Makes you wonder what they were feeding their kid. Love the last paragraph; "Police gave the all clear after they contacted the woman who told them the intercepted package contained only a malfunctioning diaper."
Malfunctioning diaper? That can't be good.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
MOBY PIKE
As I had related in the "Gone Fishing" post of last week, our recent family fishing expedition was the first time my son-in-law had fished since he was five when there was the unfortunate incident with the crawdad, a cat and Tim's big toe. By the way, I just found out that the cat was named "Pickles". That bit of information is really neither here nor there, but an attack-cat named Pickles just tickles my funnybone.
Anyway, our proposed trip came up at a family dinner last month, the night before my daughter's graduation from graduate school. Her father was there and proceeded to tell everyone about a time we had gone backpacking and canoeing in the Boundary Water Canoe area somewhere north of Ely, Minnesota. There were eight of us on that trip; four couples. Stan, Cheri, Homer, Loretta, Jim, Judy, Don and me. We had decided that we would have a fishing tournament; men against women. The day before the tournament, Cheri and I decided to go practice. Fortunately, before we set out in our canoe, I overheard her husband say to Homer "Do you think they'll know what to do if they catch a northern?" Homer didn't think so, and doubted that we would catch one. He did, however, think that it would make for good entertainment.
Hearing that, I knew there was SOMETHING about northerns that was different from the bass, trout and perch I'm used to catching. We had a good day of fishing and caught bass after bass after bass. Being one who was raised that if you catch it, you clean it, I was becoming aware that I was going to be rather busy that night before dinner.
Suddenly, I felt the strongest tug I've ever felt on my line. Let me amend that; I felt the strongest tug on my line outside of inadvertently catching a five year old boy downstream from me when trout fishing. Since we were out in the middle of a lake, there were no five year old boys around us and my line was definitely in the water, I got a bit excited. I am not one who likes to fight with the fish. I know there are those fishermen who enjoy that more than actually catching the fish. I prefer to get the fish in the net. They are more likely to end up in the skillet that way instead of breaking the line and swimming off to freedom.
But this fish wanted to fight. He swam under the canoe, behind us, in front of us and back under the canoe. Cheri asked "do you have the Loch Ness Monster?" I can't remember if I answered. I was strugging to reel in whatever was down there. Finally, I saw something coming closer to the surface. Then I saw teeth as the snout of that fish broke the surface. It had tiny sharp teeth clutched around the hook and line. THAT'S what the guys were talking about. I was standing in the canoe now, Cheri nervously trying to balance it so we didn't go over. I pulled my rod up...and up...and up... and finally saw the tail of that thing come out of the water. Cheri helped me out by getting it in the net.
We sat down, gasping to catch our breath, the fish on the floor of the canoe. Most of it was in the net; but then it started flopping. Damn! I covered it with the net, grabbed my stringer and looped two of the links through it's gills. I went to get the hook out of it's mouth, saw those teeth and opted to cut the line with my knife instead. I would get the lure later during the cleaning process. We dropped the stringer into the lake and paddled back to our campsite. We had plenty of fish for dinner that night and the next.
The guys came out to help us beach the canoe and asked how we did. Cheri held up the stringer of bass and they were amazed and congratulated us. Then she turned around, gestured towards me and said "you ain't seen nothing yet."
I held up Moby Pike. There was momentary silence as jaws dropped to the pine needles that covered the ground at our campsite. Then my husband stood on a rock, pounded his chest, pointed at me and said "That's MY woman!"
We secured the stringers on a log crossing a small inlet next to our campsite. It would be a few hours before dinner and since there were no refrigerators, the fish got to live a little longer.
Now, where we were camping, in the Boundary Water, there are only three campsites allowed per island. We hadn't seen very many people; yet somehow word went out that a northern had been caught. Canoers started paddling up to our campsite asking about it, and we showed them. I was asked what kind of lure I used. It was one that Stan had loaned me, a fuzzy yellow thing with a fringe. So I answered, "it's a fuzzy yellow thing with fringe." That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. Stan corrected me, "No, no, no. It was a yellow spinner with a skirt."
Yeah. That sounds better.
My husband really wanted us to take the northern home and get it stuffed and mounted. But we were three lakes and three portages away from the outfitters at Ely, and I reminded him what it was like lugging the canoe and our voyager packs on the portages, much less lugging a northern. So we opted to take photos and then eat it.
Don and I went down the trail away from the campsite to clean Moby Pike. Let me briefly describe my husband (now my ex) to you. He's a city boy. Born and raised in Chicago. He was used to catching fish at the fish counter at the Jewel Tea grocery store in Chicago. This canoeing and camping trip was outside of his realm of experience. But he did well -- until I cleaned the northern.
First, I dug a pit to bury the head, tail and innards. Then I sliced down the fishes' underbelly with my knife. He got very quiet. Don, not the fish. Well, the fish was quiet, too, at that point. Then Don pointed out in dismay that the heart was still beating. I quickly and cleanly beheaded it. He pointed out the heart was STILL beating. I cleaned out the cavity of the fish, dumping everything into the pit, retrieving the yellow spinner with the skirt. The heart laid there in the pit. Don said "It's still beating." I covered it all up with dirt and set about to finish cleaning the fish and cutting it up into pieces for for dinner.
We had a wonderful fishfry that night and all agreed the bass and pike were delicious. Don said he saw a totally new side of me that day.
He also started sleeping with one eye open.
Anyway, our proposed trip came up at a family dinner last month, the night before my daughter's graduation from graduate school. Her father was there and proceeded to tell everyone about a time we had gone backpacking and canoeing in the Boundary Water Canoe area somewhere north of Ely, Minnesota. There were eight of us on that trip; four couples. Stan, Cheri, Homer, Loretta, Jim, Judy, Don and me. We had decided that we would have a fishing tournament; men against women. The day before the tournament, Cheri and I decided to go practice. Fortunately, before we set out in our canoe, I overheard her husband say to Homer "Do you think they'll know what to do if they catch a northern?" Homer didn't think so, and doubted that we would catch one. He did, however, think that it would make for good entertainment.
Hearing that, I knew there was SOMETHING about northerns that was different from the bass, trout and perch I'm used to catching. We had a good day of fishing and caught bass after bass after bass. Being one who was raised that if you catch it, you clean it, I was becoming aware that I was going to be rather busy that night before dinner.
Suddenly, I felt the strongest tug I've ever felt on my line. Let me amend that; I felt the strongest tug on my line outside of inadvertently catching a five year old boy downstream from me when trout fishing. Since we were out in the middle of a lake, there were no five year old boys around us and my line was definitely in the water, I got a bit excited. I am not one who likes to fight with the fish. I know there are those fishermen who enjoy that more than actually catching the fish. I prefer to get the fish in the net. They are more likely to end up in the skillet that way instead of breaking the line and swimming off to freedom.
But this fish wanted to fight. He swam under the canoe, behind us, in front of us and back under the canoe. Cheri asked "do you have the Loch Ness Monster?" I can't remember if I answered. I was strugging to reel in whatever was down there. Finally, I saw something coming closer to the surface. Then I saw teeth as the snout of that fish broke the surface. It had tiny sharp teeth clutched around the hook and line. THAT'S what the guys were talking about. I was standing in the canoe now, Cheri nervously trying to balance it so we didn't go over. I pulled my rod up...and up...and up... and finally saw the tail of that thing come out of the water. Cheri helped me out by getting it in the net.
We sat down, gasping to catch our breath, the fish on the floor of the canoe. Most of it was in the net; but then it started flopping. Damn! I covered it with the net, grabbed my stringer and looped two of the links through it's gills. I went to get the hook out of it's mouth, saw those teeth and opted to cut the line with my knife instead. I would get the lure later during the cleaning process. We dropped the stringer into the lake and paddled back to our campsite. We had plenty of fish for dinner that night and the next.
The guys came out to help us beach the canoe and asked how we did. Cheri held up the stringer of bass and they were amazed and congratulated us. Then she turned around, gestured towards me and said "you ain't seen nothing yet."
I held up Moby Pike. There was momentary silence as jaws dropped to the pine needles that covered the ground at our campsite. Then my husband stood on a rock, pounded his chest, pointed at me and said "That's MY woman!"
We secured the stringers on a log crossing a small inlet next to our campsite. It would be a few hours before dinner and since there were no refrigerators, the fish got to live a little longer.
Now, where we were camping, in the Boundary Water, there are only three campsites allowed per island. We hadn't seen very many people; yet somehow word went out that a northern had been caught. Canoers started paddling up to our campsite asking about it, and we showed them. I was asked what kind of lure I used. It was one that Stan had loaned me, a fuzzy yellow thing with a fringe. So I answered, "it's a fuzzy yellow thing with fringe." That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. Stan corrected me, "No, no, no. It was a yellow spinner with a skirt."
Yeah. That sounds better.
My husband really wanted us to take the northern home and get it stuffed and mounted. But we were three lakes and three portages away from the outfitters at Ely, and I reminded him what it was like lugging the canoe and our voyager packs on the portages, much less lugging a northern. So we opted to take photos and then eat it.
