Bumper Crop

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

10 Positive Effects of this Freakin' Cold Weather and Rain

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.

Venturing Out....Back in the Saddle Again

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

HARLEY - Six Years Old - and Counting...

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. 

The Ultimate Beauty Tool

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!

All I Wanted Was a Houseplant

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

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

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.

DEAR GWENN

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

HARLEY - YOUR BRAIN IS HOW BIG?

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.

Simple Pleasures

 

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.....

Christmas stuff, Dancing Poinsettias and PUSH DA BUTTON GRENAH!

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

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.