42:00.001-04:00

Thousands of you have asked about the FLB* that often accompanies my darling, precious Harley's name. Although I had about 10 other topics to discuss today, including a followup to the heebie-jeebies disorder and its manifestations in the presence of Florida's wildlife, I decided I could not ignore the clamor from my fans.

Please remember that the number of my followers and number of visitors displayed on my blog are grossly under-reported. I have to keep a low profile.

Harley will be 6 years old in January. He is a "mixed terrier". A Heinz 57. As someone on the street once called him: a Disney dog. Yes, he is incredibly cute. Now.

When I first saw Harley at the St. Augustine Humane Society in January 2005, my comment was, "He's kind of fugly, isn't he?" "Noooo," my sister Sheila argued. "He's very cute! Look at his cute face." It had been Sheila's idea to visit the Humane Society that day. She wanted to adopt a puppy for her family and she knew I wanted a dog, too. "Now, you know, Karen," she had said in as kind a way as she could manage, " in 10 years you'll be in your 60's and you won't be able to pick up a large dog." Family. You can't live without them and laws prevent you from slicing them into chum and tossing them into the open waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

The puppy that she was taking home was a darling Golden-shephard mix and about 6 months old. He was galumphing around his cage and I wanted to trade. The mixed terrier was wiry and had hair sticking out around his neck like an Elizabethan collar. "I don't know," I wavered. The card on the terrier's cage read," Name: HARLEY Age: 1 YEAR Gender: MALE Housetrained: YES Likes: CHILDREN AND OTHER DOGS Dislikes: CATS. Story: CHILD DEVELOPED ALLERGY TO DOG." I didn't have a cat and I had heard that terriers didn't shed much. My only other options were to go home empty-handed or take home a pit-bull-mixed something and wait for the inevitable mauling. "Just take him out and walk him around," Sheila urged. I approached a volunteer and she handed me a leash.

When I opened the gate Harley jumped up and down like he had springs in his back legs! I leashed him up and took him outside. I was pleased to see that he immediately relieved himself. So he knew to do his business outside. In fact, he relieved himself several times, lifting his leg here, lifting his leg there, etc. He didn't seem interested in me, but that could have been the excitement of being outside. I squatted down and rubbed my hand down his back. He WAS wiry, but kind of soft, too. His ears were so cute and how about those big brown eyes...I was hooked.

The next week I brought Harley home. I let him sniff around and get used to my condo. I'd only been living there 10 months and everything was still very fresh and new to me. Even though the carpet was several years old the former owners had kept it in good condition, and I did worry that Harley might have some accidents on it. I took him out frequently over the next several hours.

The next morning I blocked him in the kitchen/laundry rooms with a baby gate. He had fresh water and chew toys and a floor to tinkle if he had an accident. I had house-trained other dogs by blocking them in a kitchen and it had worked well. I gave him a treat and left.

I hurried home after work to see my new buddy. I unlocked my back door, opened it, and gasped. My laundry room and kitchen floors were covered in garbage. As I picked my way through the trash I was horrified to see a chewed-up library book on the floor. That book had been on the clothes dryer! My new Liz Claiborne jacket was crumpled in with the garbage on the floor, too! I looked at the wall where my coat had been hanging. The hook and the 30-lb screw anchor attached to it had been pulled out of the wall and there was a HOLE IN MY WALL. SOMEONE pulled and tugged and SWUNG on my jacket until he pulled the hook right out of the wall. In addition, my new jacket was torn. I wanted a gun. "HARLEY!" I roared.

The baby gate was knocked askew. Harley was nowhere to be found. Finally, I spotted the little beast in my guest bedroom with an empty can of ravioli next to him. He looked pleased to see me; he wagged his tail. I was afraid I would kill him if I touched him, so I said very calmly, "Come on, you f***ing little bastard. Let's go for a walk." He jumped up and ran past me to the back door. As I leaned down to clip on his leash he lifted his leg and peed on my dryer.

That night Harley and I drove to Wal-Mart to purchase a dog crate. I didn't dare leave him alone in my condo. Already this "free pound puppy" was draining my wallet: neutering, adoption fee, replacing the library book, one very nice jacket, and now a crate. I left him in the car while I made the purchase. Maybe someone would steal him. No such luck, though, he was waiting when I returned.

The next morning I placed him in his crate with a dish of water and a chew toy. We had played in and out of the crate the previous evening, so I hoped he would be okay with it while I was at work. I gave him a treat and left. I hurried home after work to see my new best friend and let him out of the crate. When I walked into the living room I at first didn't understand what I was seeing. The crate was filled with what looked like white yarn! White yarn and a terrier! Huh? Then I saw the hole in my carpet and the CONCRETE FLOOR UNDERNEATH. Harley managed to somehow push the plastic tray on the bottom of the crate through the opening of the crate - you can slide out the tray without opening the crate door - I guess if you have a pitbull-mix-scary-dog that's what you would do. Harley managed to push the tray out - I don't know how he "unhooked it" and then he dug a hole in my carpet.

I left him in the crate for fear I would kill him. I had owned this dog less than a week and he was destroying my home and driving me crazy! I considered taking him back to the Humane Society. People did it all the time. I paced back and forth refusing to look at him. I refused to look at him because he was sitting and wagging his tail and just looking so happy to see me. I sighed, stalked back to the laundry room, grabbed his leash, stalked back to the crate, opened the door and leashed him before he could run to the back door by himself. I muttered, "You f***ing little bastard, I can't believe you dug a hole in my carpet, you f***ing little bastard."

I signed us both up for dog training the next day. Over the next three weeks I considered taking him back time and time again. The last time was the day he picked a fight with a chow-mix at dog training class WHILE THE INSTRUCTOR WAS HOLDING HIS LEASH. I was in tears by the end of class like the mother of a juvenile delinquent who knows the kid has to go to jail. For some reason I made a commitment in my heart that day to keep him no matter what. Smooth sailing since then? NO WAY NO HOW. I do love the FLB and he never ceases to surprise me. Each surprise usually costs me money or time but now I usually get a laugh or at least a good story out of it.

Just ask me about his accident 3 months later....another time.

NATURE VS NURTURE: PART I

2009-10-13T21:02:00.001-04:00

There are many good things about Florida. There are many bad things about Florida. Pictured to the left you see one of the VERY BAD things about Florida. This Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake was found in a neighborhood in St. Augustine a couple weeks ago. This picture was on the front page of the St. Augustine Record and, after seeing it, I had the most incredible case of heebie-jeebies I've ever had. The heebie-jeebies lasted about a week.

If you are unfamiliar with this particular disorder, heebie-jeebies manifests itself as phantom caresses on your legs, the urge to brush your fingers through your hair 476 times a day, nervous tics, and unexplained shudders. In addition to the physical symptoms the victim also experiences severe psychological fears and behaviors such as:

Fear of getting in your car in the dark, so you turn on the overhead light to make sure you are alone; you then peer in the back seat, and under your seat, and up near the gas pedal until you start to feel foolish;
Fear of missing what was hiding in your car in the dark and is now slithering or crawling out from its hiding place, so you turn on the overhead light while you are driving AND talking on your cell phone and nervously look on the floor near your feet where you can't see anyway;
Fear of stepping on some creature while walking your FLB* (your beloved terrier Harley) so you carry a flashlight and shine it where you are going to step, but still shriek when you almost step on the large brown and gray toad who lives near the back door;
Fear of a tree frog (with little suckers on the end of its legs!) springing onto you as you enter or leave your home so you watch for tree frogs (several live on my back wall) and dash in or out if the heebie-jeebies is especially strong that evening. Of course the FLB* (your beloved terrier Harley) doesn't help you dash as he is sniffing the large toad sitting near the door and you trip over him and almost fall onto the walkway thinking all the time that the toad is going to leap on your leg while the tree frogs leap onto your head and STICK to your HAIR.

Don't pooh-pooh. The week before this HUGE MONSTER RATTLESNAKE was found, a young woman in Jacksonville rented a car and, when she opened the door and started to slide in, discovered a 3-foot-long red snake lying on her dash sunning himself in the window. The car rental company had no idea how it got in there. (HEY STUPID! SOMEONE LEFT THE DOOR OPEN OR THE WINDOWS DOWN!)

Excuse me; I'm hyperventilating. (nice yoga breath) (again)

To finish the above stories and not leave you hanging, the young woman received a replacement rental car but was very uncomfortable driving it. (Beginner's heebie-jeebies.)

The 7'3" rattlesnake (the record size is 8'...what a bummer right?) was killed by a trapper who "rolled it up like a hose", stuck it in a sack, threw it in his truck, and drove off. The trapper was found a couple days later by a reporter and, when asked why he killed the snake instead of capturing it, said, "I was always brought up that the only good poisonous snake is a dead poisonous snake." I wonder if he is married.... He took the dead snake to a muffler dealer who makes things (ew.) out of snakeskin and traded it for a future car repair. (I take back the married comment; the darn snake was worth $100 per foot to some dealers.)