Don and I went down the trail away from the campsite to clean Moby Pike. Let me briefly describe my husband (now my ex) to you. He's a city boy. Born and raised in Chicago. He was used to catching fish at the fish counter at the Jewel Tea grocery store in Chicago. This canoeing and camping trip was outside of his realm of experience. But he did well -- until I cleaned the northern.
First, I dug a pit to bury the head, tail and innards. Then I sliced down the fishes' underbelly with my knife. He got very quiet. Don, not the fish. Well, the fish was quiet, too, at that point. Then Don pointed out in dismay that the heart was still beating. I quickly and cleanly beheaded it. He pointed out the heart was STILL beating. I cleaned out the cavity of the fish, dumping everything into the pit, retrieving the yellow spinner with the skirt. The heart laid there in the pit. Don said "It's still beating." I covered it all up with dirt and set about to finish cleaning the fish and cutting it up into pieces for for dinner.
We had a wonderful fishfry that night and all agreed the bass and pike were delicious. Don said he saw a totally new side of me that day.
He also started sleeping with one eye open.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
CIAO, AUNTIE YOLLE
Yolanda was 21 when she came to America, not knowing any English. She hadn't left her family to come to America; they had had been the ones to leave first. When she was two, her mother and father went to America with their oldest child, a son, Mickie. They left their oldest daughter behind in Italy with her grandparents.
It was understood that after they saved enough money, they would send for her. But they had Julio, Julia, Orlando, Louie, Albert, Eva and Jean. There was never enough money saved up to send for their daughter that they had left behind. Nineteen years later, after her grandmother died, she paid for her own way to America to meet her family.
Her life in Italy wasn't a bad one. As family history relates, her grandmother was the wet nurse to the Prince of Italy. In fact, it was always said in capital letters, as though that was her grandmother's title, "The Wet Nurse To the Prince of Italy." Her clothes were hand-me-downs from the Principessa and many of the furnishings in the house came from the Princes' family.
When she was 21, her grandmother died. Her grandfather had died sometime before that, so she was alone. She packed up her belongings and went to the other side of the world to join the family she didn't know.
She had the good fortune to meet a couple from Italy who helped her with the American language and traveled with her on the train from New York City to Chicago. She made her way to her family's home and walked in to the middle of bedlam. So many children!! She was used to a household consisting of her grandparents, an aunt or uncle or two; and herself. Some time later, she found out that some neighborhood children were added to the mix of her own siblings.
That night, she fell into bed, grateful for sleep after the long journey to rejoin her family. But the sheets kept her awake most of the night. They were handsewn, pieced together from flour sacks. The crude seams and the rough cloth irritated her back. They were not the soft, comfortable sheets she had slept on in Italy that were given to her by the Prince's family. Sometime during the night, she vowed she would return to Italy and a life that made more sense.
The next morning, as she was helping her mother with all of those children, she saw a little redheaded girl of about five, standing in the corner. The little girl was quietly sobbing, watching her with big brown eyes as she sucked her thumb. Yolanda approached her and knelt down. The little girl removed her thumb from her mouth and asked "Are you my sister?" Yolanda found out this little girl was her youngest sister, Jean.
She decided Jean needed her and that she should stay in Chicago to watch over this this little one to make sure she didn't get lost in the crowd of the other siblings. A special bond was formed between the two. Yolanda was always there for Jean; Jean was always there for Yolanda.
And so, she made her life in America, working as a seamstress at Hart Schaffner Marx, becoming a wife, and then a mother. She also became an aunt to many many more. She hosted every holiday meal over the years. The centerpiece of the Christmas meal was her homemade ravioli. Surrounding that on the table was roasted chicken, roast beef, fiorie, fried zucchini and cauliflower. A favorite treat of everyone who visited her were the brigidini cookies. They were a wafer thin cookie flavored with anissette.
One day, a nephew asked her to teach his wife how to make ravioli. This wasn't a dish that could be made from a recipe. The cooking lesson included trips to the butcher and the farmer's market. The young woman was introduced to the butcher and his wife. Yolanda explained that she was teaching her how to make ravioli. A look of delight came upon their faces, "Ahhh, how nice." Then Yolanda explained, "She is not Italian." The delight dimmed, they nodded in understanding to Yolanda and gave an almost imperceptible shrug, as though to say, "at least she's trying."
Yolanda was a short, stocky woman with an ample bosom. At the family dinners, if a baby became fretful and fussy, she would pick it up, hold it against her bosom and walk around, cooing and singing. The baby would generally fall asleep in the most comfortable bed in the house; Yolanda's bosom.
Fifty years after she left Italy, she returned for a trip home. But it wasn't the same. Upon her return to Chicago, she declared that in Italy, "if it's filthy and falling apart, they call it art!"
Not long ago, it was becoming apparent that Yolanda's journey was coming to an end. The family started to gather to be with her.
This morning, at the age of 95, Yolanda went to sleep and slipped out to join her husband, Placido; parents Isola and Narchiso; her brothers Julio, Mickie, Louie and Orlando; and her sister Julia. Surrounding her at the end were her sons, nieces, her brother Albert, and her sister Eva. And of course, at the end, was her baby sister Jean.
Ciao, Auntie Yolle. Thank you for teaching me how to make ravioli, even though I'm not Italian.
I'll miss you.
It was understood that after they saved enough money, they would send for her. But they had Julio, Julia, Orlando, Louie, Albert, Eva and Jean. There was never enough money saved up to send for their daughter that they had left behind. Nineteen years later, after her grandmother died, she paid for her own way to America to meet her family.
Her life in Italy wasn't a bad one. As family history relates, her grandmother was the wet nurse to the Prince of Italy. In fact, it was always said in capital letters, as though that was her grandmother's title, "The Wet Nurse To the Prince of Italy." Her clothes were hand-me-downs from the Principessa and many of the furnishings in the house came from the Princes' family.
When she was 21, her grandmother died. Her grandfather had died sometime before that, so she was alone. She packed up her belongings and went to the other side of the world to join the family she didn't know.
She had the good fortune to meet a couple from Italy who helped her with the American language and traveled with her on the train from New York City to Chicago. She made her way to her family's home and walked in to the middle of bedlam. So many children!! She was used to a household consisting of her grandparents, an aunt or uncle or two; and herself. Some time later, she found out that some neighborhood children were added to the mix of her own siblings.
That night, she fell into bed, grateful for sleep after the long journey to rejoin her family. But the sheets kept her awake most of the night. They were handsewn, pieced together from flour sacks. The crude seams and the rough cloth irritated her back. They were not the soft, comfortable sheets she had slept on in Italy that were given to her by the Prince's family. Sometime during the night, she vowed she would return to Italy and a life that made more sense.
The next morning, as she was helping her mother with all of those children, she saw a little redheaded girl of about five, standing in the corner. The little girl was quietly sobbing, watching her with big brown eyes as she sucked her thumb. Yolanda approached her and knelt down. The little girl removed her thumb from her mouth and asked "Are you my sister?" Yolanda found out this little girl was her youngest sister, Jean.
She decided Jean needed her and that she should stay in Chicago to watch over this this little one to make sure she didn't get lost in the crowd of the other siblings. A special bond was formed between the two. Yolanda was always there for Jean; Jean was always there for Yolanda.
And so, she made her life in America, working as a seamstress at Hart Schaffner Marx, becoming a wife, and then a mother. She also became an aunt to many many more. She hosted every holiday meal over the years. The centerpiece of the Christmas meal was her homemade ravioli. Surrounding that on the table was roasted chicken, roast beef, fiorie, fried zucchini and cauliflower. A favorite treat of everyone who visited her were the brigidini cookies. They were a wafer thin cookie flavored with anissette.
One day, a nephew asked her to teach his wife how to make ravioli. This wasn't a dish that could be made from a recipe. The cooking lesson included trips to the butcher and the farmer's market. The young woman was introduced to the butcher and his wife. Yolanda explained that she was teaching her how to make ravioli. A look of delight came upon their faces, "Ahhh, how nice." Then Yolanda explained, "She is not Italian." The delight dimmed, they nodded in understanding to Yolanda and gave an almost imperceptible shrug, as though to say, "at least she's trying."
Yolanda was a short, stocky woman with an ample bosom. At the family dinners, if a baby became fretful and fussy, she would pick it up, hold it against her bosom and walk around, cooing and singing. The baby would generally fall asleep in the most comfortable bed in the house; Yolanda's bosom.
Fifty years after she left Italy, she returned for a trip home. But it wasn't the same. Upon her return to Chicago, she declared that in Italy, "if it's filthy and falling apart, they call it art!"
Not long ago, it was becoming apparent that Yolanda's journey was coming to an end. The family started to gather to be with her.
This morning, at the age of 95, Yolanda went to sleep and slipped out to join her husband, Placido; parents Isola and Narchiso; her brothers Julio, Mickie, Louie and Orlando; and her sister Julia. Surrounding her at the end were her sons, nieces, her brother Albert, and her sister Eva. And of course, at the end, was her baby sister Jean.
Ciao, Auntie Yolle. Thank you for teaching me how to make ravioli, even though I'm not Italian.
