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.

HARLEY GAMES - AN UPDATE

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

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

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?

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.

Saturday Night

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...

THE BUTS

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

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

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.