This evening when I walked the FLB* (sweet baby Harley) I opened my mailbox and started to pull out the one envelope that was in there. Suddenly I realized SOMETHING WAS RIDING ON THE ENVELOPE. I know there are people out there who will not believe this, but I did not scream like a wounded hyena and leap around the mailbox! I calmly flicked the envelope so that the small frog - yes it was only a frog - hopped off the envelope and out of the hole in the back of my mailbox.

I hope the FLB* (my precious darling terrier Harley) can hold it until morning; I'm twitching and jerking too much to take him out again tonight. Can we say RELAPSE!?!

*FLB=freakin' little bastard

WHAT'S ON TV THURSDAY NIGHTS? DON'T REMEMBER! DON'T CARE!

2009-10-12T22:30:00.001-04:00

LuAnn had to drive home last Friday. I miss her; she is such a calm and peaceful presence. Before she returned to the rigors of completing her Masters Degree and teaching kindergarten (For once, I'm not being sarcastic - teaching is a difficult profession these days!) she and I were able to enjoy a sunset cruise on the Schooner Freedom last Thursday evening. I know nothing about boats or ships (unlike my cousin Melanie who has performed exhaustive research on sailing vessels for her book) but here from the Freedom's web site is a description of the schooner: "Freedom is an authentic replica of a 19th century blockade runner. She is a 72', double masted, gaff-rigged, topsail schooner." Pretty impressive. LuAnn and I and about 20 other guests boarded the schooner at 5:30pm. We received a short but entertaining safety lecture from crew member John (originally from West Palm Beach) which made me glad that LuAnn and I were sitting on the life jacket storage. The two crew members - Kim and the aforementioned John - then pressed a couple of men into service (hm..this is sounding more and more like my cousin Melanie's book) and had them pull up the main sails. Then Captain John (not to be confused with crew member John) pointed at LuAnn and said "You're next." She hopped up and, when he gave the order, she pulled up yet another sail. All this was happening as we slipped away from the dock. LuAnn looked like she was having a great time while pulling (hauling?) up the sail - see the top picture and decide for yourselves. At this point we had most of the sails up and the Captain was still using the motor; once all the sails were raised and we were through the drawbridge connecting the city to Anastasia Island, he shut off the motor and there was only the sound of the sails rippling in the wind. It was glorious.

While LuAnn and I and the rest of the unpaid crew sat back and enjoyed the sea breeze and views of the city, Captain John hurled commands at Kim and John and had them scrambling from one side of the ship to another. The boom would swing and either Kim or John would push it as far as it would go as we'd start turning (tacking?). Kim and John spent a lot of time scrambling from one rigging to another, but they laughed a lot and looked like they were enjoying themselves. In between their tasks they asked questions about where we were from, answered questions about the schooner and what they were doing, and told stories about other trips. LuAnn and I were sitting near the front (bow) of the ship; from time to time we could hear Captain Mike explaining in detail exactly why he was giving such-and-such instruction to his crew. An elderly man in a floppy hat leaned forward the entire trip and drank in every word.

We sailed out of the inlet (and saw Tracey's house where we had partied the Tuesday before) and out into the Atlantic. The breeze stiffened and the sea roughed up a bit, but it was still "smooth sailing" on the Schooner Freedom. We eventually turned about and Captain John let us mostly drift in with the tide as the sun set below the horizon. Dolphins chased their next meal off the port side, then suddenly appeared on the starboard side. (pretty good, eh, melly? port! starboard! for a landlubber!) I wasn't able to capture the dolphins in a picture, but I was able to get a good enough look to bring a grin to my face.

Captain John snapped our picture just before the sun set. (2nd picture)

All in all it was a delicious couple of hours - relaxing, fun, and refreshing.

Simple Pleasures

2009-10-10T21:14:00.000-04:00

A brisk sea breeze after another unseasonably hot muggy day in the 90's....
Watching a little girl chase sandpipers...she runs as fast as she can as her arms pump back and forth with the effort....the birds run faster then fly away from the 3-year-old tornado....she laughs and looks to makes sure her grandmother is close by....

A beautiful sunset...pink underscores the darkening clouds...

The sound of the surf....endless...eternal....reassuring....never changing....

Back home there is a shower with much giggling and "I do it!"....shampoo and suds....

Cereal and milk....fruit....toast.....

Dancing to the Backyardigans CD....those soft little arms pumping again...."Dance with me, Grenah!"..."do your arms like this, Grenah!"

Bedtime will come and we should both sleep well.....

Where you from, you sandhill crane?

2009-10-06T23:14:00.001-04:00

These are sandhill cranes. According to the St. Augustine Record they were spotted in Palatka (a small city on the St. Johns River about 45 minutes southwest of St. Augustine) over the weekend. There are two subspecies of sandhill cranes found in Florida: the Florida sandhill crane which resides here, and the greater sandhill crane which lives in the Great Lakes Region but spends the winters here. So which subspecies are the ones spotted near Palatka? "According to the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission, the two are indistinguishable as both have gray plumage and a bald red crown." I read this article earlier today while I was having my morning break. Something bothered me then and I didn't realize what it was until I reread the article this evening.

If they are indistinguishable then why are they two different subspecies? Looks to me like they are only different because of where they call home. If that's the case I can help the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission differentiate between the Florida sandhill cranes and the greater sandhill cranes from the Great Lakes region.

The Florida sandhill cranes live in Florida and pay taxes in Florida; however, when asked where they are from they often say New York or New Jersey or Chicago because they lived in those cities 10-20 years ago. The Florida sandhill cranes are laid back and don't rattle easily. Tropical storm warning? Yawn. Hurricane warning? Quick trip to Home Depot. Voting in a Presidential Election? PANIC - hanging chads! The Florida sandhill cranes read Carl Hiassen, Dave Barry, Tim Dorsey, Eliot Kleinberg, and Edna Buchanan, and laugh at and with other Floridians about their weird behavior. Florida sandhill cranes often sport bumper stickers that say WE DON'T CARE HOW YOU DID IT UP NORTH.

The greater sandhill cranes drive south to Florida every January. They clog the highways with RVs, trailers, and campers, all with bikes hanging on the back and bumper stickers that say ASK ME ABOUT MY GRANDCHILDREN or I'M SPENDING MY CHILDREN'S INHERITANCE. Once these cranes settle into their Florida destinations of choice, they crowd the grocery stores, restaurants, movie theaters, and malls. They often drive in the right hand lane for miles with their right turn signal on, slowing at every street to see if, no, that's not it, no, that's not it, etc. The greater sandhill cranes show up at exercise classes, churches, and book clubs, and, just as we are getting to know them, they are gone again.

So to which subspecies do the birds in the picture belong? They are Florida sandhill cranes. Check the date. It's October! The greater sandhill cranes are still in the Great Lakes region enjoying the fall colors and anticipating their white Christmases.

Duh...!

The Cure

2009-10-04T22:42:00.001-04:00

A walk on the beach can cure just about anything. Crabbiness, resentment, fatigue, and boredom are no match for the feeling of sand between your toes, or warm surf washing over your feet. The experience is only improved by having a companion of either the human or canine persuasion along for the walk.

This evening LuAnn popped her laptop shut and announced she needed a break. I had recently awakened from a nap and was sitting in a stupor in front of my own laptop. LuAnn asked if I wanted to walk on the beach with her - ABSOLUTELY! I hooked Harley to his leash, grabbed a couple of poop bags and the key, and off we went. It was hot and sticky outside but once we passed the tall sand dunes we could feel the cool sea breeze.

One of the many things I love about the beach is I never know what I'll see that day. Today we saw a wedding being set up with five rows of white chairs wrapped in pale green tulle, an arbor, and a 3-piece string ensemble warming up. We set off to the south and had walked only a few minutes before Harley took offense to another dog walking toward us, so, in keeping with Victoria Blackwell's (It's Me or the Dog) training, I turned us around and headed in the opposite direction. (That deprived Harley the fun of going nutso on the end of his leash.) As we walked we saw sandpipers, a bird that looked like a large sandpiper, a man and woman each carrying a black bucket and picking up shells, a trio of young people taking pictures of each other with the sunset in the background, a dead fish which LuAnn guessed might be a mackerel, a small school of minnows swimming in the shallows, and a few couples reclining on blankets and being affectionate with each other.

When we returned to our "spot" the wedding was just starting. We had to wait because the "aisle" was our path between the sand dunes. First the mothers were escorted between the dunes. The bridesmaids followed, dressed in darling purple cocktail dresses (and barefoot). The string ensemble switched from Pachelbel's Canon in D to the traditional Wedding march and the bride appeared, dressed in a long white gown and veil, and escorted by (I assume) her father. It was lovely.