I'll miss you.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
GONE FISHIN'
My Dad, daughter, son-in-law and I are leaving tomorrow to go trout fishing for a few days at Bennett Springs State Park in South Central Missouri. When I was growing up, we went trout fishing quite often; usually at Montauk State Park, which is only a couple of hours away. Bennett Springs is further away from here. When Jenni was younger, she and I sometimes went fishing together; just the two of us, leaving Meghan at home with her Dad. We would generally go to either Montauk or Maramec Springs Park; which is not to be confused with Meramec State Park. Notice the difference in spelling. Yeah, I don't get it either.
Several times in the past few years, Jenni and my Dad would go on a fishing holiday, spending a great time together. I haven't gone for a number of years, and decided it's time.
This will be my son-in-law's first time fishing since he was five years old. Apparently, there was a rather traumatic event at that time that has kept him from fishing ever since. While he was fishing, a crawdad somehow latched onto his big toe. Naturally, this scared the little guy and he kicked his foot around, screaming to get it off. Before anyone could reach him, a cat attacked the crawdad which was attacking his toe. To this day, he avoids fish, crawdads and cats. It is a measure of his love for my daughter that he's agreeing to do this.
Dad told me that the State of Missouri has changed the daily limits on catching trout. The limit used to be 5, which I reached only once. I would generally catch only 3 or 4. Dad was saddened to have to tell me that the limit is now 4. I can only see that as an advantage, because now I have a better chance of getting my limit.
Several times in the past few years, Jenni and my Dad would go on a fishing holiday, spending a great time together. I haven't gone for a number of years, and decided it's time.
This will be my son-in-law's first time fishing since he was five years old. Apparently, there was a rather traumatic event at that time that has kept him from fishing ever since. While he was fishing, a crawdad somehow latched onto his big toe. Naturally, this scared the little guy and he kicked his foot around, screaming to get it off. Before anyone could reach him, a cat attacked the crawdad which was attacking his toe. To this day, he avoids fish, crawdads and cats. It is a measure of his love for my daughter that he's agreeing to do this.
Dad told me that the State of Missouri has changed the daily limits on catching trout. The limit used to be 5, which I reached only once. I would generally catch only 3 or 4. Dad was saddened to have to tell me that the limit is now 4. I can only see that as an advantage, because now I have a better chance of getting my limit.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
SUMMER SHOWERS
In just a couple of hours the Perseid Meteor Shower arrives for its annual rein. This year's prediction: spectacular.
In reading the attached story, I started to reflect back to a summer several years ago. A group of us were spending the weekend at a friend's vacation house at Lake of the Ozarks in Southern Missouri. We had spent a long, wonderful day on the lake skiing, fishing and even getting in some scuba diving in water with 5" visibility. "Scuba diving for the blind" is what I called it.
After a wonderful steak dinner and dealing with a minor power outage caused by a squirrel in a transformer, we sat out on the deck of the lake house enjoying the evening air, drinking margueritas and pina coladas and sharing stories and jokes. Someone mentioned that there was going to be a meteor shower later that night. Well, actually, very early the next morning. We all promised we'd go out on the lake to watch it.
Close to 2:00 a.m., the peak time for the astrological event, only two of us were able to make it; my good buddy Jason and me. We have been friends for a long time, the kind of friends who have dated each other's best friend, but not each other. We've cried on each other's shoulders during breakups, shared secrets and confidences; all which will keep us as good friends and nothing else.
Jason and I tried to wake up the others but got grumpy "go away's" from them. After awhile, we gave up trying to wake them, grabbed a couple of air mattresses and headed out the back door to the swimming deck. Already in our suits, we eased ourselves into the warm, quiet water and climbed aboard our air mattresses. Since I'm not the graceful type, I flailed around a bit before I was finally able to lay down on my raft and enjoy the night sky.
Jason made a sarcastic commented about my flailing. I made some kind of smart aleck comeback.
We laid there for awhile, enjoying the quiet. Our rafts were gently bobbing up and down on the water. We listened to the night sounds; a few locusts, an occasional dog, the quiet sounds of the lake water lapping against the docks, and a bullfrog.
I was getting drowsy from bobbing up and down on the water and struggled to keep my eyes open to watch the night sky. We waited. And waited. As I was starting to doze off, I heard Jason:
"Hey! There's one!....there's another.....and another!"
I opened my eyes wide, but saw nothing. I rubbed my eyes, but just saw stars.
But he was evidently having better luck. "There's another...and another....and another."
I squinted, and started to sit up on my raft, but felt like any movement would cause me to fall off again. So I quieted on my raft, still seeing nothing. Oh. Wait. I saw a flicker...and another....and another.
Jason was excited now. "There!! See it? There's another one! And another!"
I saw. "Jase?"
"Yeah?"
"Those are lightening bugs."
(Pause)
"You're not going to tell anyone about this, are you?"
"Nah."
In reading the attached story, I started to reflect back to a summer several years ago. A group of us were spending the weekend at a friend's vacation house at Lake of the Ozarks in Southern Missouri. We had spent a long, wonderful day on the lake skiing, fishing and even getting in some scuba diving in water with 5" visibility. "Scuba diving for the blind" is what I called it.
After a wonderful steak dinner and dealing with a minor power outage caused by a squirrel in a transformer, we sat out on the deck of the lake house enjoying the evening air, drinking margueritas and pina coladas and sharing stories and jokes. Someone mentioned that there was going to be a meteor shower later that night. Well, actually, very early the next morning. We all promised we'd go out on the lake to watch it.
Close to 2:00 a.m., the peak time for the astrological event, only two of us were able to make it; my good buddy Jason and me. We have been friends for a long time, the kind of friends who have dated each other's best friend, but not each other. We've cried on each other's shoulders during breakups, shared secrets and confidences; all which will keep us as good friends and nothing else.
Jason and I tried to wake up the others but got grumpy "go away's" from them. After awhile, we gave up trying to wake them, grabbed a couple of air mattresses and headed out the back door to the swimming deck. Already in our suits, we eased ourselves into the warm, quiet water and climbed aboard our air mattresses. Since I'm not the graceful type, I flailed around a bit before I was finally able to lay down on my raft and enjoy the night sky.
Jason made a sarcastic commented about my flailing. I made some kind of smart aleck comeback.
We laid there for awhile, enjoying the quiet. Our rafts were gently bobbing up and down on the water. We listened to the night sounds; a few locusts, an occasional dog, the quiet sounds of the lake water lapping against the docks, and a bullfrog.
I was getting drowsy from bobbing up and down on the water and struggled to keep my eyes open to watch the night sky. We waited. And waited. As I was starting to doze off, I heard Jason:
"Hey! There's one!....there's another.....and another!"
I opened my eyes wide, but saw nothing. I rubbed my eyes, but just saw stars.
But he was evidently having better luck. "There's another...and another....and another."
I squinted, and started to sit up on my raft, but felt like any movement would cause me to fall off again. So I quieted on my raft, still seeing nothing. Oh. Wait. I saw a flicker...and another....and another.
Jason was excited now. "There!! See it? There's another one! And another!"
I saw. "Jase?"
"Yeah?"
"Those are lightening bugs."
(Pause)
"You're not going to tell anyone about this, are you?"
"Nah."
Monday, August 08, 2005
IT'S THE LITTLE THINGS IN LIFE
.....such as losing the remote control. It's not a garden variety remote, either. It's the fancy schmancy DVR remote to the digital TV. The Tivo-like remote. It's amazing how its disappearance has had an adverse affect on my life; and I didn't think I watched a lot of TV for it to affect me so.
Since having my DVR, I have gotten "hooked" on rewinding live TV shows to catch something I missed or to watch my own replay of a Cardinals game. Another advantage to this is if the phone rings in the middle of a show, I just hit pause and I don't miss anything. I also tape The Daily Show and catch up with it when the time is convenient for me.
Without the remote control, I can basically turn the TV on and off and manually change the channels. This is a pain as the "system" seems to take a few seconds before advancing to the next channel. When one has several hundred channels from which to chose, this takes awhile.
Quiet often, I tend to tune in to one of the music channels; but since those are in the 900 range on my channel selection, I haven't been taking the time to manually select those.
The house has been torn upside down and sideways in my search for the remote control. I thought back to the last time I saw it and that was last weekend when my daughter and son-in-law were in town. I remembered seeing Tim sitting on the couch watching a Cardinals game while Jenni and I ran errands. When we got home, they opened their luggage and re-arranged things prior to leaving for the airport to go to Florida.
Naturally, I suspected the remote ended up in their luggage. They have claimed they've searched it and can't find it. With it being such a fancy schmancy remote, I can't go to Target and pick up a universal remote. I've put off calling the cable company to get a replacement because I know it's going to cost me a lot of coin. I keep waiting for the kids to call me and say "guess what?" In fact, every time they have called, I've started off the conversation with "you found it?" I think that was beginning to annoy them.
Last night, I was getting desperate. For the UMPTEENTH time, I removed the couch cushions, this time stacking them in the middle of the room so they would not be able to camouflage my objective. Then I ran my hand all around the edges of the couch, finding tissues, a sock, two pens, lottery ticket and......THE REMOTE!!
