TGIF

Out of bed at 6.

Walked *FLB and me.

He had enough bathroom breaks.
No street pooping.

Observed that there are more cars at 6:15 than at 5:45.  Newspaper delivery car swerves back and forth like a drunken sailor and needs to be avoided at all cost.

Day 3.

Reality Check

1. do laundry tonight so you will have clean clothes to wear to work at the library tomorrow.  make sure pants are loose and comfortable for squatting.

2.  buy new pants because only your sweats are loose and comfortable

3. screw it, wear sweats

Respect the Can, Man

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.

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

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!

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

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.

St. Augustine: an afternoon stroll

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...

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!

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

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!

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!

HARLEY - ONGOING FUN & GAMES

Things I do to torture Harley:

1. 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....
2. 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

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

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

VACATION OVER - PICTURES FOR THE RECORD

"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

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

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

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

HAVE I BROUGHT THIS ON MYSELF?

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