While we were waiting we were joined by a family of 3 (dad, mom & daughter); the dad snapped photos of everything while we were waiting. (And next in our family vacation pictures you see a wedding of perfect strangers...?) A couple of women in bathing suits carrying beach chairs stopped beside us, then a man pulling an ocean kayak on a 3-wheeled contraption came to a halt and watched. A guy on a motorized bike zipped by just as the bride was arriving at the arbor, so their videographer may have to edit that out. Of course, that's part of a beach wedding; the beach is public property and the public is ....well...unedited.

The best part? Whatever grumpiness, resentment, and fatigue I was feeling earlier was totally gone.

Saturday Night

2009-10-03T22:54:00.000-04:00

More than one month has passed since I disconnected my cable connections and quit watching TV. Tonight three women are sitting in a beach cottage and each one of us is working on a laptop. You could look at this and say we've substituted one piece of technology for another; however, that would not be accurate. My friend LuAnn is working on her Master's Degree and has been working all day on her assignments. My daughter Melissa was reading for her Disciple Bible study class, and is now catching up with friends on Facebook. I'm writing my blog.

There is no TV in the background. And the only time a TV has been turned on has been during my grandson's Noah's baths. This beach cottage has a room with a whirlpool tub adjacent to the living room. In addition to the whirlpool tub there is a TV mounted on the wall with a DVD player. Noah (who is 2) is having the time of his life taking bubble baths in that whirlpool tub while Finding Nemo plays on the DVD player. Tonight the bubbles were 2-3 feet above his head and he looked like a weird version of Santa Clause when he peeked over the top of the tub.

It's so quiet in here that it was surprising to step outside for a few minutes and hear the Kink's You Really Got Me blasting from two doors' down. The weekend partyers had tiki torches around their 2nd story deck and sounded like they were having a great time. It was nice to step back inside and feel the air conditioning and hear the tap tap of laptop keys.

Today was a whirlwind because we had my granddaughter Kinsey's birthday party at 3:00, and shopping to complete before then. LuAnn stayed behind to work on her assignments while Melissa and Noah and I tooled around in my convertible, and YES, it was a top down day. This was Noah's first time cruising with Grenah in the Cabrio with the top down and he really enjoyed it. There was a lot of woo-hoo-ing as we enjoyed the beautiful day.

We finished our shopping and had a delicious lunch at Flavors just west of downtown. Then home to complete our wrapping then off to the party. The party's theme was Tinkerbell and not only were the balloons and decorations all Tinkerbell, but Kinsey herself was dressed as the Tink. She was so cute my head almost exploded. We had cake & ice cream & presents & it was a grand time. When Melissa and Noah and I arrived back at the beach cottage we found LuAnn ready for a break. We caught her up on the party news while Noah ate some supper, then we all laughed while he took his bubble bath with Nemo. He was asleep 5 minutes after his head hit the pillow.

I give myself about 15 more minutes and I'll join him in Dreamland...

Karma

2009-10-01T22:49:00.002-04:00

I do believe in karma.
I do believe in karma.
I do believe in karma.

THE BUTS

2009-09-30T22:44:00.001-04:00

I've been cleaning and decluttering in preparation for my company coming this weekend. In the process I've begun to do some things that I put off doing years ago; for example, hanging pictures in my living room, hanging pictures in my hallway, and clearing out the TV entertainment center (it's going outside Saturday for sale or pickup). I've disliked the entertainment center for a couple of years now but inertia caused me to just sit and hate it instead of getting rid of it. Let me introduce you to - The BUTS. So I'm sitting in my living room glaring at the entertainment center and thinking,

"I hate that entertainment center; it leans away from the wall and that's just so unattractive. And I have something I like much better to put in its place." Uh oh, here come The BUTS:

BUT there's so much stuff piled on it; I'll never find a new home for everything.
BUT even if I could find a home for everything, I'd never be able to move it by myself.
BUT even if I could move it by myself, I can't have a yard sale with just one item.
BUT even if I decided to just junk it at the side of the road, I couldn't drag it all the way out there by myself.

The BUTS are related to procrastination; they are the mental voices that discourage me from even trying to do some activity.

I thought that blogging about BUTS would be helpful, but instead I have killed almost an hour on this stupid topic and still have quite a bit of work to do. Stupid BUTS.

FEAR AND LOATHING IN LAS VEGAS...NOPE...ST AUGUSTINE

2009-09-29T18:02:00.001-04:00

OK, don't freak out, but I've signed up for Google Adsense. A friend suggested it for earning extra money. It sounded too good to be true, of course, so I did a lot of research this afternoon. Results are mixed.

I immediately read as many complaints and as varied problems as I could. Most of the complaints were from webmasters who earned up to the minimum $100 that Google requires before issuing a check. They claimed that just when they were expecting their first check, Google accused them of fraud and closed their account.

Aha! said my cynical side. Typical corporate scam; however, most of the webmasters went on to complain about all the time they put into getting more ads and getting more hits, etc.

I had almost decided NOT to do it just because I was sure it wouldn't be worth the trouble, AND I already had the Cable TV monopoly and the cell phone behemoth to deal with - I didn't need another company ripping me off. Then I decided...... I decided to take a leap. I am so darn conservative and I don't do a lot of things because the results are not guaranteed.

I thought about it and decided I would only do it if I put NO EFFORT WHATSOEVER into it. So I filled out the application and it was short and only mildly annoying. We'll see. They promise that I can veto up to 200 advertisers (that I may view as objectionable). We'll see. If I go through with this you are free to do what you want. Whoever advertises is chosen by Google, not me. I'm just letting them use some of my space. And if I don't like it I'm promised that I can get out of this arrangement quickly and easily.

So call me a sellout. Whatever. I need more income. I am going to try more stuff. I am going to take more chances. And so what if it doesn't work out. At least I tried.

OFFSPRING FROM ANOTHER PLANET

2009-09-28T23:29:00.001-04:00

I have not mentioned this NO TV project to my two daughters; I knew they would just think it was another weird thing about their weird mother. I'm finally getting it that they don't get me and that's OK; I really didn't "get" my mother either. That's why we have grandchildren.

Mary Lee (my older daughter who lives here in St. Augustine) noticed Saturday my cable wire was disconnected from my TV and asked me what was wrong with my cable. So I told her I wasn't watching TV for a year.

"Why?" daughter asked.

"Because I just wanted to see if I could do it." mother answered.

"Cool." daughter comments.

"Bullshit." mother is thinking.

I know that's not the end of it.

So I guess the two daughters put their heads together. I'm sure Mary Lee reported this aberration along with the new bumper stickers on my car: EVE WAS FRAMED and DON'T PISS ME OFF - I'M RUNNING OUT OF PLACES TO BURY THE BODIES. I mean, come on! My beloved Cabrio is 10 years old and I'm finally only carrying Liability Insurance and I'm driving it as long as I can and have no plans to sell it so if I want to put bumper stickers on it now, so what! Anyway, they're always comparing notes to see if it's "time". You know, time to "put me away". I'm only 55 and they've been preparing for "putting me away" for a decade already. I've told them both I've got a one-way ticket to Tahiti that I'm using with the last of my strength. Actually, it's for Nome - I think it would be better to freeze to death on an ice floe than to die all hot and sweaty on a tropical island.

So...my younger daughter Melissa calls me tonight. She's driving down from Atlanta for a long weekend with me. (BTW bringing 2-yr-old Noah - woo hoo!)

"So I hear you're like not watching TV for a year," daughter says.

"That's right," mother answers...waiting.

"So does that mean like no one can watch TV? Like I can't watch Survivor or Amazing Race while I'm visiting?" daughter asks with her 3-year-old voice.

"That's right, no TV at all. After all Tim will record everything for you anyway." mother is screwing with daughter....because she can.

"Oh... yea...that's right. Well, that's fine." daughter sounds pitiful.

"Well, I guess I could hook up the TV in the bedroom and you could spend time with the TV instead of with your mother." God, this is great.

"No, no, you're right, Tim will record everything." Daughter is being so nice. I know it's killing her.

I did let her off the hook, but it will be weird to be all together and not watch TV. I will have it hooked up so my friend LuAnn can watch while she's here visiting for a week, and it will be hooked up this weekend in case my daughter wants to watch, but I won't use the opportunity to watch. That would be...like...cheating.

Christmas stuff, Dancing Poinsettias and PUSH DA BUTTON GRENAH!

2009-09-27T14:34:00.002-04:00

I finally put my Christmas boxes away in the attic today. I know - first of all - what the hell were my Xmas boxes doing out in September and why bother to put them away now when October comes this week and Thanksgiving is just around the corner. That's what my friend Susan said when I told her.

THANKS, SUSAN, FOR THE ENCOURAGEMENT!

I wish there was a sarcasm font available.

