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.

How old are you?

om

from wikimedia commons/author rich007

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fish oil," I explained.

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

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

the more things stay the same....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*FLB = Harley, mixed terrier.

Bumper Crop

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!