Ta DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.
Life is back to normal.....except I am now missing the little black rubber plug to the little metal thingy on the steamer on my capuccino maker. You wouldn't think that little thingy would make a difference, but it does. I've been placing a folded paper towel over the teeny tiny opening, but it's not the same.
When I called the kids to ask them to look through their luggage for it, they hung up on me.
Since having my DVR, I have gotten "hooked" on rewinding live TV shows to catch something I missed or to watch my own replay of a Cardinals game. Another advantage to this is if the phone rings in the middle of a show, I just hit pause and I don't miss anything. I also tape The Daily Show and catch up with it when the time is convenient for me.
Without the remote control, I can basically turn the TV on and off and manually change the channels. This is a pain as the "system" seems to take a few seconds before advancing to the next channel. When one has several hundred channels from which to chose, this takes awhile.
Quiet often, I tend to tune in to one of the music channels; but since those are in the 900 range on my channel selection, I haven't been taking the time to manually select those.
The house has been torn upside down and sideways in my search for the remote control. I thought back to the last time I saw it and that was last weekend when my daughter and son-in-law were in town. I remembered seeing Tim sitting on the couch watching a Cardinals game while Jenni and I ran errands. When we got home, they opened their luggage and re-arranged things prior to leaving for the airport to go to Florida.
Naturally, I suspected the remote ended up in their luggage. They have claimed they've searched it and can't find it. With it being such a fancy schmancy remote, I can't go to Target and pick up a universal remote. I've put off calling the cable company to get a replacement because I know it's going to cost me a lot of coin. I keep waiting for the kids to call me and say "guess what?" In fact, every time they have called, I've started off the conversation with "you found it?" I think that was beginning to annoy them.
Last night, I was getting desperate. For the UMPTEENTH time, I removed the couch cushions, this time stacking them in the middle of the room so they would not be able to camouflage my objective. Then I ran my hand all around the edges of the couch, finding tissues, a sock, two pens, lottery ticket and......THE REMOTE!!
Ta DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.
Life is back to normal.....except I am now missing the little black rubber plug to the little metal thingy on the steamer on my capuccino maker. You wouldn't think that little thingy would make a difference, but it does. I've been placing a folded paper towel over the teeny tiny opening, but it's not the same.
When I called the kids to ask them to look through their luggage for it, they hung up on me.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
IN MEMORIAM
They had the kind of relationship we all want, but few have. They were soulmates. From the beginning, it was apparent it was meant to be. Her maiden name was even very close to his. All you needed to do was switch two letters and add an "s" to hers and it became his.
They weren't kids when they married; in fact, they were close to middle age. A love of the outdoors was shared by them. They participated in century bike rides, and spent a good part of each summer touring national parks. Last summer they hiked 72 miles in Glacier National Park.
Hers was a kind and generous heart. She was active in her church and was a Stephen Minister, reaching out to others who were facing a life-challenge. She wasn't blessed with children; but the second graders she taught for close to thirty years were blessed to have her as a teacher.
So why was she taken?
They were vacationing in Wyoming, on their way to go hiking. She was driving the car which was pulling a trailer. A rogue, strong wind hit the car, flipping it several times.
Her body survived the crash; but her brain did not. She slipped into a coma and then two strokes in succession finished any hope she would survive.
A long way from home, his own body badly injured, her husband had to make the decision no one ever wants to make.
Among the many friends they have through their church, community and work, they also have friends from when they first met. Friends they had made in a community of people who came together to heal. They didn't all stay in contact over the years, but whenever one of their own suffers, the others gather to lend support.
And so they gathered for the wake, which was held a month after the accident, over two weeks after her passing. It was delayed until he was recovered enough to make the trip home.
But as they met outside of the church, they realized this wasn't the time for them to lend support. The line of mourners was long. Hours long; as though every student and every parent of those students she taught for thirty years had come to say goodbye. So they melted away for now, knowing that the time would come when the crowds would dissipate and the shadows would close in. If he needs them, they will be there.
In memoriam. Ellen Cathy Rhodes
They weren't kids when they married; in fact, they were close to middle age. A love of the outdoors was shared by them. They participated in century bike rides, and spent a good part of each summer touring national parks. Last summer they hiked 72 miles in Glacier National Park.
Hers was a kind and generous heart. She was active in her church and was a Stephen Minister, reaching out to others who were facing a life-challenge. She wasn't blessed with children; but the second graders she taught for close to thirty years were blessed to have her as a teacher.
So why was she taken?
They were vacationing in Wyoming, on their way to go hiking. She was driving the car which was pulling a trailer. A rogue, strong wind hit the car, flipping it several times.
Her body survived the crash; but her brain did not. She slipped into a coma and then two strokes in succession finished any hope she would survive.
A long way from home, his own body badly injured, her husband had to make the decision no one ever wants to make.
Among the many friends they have through their church, community and work, they also have friends from when they first met. Friends they had made in a community of people who came together to heal. They didn't all stay in contact over the years, but whenever one of their own suffers, the others gather to lend support.
And so they gathered for the wake, which was held a month after the accident, over two weeks after her passing. It was delayed until he was recovered enough to make the trip home.
But as they met outside of the church, they realized this wasn't the time for them to lend support. The line of mourners was long. Hours long; as though every student and every parent of those students she taught for thirty years had come to say goodbye. So they melted away for now, knowing that the time would come when the crowds would dissipate and the shadows would close in. If he needs them, they will be there.
In memoriam. Ellen Cathy Rhodes
Monday, August 01, 2005
FORE!!
One would think that being in a golf foursome with one's ex would provide a lot of blog fodder.
Amazingly, no. Other than playing a not-so-hideous game of golf, the day was pleasantly uneventful.
The reason my ex and I were in a foursome was due to a family gathering for our daughter receiving her Master's Degree in Math Education. A year ago at this time, we had all gathered for her wedding. The day before the wedding, our son-in-law hosted the First Annual Ball & Chain Invitational. I didn't get to play because I was busy finishing the necklaces I was making for the wedding party.
When we gathered this year, it was decided we should hold the Second Annual Ball & Chain Invitational.
There had been a heatwave earlier in the week, but the weather broke the day before. We all met at the golf course under beautiful blue skies and pleasing 75 degree weather. When we formed our foursomes, it ended up that I was in one with my ex and our daughters. It was also was my fourth time playing golf. Ever. I figured all of that added up to some good stories to relate.
We played "best ball" (even used my ball on a number of occasions) and I didn't have to go upside anyone's head with my 9-iron. The fact that we used my ball several times was an indication that either I'm better than we all thought, or they all suck. I'd say it wase actually a combination of the two. I did manage to lose two balls, but found three others, so I figure I came out ahead.
On the third hole the others had already putted and had done poorly. Jenni said, "It's up to you, Mom, save us." As I was lining up my putt, my ex grabbed his throat and started making choking noises. I glanced over at him, held up my putter and said "Don't forget, I am armed."
Basically, that was about it.
Blog-wise, a disappointing day.
Family-wise, a success. And that's what really counts.
Amazingly, no. Other than playing a not-so-hideous game of golf, the day was pleasantly uneventful.
The reason my ex and I were in a foursome was due to a family gathering for our daughter receiving her Master's Degree in Math Education. A year ago at this time, we had all gathered for her wedding. The day before the wedding, our son-in-law hosted the First Annual Ball & Chain Invitational. I didn't get to play because I was busy finishing the necklaces I was making for the wedding party.
When we gathered this year, it was decided we should hold the Second Annual Ball & Chain Invitational.
There had been a heatwave earlier in the week, but the weather broke the day before. We all met at the golf course under beautiful blue skies and pleasing 75 degree weather. When we formed our foursomes, it ended up that I was in one with my ex and our daughters. It was also was my fourth time playing golf. Ever. I figured all of that added up to some good stories to relate.
We played "best ball" (even used my ball on a number of occasions) and I didn't have to go upside anyone's head with my 9-iron. The fact that we used my ball several times was an indication that either I'm better than we all thought, or they all suck. I'd say it wase actually a combination of the two. I did manage to lose two balls, but found three others, so I figure I came out ahead.
On the third hole the others had already putted and had done poorly. Jenni said, "It's up to you, Mom, save us." As I was lining up my putt, my ex grabbed his throat and started making choking noises. I glanced over at him, held up my putter and said "Don't forget, I am armed."
Basically, that was about it.
Blog-wise, a disappointing day.
Family-wise, a success. And that's what really counts.
Saturday, July 30, 2005
OLDER THAN DIRT
Interesting birthday this year. Not only did I get to spend it with my parents, daughters and son-in-law; but my ex and his parents and sister were there. This was just a coincidence as we were all at my daughter's to celebrate her receiving her Master's degree.
While I was opening my gifts, someone asked how old I was (I think it was my younger daughter who will be finding coal in her Christmas stocking this year). Her dad leaned over to his sister, Kris, to urge her to resond to the question with "You're older than dirt."
Side note about Kris. About 15 years ago, she suffered a brain injury and now needs constant care. It is my firm belief that inside her head, she's the same woman and fully knows everything going on around her. There's just a short circuit that prevents her from communicating, among other activities.