Here's why my Xmas boxes were still stacked in my hallway on September 27, 2009.

Last year during the Thanksgiving weekend my daughter Mary Lee and my then 2-yr-old granddaughter Kinsey helped me get all the Xmas boxes out of my attic. (I don't have attic stairs and have to stand on a 6-foot step ladder.) Mary Lee was so sweet and climbed up there and unloaded all my boxes for me. I have 6 containers of Xmas stuff - down from the 30 I had when I moved here from Atlanta. Then she took several strings of weatherproof lights and outlined my windows and climbed on my roof and lined the roof and the eaves and even made an outline of a Xmas tree on my roof.

Kinsey and I played in the yard for awhile and handed Mary Lee stuff she needed and caught the stuff she threw off the roof. Then we went inside and started unloading Xmas boxes. It was a gorgeous day so we had all the windows open. We heard Mary Lee shriek one time when she was replacing a bulb and touched a live wire. Kinsey and I ran outside but by then Mary Lee was OK. She didn't appreciate my giggling.

At some point I pulled my dancing poinsettia out of a Xmas box and the inside decorating stopped. When you push the button the poinsettia starts wiggling back and forth, and reveals a little bird with a Santa hat. The little bird sings Rockin' Robin (only it sings Merry Christmas instead of the words Rockin' Robin). When you push the button again it sings Jingle Bells. KINSEY LOVED THIS. She wouldn't touch it herself, but she wanted me to play it over and over again. So over and over... and over and over... and over and over again I pushed the button and played the music while Kinsey danced around the living room.

Up on the roof Mary Lee heard the music play, then a VERY LOUD VOICE say "PUSH DA BUTTON, GRENAH! PUSH DA BUTTON, GRENAH!" then music, then "PUSH DA BUTTON, GRENAH!", then music over and over again. Mary Lee told me after she climbed down that "PUSH DA BUTTON GRENAH!" was echoing all over the neighborhood.   :o)

Altogether I put up 5 small Xmas trees and decorated EVERYTHING in anticipation of the Xmas Season. I was really excited because Melissa and her family (Tim and then 18-month-old Noah) were driving down from Atlanta for a week for Christmas. I wanted my condo to be a Christmas Wonderland for my grandkids - and it looked great! Everything they could reach was baby-safe and fun for them. Even the Xmas trees they could reach had unbreakable decorations. Everything was just perfect. I should have known.

My Atlanta family arrived on Thursday and I left work on Friday at noon for my week's vacation. One hour after leaving work I sneezed. By that night I was running a fever and feeling like doodoo, but I still rode the Holly Jolly Trolley downtown with the grandbabies and family. Not to be a big crybaby, but that was the last real fun time I had until March. The rest of Xmas week I was either suffering in the living room and blowing my nose and coughing, or I was sleeping on my futon in my guest room. My family spent Xmas Eve and Xmas at my brother's house. My poor Atlanta family ended up driving home a few days early because I every time I started feeling better I would just get worse in a couple hours. It was a disaster.

I spent all of January being sick. I would start to get better then relapse. It was some kind of virus and it just wouldn't let go; and, yes, I went to the doctor a couple times, but all tests results pointed to a virus. I spent most of February inside recuperating. I didn't start feeling like myself until March. So what does this all have to do with my Xmas decorations? Well, they stayed up throughout this time!

My daughter and Kinsey came over in late spring to take the outside lighyts down. While Mary Lee climbed up on the roof, Kinsey and I laid on the warm grass and looked at the sky. That was a nice day.

Sometime later I boxed all the decorations and trees, but I just couldn't face dragging those containers up into the attic. The next time Kinsey visited she asked me where all my Christmas went? She liked Grenah's All-Christmas All-the-Time. She had played with that dancing poinsettia every time she visited; and would PUSH DA BUTTON all by herself.

So now we're up to September 27, 2009. I had all this "free time" with no TV. AND I was fed up with squeezing past my red and green Xmas containers stacked merrily in my hallway. AND I had company coming Friday, October 2nd. So I got out the 6-foot stepladder and, even though it was probably 200+ degrees in the attic, I climbed up there and put all my Xmas stuff away.

My hallway is really huge now. I better take that container to the Betty Griffin store while the sun is shining, because it only fits in my car with the top down.

Growing Up with Kinsey

2009-09-25T22:47:00.000-04:00

Kinsey (my granddaughter) is spending the night with me tonight. Her 3rd birthday is this Thursday and I have really seen a lot of changes in her in the past few months. Her vocal skills have gone from gibberish to clear sentences. The "why" questions have started; they're almost a reflex with her now. The big surprise is the fear that has shown itself at unexpected times.

Since she was a teeny tiny thing she has loved the carousel and always ridden on a horse with an adult standing next to her and holding her tightly. That is until a couple months ago when she and I picked out a horse and suddenly she didn't want to ride it. We tried another one, but that didn't work either! For the first time in her life she wanted to ride sitting on one of the benches and me holding her tightly and reassuring her that she was OK.

Last week I met my daughter and Kinsey at the park and we went right to the swings. Again she has loved the swings and always wanted to go really high. Her mom put her in the swing and started to push her and she freaked out, "No!!!!!!!!" That afternoon she only wanted to swing very slowly and have "little pushes".

I seem to remember this "stage" with my own girls- it's like all of a sudden their awareness of the world around them kicks in and they realize the world is a big, scary place. Tonight we went out to my car after dark to put the roof up (it's a convertible and it was sunny and in the 80's this evening so we cruised a bit after dinner....) and we were talking about seeing the moon and stars and all of a sudden she had her face buried in my waist and she wanted to be picked up. She hid her face in her hands like she was scared of the dark.

What a conundrum for her! Just as she is truly mobile and vocal and ready to explore the big, wonderful world, the world becomes a very scary place! It's a tough job for parents to guide them through this stage - too much protecting and they may remain timid and tentative throughout childhood - not enough understanding and kindness and they are now scared and can't count on anyone to protect them. Glad I've already been through the parent thing. It takes a LOT of patience. As her grandmother (or Grenah as she calls me) I can listen to her and love her and cajole her - and then in the morning give her back to her mom.

I can so relate to her fear. As an adult it seems ridiculous that last week she was fine outside after dark and tonight she was clinging to me like a tree frog. Yet it seems ridiculous to me that I can have feelings of anxiety - vague feelings of dread - when I'm driving home from work. Or even at work. Or anytime. So I am learning to listen to myself, love myself, and cajole myself...and not INDULGE or OVERINDULGE myself.

It's almost bedtime and I've got to put a waterproof mattress pad on my bed, so I'll be going. But will share a couple pics from tonight.

Procrastination & A Fork in the Road

2009-09-24T22:10:00.005-04:00

Since disconnecting the 3 TVs I have found a lot of freedom and a lot of free time. I don't feel that pressure to fit my activities to a program schedule - even down to the potty break commercials. I have read A LOT of books. Fiction and nonfiction. And I've written two short stories and a query letter. Excellent.

BUT (you knew there was a but coming, didn't you?) I have found that I'm spending more time surfing the Internet, and just kind of "messing around" on the computer. And what I'm doing is killing time. This is also known as PROCRASTINATION. We all know what procrastination means but I wanted more than a definition. So I checked Wikipedia:

Procrastination is a behavior which is characterized by the deferment of actions or tasks to a later time. Psychologists often cite procrastination as a mechanism for coping with the anxiety associated with starting or completing any task or decision. ^[1] Psychology researchers also have three criteria they use to categorize procrastination. For a behavior to be classified as procrastination, it must be counterproductive, needless, and delaying.^[2]

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Procrastination

Interesting. So I analyzed (This in itself could be called procrastination, but since I'm blogging about it AND I stopped to fold a really large load of laundry, let's not call it that, OK!) : What actions am I deferring? Housework. Dishes, Kitchen cleanup, Vacuuming, Dusting, de-Cluttering. etc. (oh I feel the anxiety now) OK. Now I have to look at the behavior itself: Surfing the Net.
Counterproductive? Well, it's not producing anything. except possibly anxiety.
Needless? Sometimes. Yes. When I'm just procrastinating...
Delaying? BINGO.

So I think I have reached a fork in the road. Back to Wikipedia:

A fork in the road is a metaphor, based on a literal expression, for a deciding moment in life or history when a major choice of options is required.

A major choice of options. A .. major .. choice .. of .. options......is required. Otherwise you're standing still and digging in your heels or just spinning your wheels....or going back from where you came.

In the past few days I have not been enjoying this free time and I've been looking for ways to fill it. And it's not that I'm being all "I have to be doing something productive all the time!" either. I could go to the library and get an armful of books and put off changing my behavior. I have one movie from Netflix. I could watch that, then watch the DVDs I already own. And those behaviors would be counterproductive, needless, and delaying.

I didn't give up TV so I could read until I go blind or so I could watch movies every night. I gave up TV to change something major in my life. And now it's time to change another.

Lassie

2009-09-23T21:38:00.000-04:00

I skipped blogging yesterday. I had an AWFUL day - a truly BAD HORRIBLE day and just couldn't do it last night. I sat in front of my laptop last night and said, "Forget it." And I went to bed. And then I nurtured myself. See, I had ordered a set of DVDs from Amazon.com a couple weeks ago - the 50th Anniversary set: The Best of Lassie. I was very tired but not sleepy, so I watched a couple of episodes. They were the original ones with Jeff & Mom & Gramps. Not my favorites...I didn't start watching Lassie until Timmy came along in 1957, but I did find out how Lassie came to live with Jeff in the very first episode broadcast originally in 1954. After I turned off the DVD player I still tossed and turned a while, but I was more relaxed. Why? Lassie, of course.

I think my parents started letting me watch Lassie when I was 2 or 3. It came on early enough that I could watch it right before bed. And I loved it. I mean, I REALLY loved it. Dad told me later - several times - Dad always told me stuff several times - one of the things I miss about Dad - he told me that he and my mother actually discussed keeping me from watching Lassie. You see, at the end of the show, that mournful whistled tune would begin and Lassie would sit there in all her (his) beauty...and then...as the music swelled to a crescendo...she would lift her paw. And, at the end of every show, I would sob hysterically because it was over. I would cry and cry and cry. My parents actually worried it was hurting me to be so upset, but then the next Sunday would come and they worried about how much more upsetting it would be for me to lose Lassie.

Lassie (and Timmy) were on until 1964; then Timmy was replaced by some stupid forest ranger. The show lost quite a bit of its appeal to me - who wanted to watch Lassie and a GROWN-UP?! In addition, I was growing up myself and becoming interested in other things. Like the Beatles and The Man from U.N.C.L.E. I gradually quit watching Lassie.

I looked up the Lassie TV show in Wikipedia and was amazed to find out that it's one of the longest running dramatic TV shows of all time; it ran continuously from 1954 until 1973 - ironically I was born in 1954 and married in 1973.....how...cosmic. Even cooler...my first dog was a collie. A gift from my paternal grandmother Essie Maxwell, who for the only time in her life, did something totally outrageous without asking my parents first. She gave me a collie puppy. She rocked my little 6-year-old world that day.

I want to share Lassie with my almost-3-year-old-almost-potty-trained granddaughter Kinsey. First of all, she needs to know what a real dog looks like and acts like. (No offense, Harley. Thank God he can't read. He's just now getting over the shaving episode.) Kinsey is spending the night this Friday night and I'm going to try a couple of episodes out on her. And I'm prepared for her NOT to like them. If she doesn't we'll just watch SpongeBob Squarepants, the Movie.

And after she's asleep I'll watch 1 or 2 episodes of Lassie.

Query Letters and Shaving the Dog

2009-09-21T22:58:00.000-04:00

I was very blessed to meet an agent at the Florida Heritage Book Festival. And she said she would love to read the first 5 pages of my manuscript. WOW. So she asked me to send her a .... Query Letter! AAAAUUUGGGGHHHHH! No - not a query letter! Ask me for a novel, a short story, even a poem! Ask me for a research paper, a speech, an editorial! But not a Query Letter!

I tried a Query Letter last year when I submitted my manuscript to a small publishing house in San Francisco. It was agreed that my letter was awful, but would be overlooked - it was even said that the best writers write the worst query letters. I didn't get it! It looked OK to me! I've read every article I can find on Query Letters and tried to emulate what others have written and it just sounds so stiff when I do it. I think it has something to do with selling myself and my work. whatever.

I spent 2 hours last night and 2 1/2 hours tonight working on the Mu&*#$&#%^#&fU&#&*$#& Query Letter and still feel like I was just basing my whole writing career on a long shot! Jeez Louise. Well, it's done and it's sent. Along with the first 5 pages of my book. By the time I finished with the letter even my book was sounding lame. Talk about a confidence-killer. You know what the worst part is? In procrastinating finishing the stupid letter tonight I even shaved my dog!

Now don't panic. He's not like naked. He gets kind of wiry looking - he has two coats - a short thick undercoat and then this wiry overcoat that sheds like crazy. So I was going to shave him outside and the stupid electrical outlets wouldn't work! What's that all about? Another home repair - on the long list. So I brought him into the bathroom and the two outlets in there didn't work! I checked the circuit breakers - all were fine. Another item on the home repair list. So I plugged in an extension cord in the hallway and still was able to cut Harley's hair in the bathroom.

He looks much neater. And I combed and combed him so he shouldn't shed for a day or so.

Boy, is he pissed. He's not speaking to me and I know he's plotting his revenge.

So I got the Query Letter done - and may have destroyed any chance of getting published - and my dog looks much neater. A productive evening without TV. And I thank God I was never a fan of the show Heroes because they must have played that commercial on the radio every 15 minutes today. If I was a fan it would be killing me! OMG - I hope they don't play Amazing Race commercials....

2009-09-20T22:10:00.000-04:00

OK, I just had my first real pang of "OH NO, I'm going to miss that!" because I thought of Amazing Race. Oh, crap, oh darn. For fans of Amazing Race I don't have to explain its attraction, but for those of you who have never watched, oh, my, I do love that show. I love to travel and I can travel the world just by watching this show. It has taken me to India several times and I feel like I'm right there in a crowded market, or driving on the streets crowded by cars and motorcycles, or riding on the one of the crowded trains watching the countryside go by.

I've been zip-lining in Costa Rica, bungee-jumping at Victoria Falls, and tried to put together a bookshelf at the Ikea headquarters in Sweden. I've entered a temple devoted to cockroaches in India, chased sheep in New Zealand, climbed mountains in Romania, and visited a building where Africans where kept before being loaded onto slave ships.

There is the typical reality-show-drama stuff that can be fun and/or annoying, but the locations are what make the show so much fun for me. Hong Kong, Viet Nam, China, Japan, Mongolia...the scenery and the people are fascinating. The tasks are often to do manual labor jobs that are done in those countries, so teams have had to harvest salt from the sea (Africa - I forget which country), and take food orders in Mandarin and repeat them to the Chinese chef. The teams have had to ride and/or drive all kinds of vehicles or carry large loads on bicycles. They've had to hitch all kinds of animals up (from horses to donkeys to llamas to camels) and then drive them to a destination (I will never forget the teams trying to pull donkeys along and the donkeys sitting down on the road. I think that was Ireland!).

This year I will miss it. And I'm a little sad about that.

2009-09-19T23:01:00.000-04:00

This is my 3rd Saturday with no TV. I don't miss it. I think Harley (my precious little mixed terrier AKA the freakin' little bastard) is relieved, though, that I don't watch TV - especially on Saturdays. I used to make him watch It's Me or the Dog on Saturday nights. Victoria Blackwell - a dog trainer from the U.K. - would go into people's homes, observe the utter chaos that their dogs were causing, then sit down with the owners and explain how stupid they were being in spoiling their dogs. She would then train them how to train their dogs. She'd leave them after a couple of sessions to do it themselves, but would monitor them with a camera crew. Then watch the footage and bemoan their mistakes. Then return to chastise them, and urge them to continue training.

Harley seemed to enjoy the chaotic bits the best. He would run to the TV and jump up and bark at the dogs who were fighting or lunging on their leashes or tearing up furniture. I think he wanted to join them. When the training started he tended to get busy licking himself . I would point out certain good behaviors I wanted him to emulate, but he would usually ignore me.

The similarities between It's Me or the Dog and Supernanny cannot be overlooked. The shows follow the exact same pattern: Trainer/nanny arrives, observes chaos, sits down with owners/parents, teaches them how to train their dogs/children, leaves & monitors, returns for reinforcement. My daughter used to let my granddaughter watch Supernanny with her, but she quit when she realized that my granddaughter was copying some of the bad behaviors - particularly the very entertaining temper tantrums.

Maybe they should combine It's Me or the Dog and Supernanny. Then the trainers and nannies could team up and help people who have both spoiled children and spoiled dogs. I know that when my sweet precious granddaughter Kinsey comes to visit, and I put her almost 3-yr-old personality in my condo with the freakin' little bastard's personality, I never know what to expect! Harley usually spends the entire time in his crate. Kinsey wants to chase him around and torture him - which he does deserve - but if he ever hurt her then I'd have to kill him. Since I don't want Kinsey hurt and I don't want Harley dead, I keep Harley crated. Then, when Kinsey and I leave, I let Harley out of his crate, and he either pees in the laundry room, or poops in the bathroom, or tears up the garbage. Or he just plots.