Anyway, after my ex urged her to say "Older than dirt", she automatically parroted "Older than dirt" in her painstakingly slow manner.
I quipped, "Remember, you'ren older than I, so you are even older than old dirt." I glanced over and caught her expression of mock outrage. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes, and I saw her working her mouth. She had a comeback for that, but she couldn't form it.
Later, I reflected back when my ex and I were still married and before Kris' accident. When there would be a family gathering at my in-law's, my mother-in-law, Kris and I had an informal tradition on the last night. After the kids and husbands had all gone to bed, we'd meet in the kitchen and raid the refrigerator. Then while we'd finish up the home-made ravioli, roast beef, various cookies and cakes, we'd perform a post-mortem on the visit. There would be a lot of joking around and we'd eventually wake up someone with our laughing.
At one point this past weekend, I asked Kris if she remembered those times. Generally, if you ask her a question, she responds, "I don't know", until you press her and she'll eventually give you the correct answer. But this time, she turned to me and nodded her head "yes", that mischevious look in her eyes again. She wanted to tell me something, but couldn't get it out.
I miss her.
While I was opening my gifts, someone asked how old I was (I think it was my younger daughter who will be finding coal in her Christmas stocking this year). Her dad leaned over to his sister, Kris, to urge her to resond to the question with "You're older than dirt."
Side note about Kris. About 15 years ago, she suffered a brain injury and now needs constant care. It is my firm belief that inside her head, she's the same woman and fully knows everything going on around her. There's just a short circuit that prevents her from communicating, among other activities.
Anyway, after my ex urged her to say "Older than dirt", she automatically parroted "Older than dirt" in her painstakingly slow manner.
I quipped, "Remember, you'ren older than I, so you are even older than old dirt." I glanced over and caught her expression of mock outrage. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes, and I saw her working her mouth. She had a comeback for that, but she couldn't form it.
Later, I reflected back when my ex and I were still married and before Kris' accident. When there would be a family gathering at my in-law's, my mother-in-law, Kris and I had an informal tradition on the last night. After the kids and husbands had all gone to bed, we'd meet in the kitchen and raid the refrigerator. Then while we'd finish up the home-made ravioli, roast beef, various cookies and cakes, we'd perform a post-mortem on the visit. There would be a lot of joking around and we'd eventually wake up someone with our laughing.
At one point this past weekend, I asked Kris if she remembered those times. Generally, if you ask her a question, she responds, "I don't know", until you press her and she'll eventually give you the correct answer. But this time, she turned to me and nodded her head "yes", that mischevious look in her eyes again. She wanted to tell me something, but couldn't get it out.
I miss her.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Happy Birthday To Me
Today is my birthday, and I will be spending it on a road trip with my parents and younger daughter. We're driving across Misouri to attend my older daughter's graduation. She's getting her Master's in Math Education. I'm still amazed that two mathmatically-challenged people could create a math genius. Two negatives making a positive, I suppose.
Other items of note today: It is also Take your Pants for a Walk Day.
And...probably more important to most people, it's also Bugs Bunny's birthday.
Other items of note today: It is also Take your Pants for a Walk Day.
And...probably more important to most people, it's also Bugs Bunny's birthday.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
EVEN MORE FUN WITH TOOLS!!
My sister came in town for the weekend to help me with unpacking, organizing etc. At the moment, she's napping.
But earlier she painted the pantry, then we went to Lowes to buy new shelves for the pantry. This was not the quick trip I thought it was going to be.
I just wanted some boards that were 16.5 by 35. Oddly, shelves apparently come in every dimension but what I needed. We finally made our choice, but needed help to determine how to fasten the brackets to the wall. I spotted a guy wearing a vest that said "Customer service, I can help with anything." Then the name "Doug". He was standing by a counter and tossing something in the air, kind of bored. When he saw me approach, I swear he looked annoyed. "Oh, darn. I'm going to have to do something" was what his expression told me.
We showed him what we were buying and asked how to fasten them to the wall. He told us we'd have to go to hardware and get something called "butterfly sinker."
We toddled off to hardware in search of said butterfly sinkers. I had a feeling "Doug" made that up; that there is some sort of running joke among the guys wearing vests saying "Customer Service. I can help with anything." We'd get to hardware and would ask for a butterfly sinker only to have the guy there slap his knee and laugh saying "Doug sent you, didn't he. That guy! What a riot."
Or, we'd end up with some kind of fishing tackle.
We went through a series of customer-service-I-can-help-with-anything guys who gave us varying degrees of help. We finally found an older gentleman who looked at the toggle bolts we had been advised to use (which also have the name of butterfly sinkers --go figure). He asked us more questions, then took the toggle bolt/butterfly sinker away from us, gave me something else that looked less scary and wouldn't leave as big a hole in the wall.
As soon Carol wakes up, we'll see if it works.
Of course, if I start banging on nails to hang some pictures in the hallway, she might wake up earlier.
;)
But earlier she painted the pantry, then we went to Lowes to buy new shelves for the pantry. This was not the quick trip I thought it was going to be.
I just wanted some boards that were 16.5 by 35. Oddly, shelves apparently come in every dimension but what I needed. We finally made our choice, but needed help to determine how to fasten the brackets to the wall. I spotted a guy wearing a vest that said "Customer service, I can help with anything." Then the name "Doug". He was standing by a counter and tossing something in the air, kind of bored. When he saw me approach, I swear he looked annoyed. "Oh, darn. I'm going to have to do something" was what his expression told me.
We showed him what we were buying and asked how to fasten them to the wall. He told us we'd have to go to hardware and get something called "butterfly sinker."
We toddled off to hardware in search of said butterfly sinkers. I had a feeling "Doug" made that up; that there is some sort of running joke among the guys wearing vests saying "Customer Service. I can help with anything." We'd get to hardware and would ask for a butterfly sinker only to have the guy there slap his knee and laugh saying "Doug sent you, didn't he. That guy! What a riot."
Or, we'd end up with some kind of fishing tackle.
We went through a series of customer-service-I-can-help-with-anything guys who gave us varying degrees of help. We finally found an older gentleman who looked at the toggle bolts we had been advised to use (which also have the name of butterfly sinkers --go figure). He asked us more questions, then took the toggle bolt/butterfly sinker away from us, gave me something else that looked less scary and wouldn't leave as big a hole in the wall.
As soon Carol wakes up, we'll see if it works.
Of course, if I start banging on nails to hang some pictures in the hallway, she might wake up earlier.
;)
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
GLADYS KRAVITS GETS HER COMEUPPANCE
Well, last night, I was not the one watching the bizarre comings and goings of her neighbors. I was the one being watched.
(images goes wavy, sound of harps as we go back in time to last night; about 9:45)
I'm trying to finish up the dishes, laundry and dusting before heading to bed. I take a few minutes to get ready for bed and throw on a thigh-high nightgown. Nothing else. I then take a load of laundry down to the basement, using the stairs I share with the family on the other side of the duplex. After starting that load, I fold the towels that were in the dryer and bring them up. Then I get to my door and....
LOCKED!
Oh crap.
Meghan is at work until 10:00 and then is going jogging afterwards. After jogging, she and her friend sometimes go to her friend's house to talk about boys or watch tapes of The OC; so it could be midnight or after before she gets home.
My basement consists of two rooms; the laundry room and a semi-finished room that has a refrigerator, desk, table, two dressers and lounge chair. Sounds like I could comfortably wait there, right? OK, now imagine about 20 boxes, camping equipment, diving gear, biking gear, old computers, a treadmill and Christmas decorations crammed in with all of the furniture. Yeah, that's right. No room.
I go outside through the garage and look to see if any of the neighbors have their lights on so I can use a phone to call Meghan. I glance down at my nightgown and try to convince myself it can pass for a dress.
The lights are on at the next-door neighbors (not the duplex neighbors, J and his wife. The landlord told me they never answer the door). A woman in her 30's lives there. I saw her through her bedroom window the first night I moved in when she had her blinds pulled down to waist level. She was facing the window, and I know she's a natural brunette.
So, now I'm in her living room and seeing the rest of her, clothed this time; and she's seeing more of me than I really prefer. I stand with my arms kind of crossed in front of me, legs crossed, trying to act casual. I'm not pulling it off. Upon hearing my tale of woe, Liz is very sympathetic and hands me the phone. I get Meghan's voicemail and leave her a message. Liz offers to let me stay until Meg gets home, but since I don't know how long that could be and it's nearly 10:00, I decline and tell her I can sit on my porch until rescued.
So, I sit on the front porch and wait. It is a typical July night in St. Louis; hot and humid. After awhile, I realize that the porch light is shining on me like a spotlight, pointing out my stupidity to all the neighborhood. The light is also attracting bugs and they also seem to be attracted to the sweat on my neck and face.
I move to the lawn and out of the circle of light from the porch. J has worked out a deal to reduce his rent in exchange for mowing the lawn. Unfortunately, he has not done that since I moved in nearly a month ago. The grass is long and, it seems that tonight it is full of bugs crawling up my legs. I move back to the porch.