The other evening when Kinsey & I were working so hard on her potty training, I did not have Harley crated because I had Kinsey restricted to the toilet seat. So Harley stayed in the bathroom with us and kept licking Kinsey's nose and she kept cupping his face with her little hands saying how precious he was. It was so cute. And so phony! Those two are trouble and they can't fool me! Luckily I've learned enough from watching past episodes of It's Me or the Dog and Supernanny to handle them both.

2009-09-18T21:43:00.000-04:00

Tonight I keep wanting to switch on the old TV. I'm tired and bored and just listless. TV is perfect for that. I can sit and watch without thinking, or I can channel surf and look for something better on the next click of my finger.

Instead I've been reading Black Cloud by Eliot Kleinberg. He is one of the authors who stayed at the St. Francis Inn last weekend. I also attended his presentation about "Weird Florida" last Saturday. The book is much more somber - it is about the 1928 hurricane that leveled West Palm Beach and then drowned thousands when it roared across Lake Okeechobee. It's an interesting read, but not doing much for my mood or energy level.

I'm in between movies on NetFlix. It's 9:30 and really too late to start a movie anyway. I could listen to music, but, nah, don't want to. So I'll blog...I know...I'll post a couple pictures of my darling granddaughter Kinsey!

Please note her mother's handbag and the Disney Princess shoes. She is ready to go out!

Later at Carousel Park (this was Wednesday of this week) her mother was trying to take a smiling picture of Kinsey on the swing and her grandmother was making goofy faces at her and instigating trouble.

OK that's all I've got tonight. Back to 1928 and the Hurricane.

Friends...Imperfection...and No TV for a YEAR ... Bring it On!

2009-09-17T21:15:00.000-04:00

We have friends because we have shortcomings. Let's face it, if we were perfect what would we need friends for? We wouldn't have to ask if we were handling an uncomfortable situation correctly - OF COURSE WE WOULD BE! We're perfect! How do I look in this? PERFECT! How was your day? PERFECT! So when a friend emailed me about my blog and solved a dilemma for me, was I surprised? NO, that's what friends are for.

So here's what my friend Regina from Charleston wrote to me; I will quote verbatim because she just said it so....perfectly.

I loved your expression of how "free" you felt. I think we almost feel an obligation to our shows and our TVs. When the new shows start you have a weekly map of what to watch and which night and even when it feels silly we are a slave to that night and really don't want to talk on the phone or go out anywhere while our shows are on! Before we could record them I can remember some pretty silly excuses if my night was a fav show night! But if you think about it we have been that way ever since our parents decided to get one of those boxes. I used to literally RUN home from school to watch Dark Shadows.....hey flowing white lace dresses in the dark of night with a man out to find you was pretty risque for a fourth grader. I used to think boy my mom would whip my tail if I was sneaking out in the dead of night and in white even!!! LOL. How about sports - guys can't be interrupted from their games and how many funny movies and shows have been made about guys and their TV.

It was like Regina turned on a bright light in a very dark room! Of course....staying up too late to finish a show, not answering the phone because I'm watching TV, not getting up for that 2nd cup of coffee until the next commercial. Timing everything that day or evening or weekend around TV shows, commercials, movies, events, WHATEVER. I didn't even realize how much energy that was taking from me or how much stress that was laying on my already overloaded mind. Thanks, Regina! You hit the proverbial nail on the head!!!

Of course Regina said a lot of really complimentary things about my blog, too, but I didn't want to copy all that stuff because that would be, like, bragging and all....Thanks for all the nice stuff you said, Regina, you know, like

Ok I have to tell you that I am LOVING your blog! I try to enjoy it every night for the previous day but sometimes I have to wait a couple of days.

and

I so totally admire your resolve to find another way to spend your time. Delving in to the book world and writing again is fabulous. My favorite so far has been the Kinsey story! Kids are just so there in the moment!

and

So please keep up your blog - I say eat a candy bar and suck on a soda while you are writing it!!!

Thank you very much, Regina. Now...on to my "friends" and "relatives" who keep taunting me with reminders of what TV SHOWS ARE PREMIERING....so far not getting to me. I don't like Dancing With the Stars. Don't like Bones the TV Series; do like the book series. Still can enjoy the book series. (MELANIE!) so nannynannybooboo

Oh, I wrote my first complete short story this week. I want to enter it in a contest; has to be 1500 words and I started with 2000. Have whittled it down to 1700. So I'm going to whittle now. :o)

* I skipped blogging last night because I was tired and extremely crabby. A dear friend suggested that might just be the best time to blog. So when I do IT'S ALL ON HER! (Susan)

Time for an Accounting

2009-09-15T20:01:00.000-04:00

I'm starting my 3rd week without TV. So I thought it was time to look at...well...me...and what's around me and what, if anything, is different.

I have not lost a pound.
I am not exercising any more or any less than I was before I quit TV.
My house is pretty much the same disaster it was 2 weeks ago. (Only 2 weeks!) Is that right? Yes, I just found a small calendar on my desk and that is correct.

So in 2 weeks what IS different?

I feel different. Lighter - hey, no fat jokes out there! I feel like a weight has been removed from my shoulders. The burden of TV? I just feel freer.
I nap either the same amount or maybe more...not really surprised. It's a good avoiding technique and often I am very tired. (Probably from a crappy diet and lack of exercise.) OK who said that?!
I blog every day. Publicly. Scary. Fun.
I've worked on my novel - and it had lain dormant for months.
I've started a short story.
I attended a book festival and met several people in my preferred field.

What have I learned so far? Well, I guess TV isn't the REAL reason I eat a poor diet and don't exercise and don't keep my house shipshape. It certainly wasn't helping, but getting rid of it hasn't been a magic cure. (Kind of like my ex-husband.)

The mystery to me is why do I feel different? Where did this lightness come from? This feeling of being free? Will it continue?

Tink Seats, Sore Seats, and Commando Babies

2009-09-14T21:20:00.000-04:00

Tonight is my turn to babysit granddaughter Kinsey while her mom goes to night school. Instead of picking Kinsey up at her home as planned, I had to meet Mary Lee and Kinsey at the pediatrician's office because their appointment ran so late. So I didn't get to pick up Kinsey's potty chair; instead I got the portable, foldable, crappy Tinkerbell seat - or as Disney calls it - the Tink Seat.

Now this stupid thin piece of plastic folds up so you can take it anywhere! Woo hoo! However, when you unfold it and put it on an adult-sized toilet it slips and slides like some kind of adventure ride at Disney World! No kid - who is already scared of that huge toilet and falling in - feels secure sitting on that stupid Tink Seat. So after we get home I ask her if she has to pee and she says no of course. I suggest sitting on the *$%#$#$#$%$@%#$ Tink Seat and she goes into panic mode.

"NO!!" she screams. "I don't need go pee pee!" When I try to lift her on the seat she glues herself to me like the newly-hatched creature in Alien. Against my better judgment I soothe her and tell her we'll try later. She runs into the living room, hops into my leather seat, and starts crying.

"What?" I ask (like I don't already know).
"I peed," she says so sadly I can't even think of being upset. Besides, it's leather.
So I get her all cleaned up and put clean panties on and we play, and we eat dinner, and we play, and she's wiggling....so it's time to try again.

We were in there an hour and a half - at least. I gradually got her from the step to sitting on the edge of the Tink Seat where she looked into the gaping hole for probably 30 minutes. We discussed all kinds of topics during this time, including the water in the toilet and where the pee pee goes and the sound it makes. FINALLY I get her to sit with her butt over the hole! YEAH! I think I've made it now!

But no...now that she is truly centered on the &^&$*$#&$^ Tink Seat all she has to do is wiggle just a bit and the freakin thing slips and slides and eventually an edge or side slips into the hole. So even though she is positioned perfectly for #1 or even #2, we have to keep adjusting the seat and adjusting her on the seat and adjusting the seat. Finally I decide to get a folding chair because 1 hour sitting on the side of the tub has crippled my butt. I get the chair as close to her as possible and we sit there hugging each other and the impossible happens.

"I peed...," she says quietly. And I hear just a little tinkling. We celebrate. We sing. We dance. We wash our hands. We get ready to play, but she starts wiggling again. Oh no, #2. We start over but she lays her head on my leg and I stroke her back and then I realize...she's sound asleep. So I pick her up and wrap her in a quilt - yes, commando, because she only has 1 clean pair of panties left - and lay her on my (leather) couch.

I'm tired.

Florida Heritage Book Festival - Part Deaux

2009-09-13T20:35:00.001-04:00

Sunday - Today's a day when I wanted to have the TV on for company. I can start to see now where a year might be a long time. Instead of turning on the TV and then having to confess publicly, I listened to NPR this morning and then read Hammerhead Ranch Motel by Tim Dorsey. I have got to pull some quotes out of that book for future use!

I learned A LOT at the Book Festival yesterday. I'm going through my notes today to reinforce what I learned and to share some other writers' experiences. As soon as I finish blogging I am going to send a very sincere THANK YOU to Nancy Haddock, writer of La Vida Vampire and Last Vampire Standing. She was so gracious and so friendly and so very helpful. I asked her about writing classes (there are several on-line and few in an classroom), and she told me about the Florida Writers Association and the various chapters and genre/chapters in the area, then she took me by the arm and pulled me across the room, and introduced me to Vic DiGenti, the Director of the FWA. Thank you, Nancy!

Vic explained the meeting schedule and took down my name and email address so I could receive the FWA newsletter. I've already had an email from him with links to his own web site and to the FWA web site. Thanks, Vic!

As I mentioned yesterday Lucienne Diver invited me to send a query and 5 pages of my manuscript to her. Also very gracious! And funny! I can't wait to start reading Vamped. And I hope to get some feedback on Bucksnort.

I attended three presentations yesterday afternoon. The first was given by Eliot Kleinberg (That's Eliot in the picture above - Kelly is the blonde waiting for him to sign her book.) who writes for the Palm Beach Post and who has also posted several books. Check out his web site: eliotkleinberg . I purchased his nonfiction book Black Cloud The Deadly Hurricane of 1928. In addition to writing historical books he writes about how weird Florida is, and that is what is presentation was about. We all spent the hour laughing at (ourselves) and Florida. He was very entertaining.

After a delicious lunch at La Herencia with Kelly (and two very potent glasses of yummy sangria) I grabbed a glass of ice tea to go at the Hot Shot Bakery and made my way back to the Ringhaver Student Center. (A big thank you to Sherry at Hot Shot Bakery who told me I could park in her parking lot instead of feeding dollar bills into the meter!) I had almost an hour to kill so made the financial error of visiting the Marketplace again. $45 later I had 3 more books and totally blew my budget this week!

The next presenter was Tom Cavanaugh (no, not the actor who played in the TV show Ed) but a Florida author with 3 books published. His presentation was very low-key and all about the trail he followed to get published. It was also a lesson that you haven't "made it" until you've "made it" like John Grisham or Stephen King. Tom had just been informed by his New York publishing house that, even though his book Head Games had won all kinds of awards, they were no longer going to continue to publish his works. He was back to square one.

He had also received a ticket on his trip over from Orlando. He was stopped just south of St. Augustine on I-95 and given a ticket for having tinted windows that were too dark. No kidding. And the cop told him that he had already given out tickets for the very same offense several times this month on the same stretch of highway. The cop pointed out that if a citizen had windows that were too dark and they were hijacked, the "po po" (rhymes with doe doe) couldn't help them. "Po Po?" Where did this cop come from? I am so staying off I-95 south!

Back to Tom's writing and publishing history. He sent in his first book Murderland to a contest and won; the prize was being published by a small publishing house. His research turned up many complaints and almost a scam-type operation so he voided that contract. He did point out that the publishing house was very gracious about allowing him to cancel. He then submitted it to some small print houses and succeeded in getting it published. He said that although it was published it made very little money; one of his largest checks was for $40 and it was not uncommon to receive a check for $3.00. He determined that his next book would be published by one of the big publishing houses if at all possible. The small publishing house still has the rights to any sequel he may want to do in regards to Murderland.

In order to get a Big Press Publisher he needed an agent. He said the typical agent is nonresponsive and not to take offense. He knows he is not his agent's biggest earner; he does appreciate that his agent is very responsive to him. His agent submitted his manuscript to 25 houses and got 25 rejections. They were about to approach the smaller publishers when his agent suggested trying one of the rejecting houses again; the person who had rejected the manuscript had been replaced, so his replacement probably wouldn't know that the manuscript had already been rejected. And that editor offered him a contract!

That book Head Games won many literary awards and was successful enough that the publisher offered him another contract for a sequel. He had six months to write it, and he pointed out that like so many of us, he has a "real job" that supports his family, so he spent every spare second writing to make that deadline. That meant writing every night from 9pm to midnight, and when he traveled for work - which was frequently - wrote during his flights and in his hotel rooms. The second book Prodigal Son was published. Then his contract was dropped.

He was very pragmatic about being dropped, pointing out that the publishing business is based on numbers and formulas. His Head Games manuscript was 95,000 words originally, and the publisher told him he had to reduce it to 90,000 words to make it viable to sell. So many pages cost so many dollars to print - the expected profit on so many pages would equal so many dollars, etc. So even though he is back to square one and has to start over with sending queries to publishing houses, he did not seem bitter or angry.

He also pointed out that even though he has a degree in screenwriting, connections in Hollywood, and experience writing scripts for Nickelodeon, NONE OF THAT HELPED HIM TO GET PUBLISHED. He said it was a combination of luck and perseverance. He read the first chapter of Head Games aloud to us and I now want to read it - excellent.

The last presentation was by Tim Dorsey (pictured above). If you are a fan I need say nothing more. If you've never heard of him then check out his web site www.timdorsey.com . He has been compared to Carl Hiaasen and Elmore Leonard. His writing is wacky, funny, violent, vulgar, offensive, and entertaining. He told book tour stories during his presentation. And he was wacky, funny, and entertaining.

All in all a great experience but I have a lot of homework. And last year during the First Florida Heritage Book Festival I spent the entire weekend indoors, watching the stupid TV, and cursing myself for being too chicken to attend. Hurray for me!

Cowgirls and Writers

2009-09-12T18:39:00.001-04:00

Yesterday I went off on a tangent about horses when I really started off writing about cowgirls. Even at my age I could still go out and buy a horse and stable it and ride it, but that would not make me a cowgirl. And IF I had a 2nd go 'round I'd want to come back as a cowgirl.

You know the type - think of the movie Castaway and skip to the end. Tom Hanks is looking at a map which is spread out on the hood of his jeep (I think it was a jeep). Coming up the road is a beat-up pick-em-up-truck that slows and turns onto the road where he's stopped,and a friendly face peers out from the open truck window. She puts the truck in park, opens the door and hops out, and asks him if he's OK. She gives him directions by pointing in each direction and telling him where he'll "end up" if he stays on that road long enough. She is a cowgirl - from her hat to her jeans to her boots to the big old friendly-looking dog riding in the back. She's confident, friendly, and looks great. Wow. What a package. That's the kind of cowgirl I'm talkin' about.

Today I enjoyed myself immensely at the Florida Heritage Book Festival held at Flagler College. I arrived early and parked my car on Riberia just a couple blocks from the Ringhaver Student Center. Since I was more than 30 minutes early I stopped in the Hot Shot Bakery and Cafe ( Hot Shot Bakery reviewed on urbanspoon.com ) and got a cup of Barnie's Coffee to go. Sherry (the owner) told me that Barnie's was a Florida-based company which I did not know. I do prefer Barnie's to Starbuck's (BLASPHEMY!) and I told her that we served Barnie's at the St. Francis Inn. We talked a bit and I told her I was attending the FHBF and somehow we got on the topic of "old Florida" and Florida natives. Turns out she and Bubba (Bubba was handling the cash register) are both natives and Bubba could remember when Hamblen Hardware - a staple on King Street - was on Artillery Lane, and Artillery Lane was a real road! Artillery Lane is now a cobblestone alley that connects Aviles Street with Charlotte Street. I told them I'd be back to hear more about old St. Augustine - I love those stories. Sherry pointed toward the back door and told me I could go in and out through there and I'd be closer to Flagler College and Anastasia Bookstore - one of the sponsors of the Festival. Cool. Loving the shortcut.

I hurried out Hot Shot's back door and across the small parking lot and arrived at Ringhaver Student Center with 20 minutes to spare. Nancy Haddock had told me in her email that she would be there between 9:30am and 10:00 am to sign books and meet fans. When I walked through the door of the room being used as the Marketplace I was a little overwhelmed. There was a yellow lab - yes, a real live dog - sitting over to the right next to his owner, a woman in a Victorian outfit with a Volunteer badge, a young woman dressed as a witch...and that is what I saw when I first scanned the room. Also rows of tables with books galore and posters and people everywhere. I walked in slowly and right in the middle of the room I saw her - Nancy Haddock. Chin-length blond hair, a smiling face, and a name badge that said...Nancy Haddock. I walked up to her and she looked at me and asked, "Karen?"

WHAT? She remembered my name from one email?! AWESOME!!! I was smitten immediately. She introduced me to the lovely woman sitting next to her, Lucienne Diver. They were both so open and friendly and funny! Nancy said that Lucienne was not only a writer (she was promoting her book Vamped), but an AGENT. (trumpets sound, lions roar, holy smokes a real live agent) I didn't IMMEDIATELY mention I'm a writer, but I got it out in the next few minutes. I told them my manuscript was about a road trip with two friends that goes really wacky. And the worst part were the long days in Tulsa. Nancy laughed - although not heartily - and asked, "What's wrong with Tulsa? I'm from Tulsa." HOLY CRAP. I explained that the book was based a true road trip and that my observations about Tulsa were based on personal experience. She asked if I had visited the Gilcrease Museum, but I told her, "No, we were too busy visiting the other sights like the giant Oil Derrick and Oral Roberts University." I am so glad she has a great sense of humor; she threatened to make me return to Tulsa just to see that museum. NO WAY!