As it sit, I become aware of a large moth flying around the baskets of impatiens I have on the porch. After awhile, I decide it's a hummingbird. Then I realize it's not. It's a hummingbird moth. I've heard of them, but this was the first time I've seen one. I tell myself that if I hadn't been locked out, I wouldn't have seen it. OK, so I'm trying to find the positsive side of this. As I watch the moth, it starts to get blurry and I feel my head and limbs grow heavy. I remembered that I took a Tylenol PM before going down to the basement. It is kicking in.
Rats.
In an effort to stay awake, I decide to walk on the sidewalk in front of my house. So I walk back and forth.....and back....and forth.....and back. I am amazed how many cars look like my daughter's in the dark. None of them stop, they all drive by. Back and forth....back and forth.....back and forth.....I see a car I'm sure is hers; but from a block away, I feel and hear the "boom boom" coming from the speakers. I think "That had better not be her." It drives past me and I think "What and I thinking!?!? I don't care how loud the stereo is. I want her here now!"
Instead....back and forth....and back.....and forth....I am stumbling some due to the Tylenol PM. From the back of my fuzzy mind, I remember the story of the mother of an acquaintance who had a mental breakdown and was picked up walking around town in the middle of the night in her nightgown.
I go back to the porch.
I hear the phone ringing in the living room. Since it is now about 10:30, it has to be Meghan calling to see if I'm still locked out. A few minutes later, the phone rings again. I stand at the window, look at the phone and yell out to it, "I'm still locked out! Do you think I got in and didn't call you? I'm not stupid!" I become aware of my situation and know at this point, I cannot win that argument.
The phone stops ringing and I sit down again to wait. A voice yells out, "Hello!" I see a man in a tank top and shorts walking across the lawns towards me. He introduces himself as "John" and explains that he is moving in two houses away. He doesn't want me to think he is some weirdo moving boxes late at night. Then he looks down at my nightgown which is now clinging to me because of the sweat. There are also bugs stuck to it. He stops talking.
I explain that I'm locked out. He pulls his eyes off my chest and looks at my eyes, then points to his house and offers to let me wait at his place. I decline, explaining that help is on the way.
John proceeds to tell me his life's story, which I really don't hear. I am too busy taking inventory. He is tanned, buff and somewhere in his 40's. No ring. Small tattoo on his right shoulder. Geen eyes? Or gray? Hard to tell. He continues to talk, but I am now taking inventory of myself and am too aware of my nightgown, the sweat, the bugs and the fact that I can feel my hair curling in the humidity. It is not a good look.
I think John is up to his college graduation, and my daughter pulls up. I get the "what have you done now, Mother" look. John says, "well, I see your key has arrived. Good talking to you. I'll be in touch." With that, he touches my sweaty shoulder, turns and lopes off across the lawns, disappearing in the dark.
I meet Meghan at her car, attempt to explain things as she stares at my nightgown and turns to look at the retreating John. As I walk back to the house, I see a full moon riding high in the sky above the house.
That explains it.
UPDATE: It is now the next night. Meghan just got home and walked in the door while talking to her sister on the cell phone. I heard her say, "Yeah, so does she use her time wisely and work on organizing the basement? No. I find her sitting on the porch in her nightgown --and nothing else-- talking to some random guy!"
I feel a disturbance in the force....much like that of offspring drafting commitment papers.
(images goes wavy, sound of harps as we go back in time to last night; about 9:45)
I'm trying to finish up the dishes, laundry and dusting before heading to bed. I take a few minutes to get ready for bed and throw on a thigh-high nightgown. Nothing else. I then take a load of laundry down to the basement, using the stairs I share with the family on the other side of the duplex. After starting that load, I fold the towels that were in the dryer and bring them up. Then I get to my door and....
LOCKED!
Oh crap.
Meghan is at work until 10:00 and then is going jogging afterwards. After jogging, she and her friend sometimes go to her friend's house to talk about boys or watch tapes of The OC; so it could be midnight or after before she gets home.
My basement consists of two rooms; the laundry room and a semi-finished room that has a refrigerator, desk, table, two dressers and lounge chair. Sounds like I could comfortably wait there, right? OK, now imagine about 20 boxes, camping equipment, diving gear, biking gear, old computers, a treadmill and Christmas decorations crammed in with all of the furniture. Yeah, that's right. No room.
I go outside through the garage and look to see if any of the neighbors have their lights on so I can use a phone to call Meghan. I glance down at my nightgown and try to convince myself it can pass for a dress.
The lights are on at the next-door neighbors (not the duplex neighbors, J and his wife. The landlord told me they never answer the door). A woman in her 30's lives there. I saw her through her bedroom window the first night I moved in when she had her blinds pulled down to waist level. She was facing the window, and I know she's a natural brunette.
So, now I'm in her living room and seeing the rest of her, clothed this time; and she's seeing more of me than I really prefer. I stand with my arms kind of crossed in front of me, legs crossed, trying to act casual. I'm not pulling it off. Upon hearing my tale of woe, Liz is very sympathetic and hands me the phone. I get Meghan's voicemail and leave her a message. Liz offers to let me stay until Meg gets home, but since I don't know how long that could be and it's nearly 10:00, I decline and tell her I can sit on my porch until rescued.
So, I sit on the front porch and wait. It is a typical July night in St. Louis; hot and humid. After awhile, I realize that the porch light is shining on me like a spotlight, pointing out my stupidity to all the neighborhood. The light is also attracting bugs and they also seem to be attracted to the sweat on my neck and face.
I move to the lawn and out of the circle of light from the porch. J has worked out a deal to reduce his rent in exchange for mowing the lawn. Unfortunately, he has not done that since I moved in nearly a month ago. The grass is long and, it seems that tonight it is full of bugs crawling up my legs. I move back to the porch.
As it sit, I become aware of a large moth flying around the baskets of impatiens I have on the porch. After awhile, I decide it's a hummingbird. Then I realize it's not. It's a hummingbird moth. I've heard of them, but this was the first time I've seen one. I tell myself that if I hadn't been locked out, I wouldn't have seen it. OK, so I'm trying to find the positsive side of this. As I watch the moth, it starts to get blurry and I feel my head and limbs grow heavy. I remembered that I took a Tylenol PM before going down to the basement. It is kicking in.
Rats.
In an effort to stay awake, I decide to walk on the sidewalk in front of my house. So I walk back and forth.....and back....and forth.....and back. I am amazed how many cars look like my daughter's in the dark. None of them stop, they all drive by. Back and forth....back and forth.....back and forth.....I see a car I'm sure is hers; but from a block away, I feel and hear the "boom boom" coming from the speakers. I think "That had better not be her." It drives past me and I think "What and I thinking!?!? I don't care how loud the stereo is. I want her here now!"
Instead....back and forth....and back.....and forth....I am stumbling some due to the Tylenol PM. From the back of my fuzzy mind, I remember the story of the mother of an acquaintance who had a mental breakdown and was picked up walking around town in the middle of the night in her nightgown.
I go back to the porch.
I hear the phone ringing in the living room. Since it is now about 10:30, it has to be Meghan calling to see if I'm still locked out. A few minutes later, the phone rings again. I stand at the window, look at the phone and yell out to it, "I'm still locked out! Do you think I got in and didn't call you? I'm not stupid!" I become aware of my situation and know at this point, I cannot win that argument.
The phone stops ringing and I sit down again to wait. A voice yells out, "Hello!" I see a man in a tank top and shorts walking across the lawns towards me. He introduces himself as "John" and explains that he is moving in two houses away. He doesn't want me to think he is some weirdo moving boxes late at night. Then he looks down at my nightgown which is now clinging to me because of the sweat. There are also bugs stuck to it. He stops talking.
I explain that I'm locked out. He pulls his eyes off my chest and looks at my eyes, then points to his house and offers to let me wait at his place. I decline, explaining that help is on the way.
John proceeds to tell me his life's story, which I really don't hear. I am too busy taking inventory. He is tanned, buff and somewhere in his 40's. No ring. Small tattoo on his right shoulder. Geen eyes? Or gray? Hard to tell. He continues to talk, but I am now taking inventory of myself and am too aware of my nightgown, the sweat, the bugs and the fact that I can feel my hair curling in the humidity. It is not a good look.
I think John is up to his college graduation, and my daughter pulls up. I get the "what have you done now, Mother" look. John says, "well, I see your key has arrived. Good talking to you. I'll be in touch." With that, he touches my sweaty shoulder, turns and lopes off across the lawns, disappearing in the dark.
I meet Meghan at her car, attempt to explain things as she stares at my nightgown and turns to look at the retreating John. As I walk back to the house, I see a full moon riding high in the sky above the house.
That explains it.
UPDATE: It is now the next night. Meghan just got home and walked in the door while talking to her sister on the cell phone. I heard her say, "Yeah, so does she use her time wisely and work on organizing the basement? No. I find her sitting on the porch in her nightgown --and nothing else-- talking to some random guy!"
I feel a disturbance in the force....much like that of offspring drafting commitment papers.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
MORE FUN WITH TOOLS!!