The best news is that Lucienne asked me to send her a query and 5 pages of my manuscript. Cool. I need some feedback; I'm already thinking that it's too short for a book. I learned today that most mysteries are 80,000 words and mysteries are relatively short; Bucksnort is only 40,000 words. So I'm excited about getting to know these two wonderful women. I purchased Vamped! and Nancy's sequel to La Vida Vampire: Last Vampire Standing. Check out these cool writers at: Nancy Haddock and Lucienne Diver.

There's lots more to share but I am beat and will share more tomorrow. Hasta la vista, baby!

Even cowgirls get the blues? I doubt it!

2009-09-11T21:43:00.000-04:00

In my next life I want to be a cowgirl. Now...I know I don't get a "next life"... and even if I believed in reincarnation, I'd be more worried about coming back as a goat or a cockroach or some other lower life form - like a politician. No, I'm just talking here about choices and fate and the always-popular "what ifs". You see when I was a girl I was in love with horses. My cousin Melanie and I shared this love of horses and her mother (my aunt Luanne) even gave me a subscription to a horse lovers' magazine one year. I enjoyed receiving it and pretending, just for an afternoon or so, that I owned my own darling horse and it was right outside in our barn.

At this time my family and I lived south of Miami in the suburbs. No barns. No pastures. Streets were laid over drained swampland; houses were built and 3 saplings were planted in front of each house. There was a field behind my house, but it didn't belong to us. The only purpose it seemed to serve was to separate our house from US 1. Later on my dad and adjoining neighbors started mowing into the field - extending our backyard and theirs - and the field became a softball field for us.

The closest horses to me (I believed at the time) were the pony rides that visited Cutler Ridge Shopping Center from time to time. I was so horse crazy that I begged my parents to ask the owner if I could work for him taking care of the ponies. You know - scooping poop and bringing them water. They said no. I was 11. My world was very small then. Little did I know that just south and west of me were acres of horse ranches. I thought all the horse ranches were "out west".

Melanie lived "out west" in Oakland, California. When I found out her parents had gotten her a pony I was wild with joy and envy. She was so lucky! She and I wrote back and forth and she told me all about her pony and I told her how cool it was that she had one. Why, oh why, couldn't I live "out west" where horses were as plentiful and available as dogs or cats?! Someday I was going to live where I could have not just one horse, but a whole stableful of horses!

The summer I was 16 my parents let me fly out to visit Melanie for two weeks. I was beside myself with excitement. Flying by myself! Two weeks in California with my cousin Melanie! And the icing on the cake was that I was going to help Melanie with her summer job: exercising her neighbors' horses! This suburban girl who had only ridden ponies around in a ring soon found herself roaming the hills (we'd call them mountains back east!) on horseback. Melanie taught me how to saddle up and how to ride. Up hill and down. And how to take care of a horse - not get them all lathered up and hot - not run them - take care of them. It was great training and a real high for a horse lover like me!

So what happened after that? Life. High school. Boyfriend. College/Marriage/Kids. My dream resurfaced when my older daughter Mary Lee showed an interest in horsebackriding when she was about 10 or 11 years old. I found a stable that not only taught kids to ride, but also taught them how to brush and take care of horses. Mary Lee gave it her best but finally told me tearfully that the horses scared her and she didn't want to go anymore. I was heartbroken for her and for myself.

We moved out to the country a couple of years later and my dream flickered alive again. There was a nearby boarding stable and I started to do the numbers and came to believe that we might just be able to afford to buy and board a horse less than a mile from our house. What happened? Life, work, divorce, etc.

Today I live near the beach in a condo. I'm filling my car's tank with gas and a great big old pickup truck pulls in. A man gets out and starts filling the truck with gas. And a woman gets out of the passenger side - she's wearing a cowboy hat and jeans and flipflops. (Hey, it's Florida, ya'll) She grabs the window squeegee and hops up on the truck's running board and starts cleaning the windshield. The license plate says Florida/St. Johns County and I assume they live on some property west of St. Augustine where there are potato farms and horse ranches. I can tell it's a work truck - there's a toolbox and equipment in the back and I even think I see some hay. And I start wondering...what if?????

"AUTHOR!"

2009-09-10T21:04:00.000-04:00

My second week without TV seems to be going well. I'm getting used to the quiet atmosphere of my condo. I don't even turn on the radio some nights. I still nap too much, but I'm reading lots more! Since I love to read this has been a true bonus. I'm still leery about the future. After all, all I've really missed is a bunch of reruns and some political speeches. The new TV season is launching soon and then the holidays will roll around. WHAT!? NO MACY'S PARADE ON THANKSGIVING? I didn't think this through! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!

This weekend brings the Florida Heritage Book Festival to St. Augustine. This is my first conference - my first Book Conference - and the first that I will be attending as a writer. I was scared to death. Was. An eerie calm has overtaken me. I may act like a boob, a fool, an idiot; I may not. I am not worried. I wish I knew from where this calm came, I would stuff it in a capsule, sell it to Merck, and retire to my oceanfront compound.

Two writers will be staying at the St. Francis Inn. Both check in tomorrow. One is Tim Dorsey, author of the weird series with two anti-heroes that you can't help but kind-of-like and fear. Yes, fear, because Serge or Coleman could be in the car next to you on US 1. Serge would either be medicated and fairly safe, or off his meds and totally insane! Don't look! Don't look! And Coleman - he better not be driving because he is either drunk or stoned or both at all times. Yet I can't help but like these two; they didn't ask to be what they are and they are just your typical screwups most of the time. I've only read Tim Dorsey's first book in the series - Florida Roadkill - and I'm hooked. His antiheroes and stories remind me of both Carl Hiaasen and Elmore Leonard - two favorite authors of mine. What I truly enjoy is that the bad guys get what they deserve! Tim Dorsey will be speaking Saturday and I will be there. I hope to meet him either at the Inn or at the event.

The other writer is Eliot Kleinberg who writes for the Palm Beach Post. He has also published several books and his topics center on the essential weirdness of Florida. I believe Weird Florida is also his topic during his presentation Saturday. I look forward to his presentation and meeting him also.

In addition Nancy Haddock will be there signing books in the morning. I've already emailed her to confirm she will be there and she has been so nice and so friendly to correspond with me. Her La Vida Vampire is one of my favorite books now.

I went by the Dollar Store on my way home hoping to find some tacky Florida souvenirs to put in a Welcome Basket for Misters Dorsey and Kleinberg. I found NOTHING. Not even one blasted pink flamingo! How can a Dollar Store NOT have tacky souvenir stuff! I think they should have their license pulled. I know of a couple other places to look, but I was hoping to stay in the DOLLAR range. (stupid Dollar store)

9-9-09 Surgery for Dogs

2009-09-09T21:39:00.000-04:00

I have a cousin who signs her emails "9". Her name is Nina (prounouced Ni' nah) and she is named after my mother. I wonder if she is enjoying this very special day - September 9, 2009. Although it's not as cool as September 9, 1999 must have been. "Mike from work" pointed out to me that next year we would have 10-10-10. Cool.

Carolyn from work reported today that she and her husband paid more than $3,000 for her 3-year-old Labrador Retriever to have surgery on his leg. I forget what was wrong with his leg; Carolyn rattled off the medical terminology but all I could hear was THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS. I'm skipping my colonoscopy this year because my not-so-fabulous health insurance deductible is $3,000. I'm hoping by next year this time I'll have more money in the bank and be able to pay for the wonderful thrill of having a camera stuffed up by butt without leaving me short of cash. As for paying $3,000 for surgery on my pet....I told Harley he better STAY HEALTHY.

If I was watching TV I would be channel-surfing to avoid watching President Obama's speech. I'm not being political here; it's just that when the President is giving a speech all the networks shuffle up their nightly lineups to fit not only the speech, but the talking heads' BS afterwards. I used to be political but I got tired of all the polarization. "Why can't we all just get along?" Rodney King asked. I agree. If we could set aside the RightWing and LeftWing BS and channeled all that energy into solving problems like health care, the problems would get solved instead of just made worse.

Since I'm not watching TV I'm reading The Oasis Project by Art Adkins, the author I met last Friday night. I'm enjoying the stories and the characters. His style is very masculine - strong men and supportive women - but also very 21st Century. Maybe I just think that because I've been reading women authors for the past few months and have been immersed in vampires. I know that the story is well thought out and rings true. And I enjoy the setting of Cedar Key, FL. It's now on my list of Places To Visit.