The other night, I finished putting up the miniblinds. I had started this project before going on vacation and after the first couple of blinds , things had gone fairly easily. Monday night, I was going to put up the last two which were the ones to be installed in my daughter's room. God love her, Meghan is a tad (ha!) high maintenance; therefore, it should have been no surprise that her miniblinds were the ones to give me problems. To begin with, the windows were both 31" wide; but one of the blinds was 37" wide. Yet another trip to Lowes solved that.
The first blind went up easily. Then the last blind. The last screw. Jammed. It had about a half inch to go in and it stopped. It wouldn't go in and it wouldn't come out.
After the requisite amount of cursing, I went for the hammer and started working on it. I hammered at it. Then I tried prying it out.
The hammer broke.
It was now time to bring on the big guns. An old pair of Karen Scott chunky-heel pumps. One whack and it smacked that screw out of there.
At the next try, the screw jammed again, but it did come out MUCH easier. Then I moved the screw slightly to the left and was successful in completing the installation.
As my daughter and I stood back and admired my handiwork, we realized both blinds were about an inch too narrow.
Nuts.
And as I was putting away the drill, I found one of the drill bits had broken in half. That must have been what was jamming that screw.
The next day, we moved on to putting up pictures and wall hangings. That went fairly well, until I noticed that two small wooden shelves on either side of the Monet print above the piano are off by an inch. And I carefully measured and even used the level. But they were definitely off.
After checking the back of the shelves, I found that the holes were not in the same place; even though they are supposedly identical. To move either shelf would expose the holes already made in the wall.
I came up with an idea. My friend, Kathy, used to have a woodworking business, so I called her and she's going to bring over her tools and we're going to re-drill the holes in the back of the shelf. We're also going to drill holes in the back of the cabinet I'm converting into an entertainment center.
YIPPEE! WOOD SHOP!
And since I have a professional helping me, this should go well, right?
I'll keep you posted.
The first blind went up easily. Then the last blind. The last screw. Jammed. It had about a half inch to go in and it stopped. It wouldn't go in and it wouldn't come out.
After the requisite amount of cursing, I went for the hammer and started working on it. I hammered at it. Then I tried prying it out.
The hammer broke.
It was now time to bring on the big guns. An old pair of Karen Scott chunky-heel pumps. One whack and it smacked that screw out of there.
At the next try, the screw jammed again, but it did come out MUCH easier. Then I moved the screw slightly to the left and was successful in completing the installation.
As my daughter and I stood back and admired my handiwork, we realized both blinds were about an inch too narrow.
Nuts.
And as I was putting away the drill, I found one of the drill bits had broken in half. That must have been what was jamming that screw.
The next day, we moved on to putting up pictures and wall hangings. That went fairly well, until I noticed that two small wooden shelves on either side of the Monet print above the piano are off by an inch. And I carefully measured and even used the level. But they were definitely off.
After checking the back of the shelves, I found that the holes were not in the same place; even though they are supposedly identical. To move either shelf would expose the holes already made in the wall.
I came up with an idea. My friend, Kathy, used to have a woodworking business, so I called her and she's going to bring over her tools and we're going to re-drill the holes in the back of the shelf. We're also going to drill holes in the back of the cabinet I'm converting into an entertainment center.
YIPPEE! WOOD SHOP!
And since I have a professional helping me, this should go well, right?
I'll keep you posted.
Monday, July 18, 2005
PERSPECTIVE
In an ealier post, I had made light of neighborly nosiness.
I got to thinking more about that and developed a fair degree of empathy for my neighbors. They are two young kids with a baby living in only two rooms of their house because that is all the furniture they have. And for some reason, they avoid contact with other people; even to the point of only going in the basement at night.
Sad, isn't it.
Is there anything I can do? Something to think about.
I got to thinking more about that and developed a fair degree of empathy for my neighbors. They are two young kids with a baby living in only two rooms of their house because that is all the furniture they have. And for some reason, they avoid contact with other people; even to the point of only going in the basement at night.
Sad, isn't it.
Is there anything I can do? Something to think about.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
I'VE BEEN TAGGED -- FINISHED PRODUCT
Polly PI and I were outside playing hide and go seek. She snuck up behind me hiding behind the lilac bush, tapped me on the shoulder and ran away shouting "Tag! You're It and I'm The Girl with the Sparkly Pants!" She always switches games in the middle. I think it's her way of cheating to make sure she always wins.
(By the way, Polly is a former federal agent/former Medical Examiner/current Private Investigator and lingerie saleswoman at Carson Pirie Scott on State Street in Chicago. -- Some, all or none of the above may or may not have been made up)
So, here's my turn at this Internet meme (what's a meme?).
1 - Imagine it’s 2015. You are visiting the library at a major research university. You go over to a computer terminal (or whatever it is they use in 2015) that gives you immediate access to any book or journal article on any topic you want. What do you look up? In other words, what do you hope somebody will have written in the meantime?
I would look see if there had been any advances in mental health, both in the social acceptance of it as a disease and in the diagnosis and treatment. Then I would see if anything new has been developed to make it easier to cyberstalk old boyfriends. However, by 2015, my best bet for finding most of them would be to look through cemetary records....that is, if I could remember all of their names.
2 - What is the strangest thing you’ve ever heard or seen at a conference? No names, please. Refer to “Professor X” or “Ms. Y” if you must. Double credit if you were directly affected. Triple if you then said or did something equally weird.
Haha. I went to a forensic facial reconstruction conference so that I could learn to rebuild a face on a skull ---- Oh, wait. That was Polly's answer. I mean what can get stranger, weirder or neater than skulls? Um, I apparently slept through all of my conferences 'cause I can't think of anything. Other than finding new ways to conduct legal research, I got nuttin'. Oh, one kindamaybesorta interesting thing I learned at a seminar in dealing with work stress was tips on avoiding "Aunt Ninny". She's the voice in your head who only shows up AFTER you've made a decision and committed to an action. "Is that what you really want to do? How about this? Why didn't you think of that?" We were advised to ignore Aunt Ninny because you can never win with her in your head.
3 - Name a writer, scholar, or otherwise worthy person you admire so much that meeting him or her would probably reduce you to awestruck silence.
Maya Angelou. That woman is AMAZING!!!! All of the languages she's learned, her creativity and insight --- I am totally awestruck by her. I know someone who had lunch with her. This woman has a list of things to do in life and one of them was to have coffee with Maya Angelou -- and she ended up having lunch with her at Maya's home!!!!!
And, like Polly, I met Dave Barry along with Ridley Pearson. Beforehand, the three of us had a fun and sparkling converstion and they were so taken by my wit and charm that they invited me to join them and their wives later for drinks. When my Walter Mitty Moment was over and it was my turn to have them sign my books, I could barely remember my name.
I had a second chance the next night at an RBR concert. My friends and I were down in the moshpit and Dave comes dancing by with his guitar. I whipped out my cellphone to take his pic; only to get the message "memory card is full." I was so busy trying to delete enough to take a picture that I didn't get to enjoy the moment. My friend got to talk to him, and he told her that he had difficulty dancing, talking and playing guitar all at the same time, then he danced away, back on stage as my cellphone was asking me "are you sure you want to delete this file?" Booger!
4 - What are two or three blogs or other Web sites you often read that don’t seem to be on many people’s radar?
Christoblog Check out his columns and the Weekly Newz as well.
And Leetie; except that I wish she would update more often. (HINT!)
Now, who to pass this on to....
Leetie
Mr. Fisher from Will Blog for Guiness
and
Marie, the multi-national in Barcelona from Two To Tango
.....have fun, y'all!
(By the way, Polly is a former federal agent/former Medical Examiner/current Private Investigator and lingerie saleswoman at Carson Pirie Scott on State Street in Chicago. -- Some, all or none of the above may or may not have been made up)
So, here's my turn at this Internet meme (what's a meme?).
1 - Imagine it’s 2015. You are visiting the library at a major research university. You go over to a computer terminal (or whatever it is they use in 2015) that gives you immediate access to any book or journal article on any topic you want. What do you look up? In other words, what do you hope somebody will have written in the meantime?
I would look see if there had been any advances in mental health, both in the social acceptance of it as a disease and in the diagnosis and treatment. Then I would see if anything new has been developed to make it easier to cyberstalk old boyfriends. However, by 2015, my best bet for finding most of them would be to look through cemetary records....that is, if I could remember all of their names.
2 - What is the strangest thing you’ve ever heard or seen at a conference? No names, please. Refer to “Professor X” or “Ms. Y” if you must. Double credit if you were directly affected. Triple if you then said or did something equally weird.
Haha. I went to a forensic facial reconstruction conference so that I could learn to rebuild a face on a skull ---- Oh, wait. That was Polly's answer. I mean what can get stranger, weirder or neater than skulls? Um, I apparently slept through all of my conferences 'cause I can't think of anything. Other than finding new ways to conduct legal research, I got nuttin'. Oh, one kindamaybesorta interesting thing I learned at a seminar in dealing with work stress was tips on avoiding "Aunt Ninny". She's the voice in your head who only shows up AFTER you've made a decision and committed to an action. "Is that what you really want to do? How about this? Why didn't you think of that?" We were advised to ignore Aunt Ninny because you can never win with her in your head.
3 - Name a writer, scholar, or otherwise worthy person you admire so much that meeting him or her would probably reduce you to awestruck silence.
Maya Angelou. That woman is AMAZING!!!! All of the languages she's learned, her creativity and insight --- I am totally awestruck by her. I know someone who had lunch with her. This woman has a list of things to do in life and one of them was to have coffee with Maya Angelou -- and she ended up having lunch with her at Maya's home!!!!!
And, like Polly, I met Dave Barry along with Ridley Pearson. Beforehand, the three of us had a fun and sparkling converstion and they were so taken by my wit and charm that they invited me to join them and their wives later for drinks. When my Walter Mitty Moment was over and it was my turn to have them sign my books, I could barely remember my name.
I had a second chance the next night at an RBR concert. My friends and I were down in the moshpit and Dave comes dancing by with his guitar. I whipped out my cellphone to take his pic; only to get the message "memory card is full." I was so busy trying to delete enough to take a picture that I didn't get to enjoy the moment. My friend got to talk to him, and he told her that he had difficulty dancing, talking and playing guitar all at the same time, then he danced away, back on stage as my cellphone was asking me "are you sure you want to delete this file?" Booger!
4 - What are two or three blogs or other Web sites you often read that don’t seem to be on many people’s radar?
Christoblog Check out his columns and the Weekly Newz as well.
And Leetie; except that I wish she would update more often. (HINT!)
Now, who to pass this on to....
Leetie
Mr. Fisher from Will Blog for Guiness
and
Marie, the multi-national in Barcelona from Two To Tango
.....have fun, y'all!
Friday, July 15, 2005
I'VE BEEN TAGGED - work in progress
For those of you coming over here from Polly's site to see how I've answered the blog meme she passed on to me, I will work on that tonight.
That is all. Please resume your regular 'net surfing.
Thank you.
That is all. Please resume your regular 'net surfing.
Thank you.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
MIRROR MIRROR IN THE CAR
I got up too late to catch the 6:40 am bus; but decided if I put my makeup on at work, I might be able to catch it. I hurriedly showered, dressed, gulped my coffee (HOT!) and raced to the bus stop. I pulled my car into the parking space just in time to watch the bus pulling away. Flashing my lights and honking my horn did nothing except make people driving by look at me nervously.
Dang! I had 20 minute to wait; so I decided to use the time by putting on my makeup in the car.
Not going to do that again.
I got to work and looked at the results in normal light in the bathroom mirror. I'm surprised the bus driver didn't call me Bozo the Clown.
Dang! I had 20 minute to wait; so I decided to use the time by putting on my makeup in the car.
Not going to do that again.
I got to work and looked at the results in normal light in the bathroom mirror. I'm surprised the bus driver didn't call me Bozo the Clown.
Monday, July 11, 2005
PICS FROM NYC TRIP
We drove to New York, and did have the opportunity to have a chauffeur, my sister's boxer, Jackson. We politely declined the offer.
We almost lost my sister to some dudes on Harleys.
After finally negotiating the traffic in Manhattan and reaching our hotel, we went out in search of lunch. We decided we just wanted to grab a sandwich somewhere. I pointed out a sign and said, "There's a Su--- er, nevermind." They were all curious about what I was going to say because I was hysterically laughing. I finally told them that I saw a subway sign. In St. Louis, that means a sandwich shop. I defended myself by pointing out that I was sure I wasn't the only one who has ever made that mistake
My sis and I at the Yankees/Oriole's game. My daughter was sure I'd have trouble with Yankees' fans because I was wearing a Cardinal's shirt. We had no problems, and we saw other fans in Cardinals shirts as well. Smart people.
My daughter and niece at the game.
Jeff and I at the game. I keep wondering what he's looking at on the back of my head.
My niece, sister and daughter sitting on FDR Drive waiting for the fireworks.
Macy's fireworks. My skills as a photographer didn't do them justice.
Being a hometown kind of girl, I will admit to having a soft spot for the fireworks over the Arch. (photo courtesy of St. Louis Post Dispatch)
The fake-purse vendors and other knock-off vendors found us. The final tally:
1 Fooey Viutton
2 Fucci
1 Fake Spade
1 Nada Prada
1 Fake Burberry
1 Foach wallet
1 pair of Fauxley sunglasses
The Nada Prada was the ugliest green purse I've ever seen. My sister bought it. She has a tendancy to buy purses in ugly colors. A number of years ago, she bought a huge hideous fuscia-colored purse. Her husband named the color "pu$$y pink".
As we were buying this stuff in Battery Park, the word went out and other vendors descended on us; it was like a feeding frenzy. Rolexes, more sunglasses, glass cases. We had to run for our lives with that ugly green purse of my sister's flying behind us.
My daughter pointing out dead ducks in Chinatown. Hope Fed doesn't recognize anyone. Um... come to think of it, has anyone seen Federal Duck lately?
Moon over the Chrysler Building? Oddly, no. There was no full moon that night. We think it was a raindrop catching the light. This picture was taken from the Empire State Building.
Central Park. Ahhhhhhhh.
My niece and daughter in the lobby of our hotel as we were leaving to see Spamalot on Broadway.
After holding up that heavy torch and tablet all of these years, Lady Liberty decided to assume a reclining position the day we were there. I don't blame her.
This is the Registry Room at Ellis Island. My daughter's great grandmother on her dad's side went through here with $5.00 in her pocket and 5 young sons at her side. This room could be filled with thousands people waiting to be processed. Can you imagine standing in this room for hours and taking care of 5 young boys?
The girls were a little cramped in the back seat on the way home.
My daughter decided to stretch her legs. I bought odor eaters at the next stop.
On the way home, we stopped for dinner at the Oglebay Inn and Resort in Wheeling, WV. Beautiful scenery and great food.
That was the last picture; but not the end of the trip. We got to the Cincinnati area around 1:00 am and decided we had enough driving. Unfortunately, we had difficulty finding a room at the inn. Of course, we had started our search around Exit 25 off I-71; which is the exit to King Island Theme Park. We eventually did find a room -- just as I was getting ready to call some friends in the area (hi, Lab and BrianB).
And now I'm home. Sadly, while I was gone, elves did not surprise me by getting my things unpacked.
We want to thank Jeff and Jackie for giving us a great tutorial on surviving Manhattan and the subway system; and we thoroughly enjoyed meeting Wurm as well.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
What a Tangled Web We Weave When Trying to Sort Out the Power Cords
Note to friends and family: If I'm inexplicably missing for a period of time, please come check on me at home. I've most likely been strangled by a tangle of power cords.
At the moment, I am unpacking from my recent move and vacation; not a combined activity that I would recommend. While engaged in these activities, it has come to my attention that my world has suddenly become ensnarled by power cords. For my trip, I had my suitcase for clothes, my bag for toiletries and makeup, my laptop, a bag inside my purse that holds my camera, cellphone, iPod and Palm Pilot (large purse). Just for those four items, I needed another bag for the powercords. Oh yes, and then there's the suitcase for my shoes, but that's another story for another day.
While getting ready for the move, I threw away a boxful of unidentifiable power cords. Most likely they went to long forgotten Ataris, Nintendos, Gameboys and cellphones. As I sit in my living room surveying the jumble of partially unpacked boxes, I see power cords dangling outside of several of the boxes. There are cords for telephones, various computer equipment, audio/video equipment and some that are still unidentifiable but seemed a waste to pitch them. And amazingly, very few of them can be used for multiple pieces of equipment. And if they DO fit, there are the dire warnings to not use a power cord from another source as it could damage the item. I don't know whether or not that's true and don't want to risk the expense of being wrong should I conduct an experiment to find out.
As it is, my new home is too old for all of the electrical needs I have. In my room I already have outlets claimed by the TV, DVD player, telephone, DSL equipment, computer equipment, clock radio and lamp.
The living room has lamps, TV/CD/DVD equipment and a phone that I thought was acting strangely. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. It occurred to me that it only worked when the lamp was on. It turns out that it was plugged into the same outlet as the lamp and that outlet is operated by a lightswitch on the wall. Oddly, that is the outlet that is closest to that phone jack.
Because most of the outlets are already in use, it's somewhat challenging to recharge some of my battery powered equipment. At the moment, my camera is recharging in the hallway, my cellphone is in my daughter's room, the PalmPilot is perched on the bathroom sink while it charges up and my iPod is recharging in the kitchen.
I do have powerstrips, but they require a three prong outlet, and there are some issues there as only two of my outlets are fixed for three-prong plugs. Plus, it seems the makers of the powerstrips haven't caught up with technology themselves. The holes are too close together on some of them. A power strip that should hold 6 plugs actually holds three because most powercords have plugs that are about two inches wide.
Wow, that's a lot of electricity. It wouldn't be surprising at all to find out that the real reason for the power outage a year or so ago in the northeast was due to someone recharging all of their electronic equipment.
The vacation from which I just returned was a trip to New York City with my daughter, sister and niece. We all shared a room, and had about the same amount of re-chargeable equipment, which necessitated a schedule for recharging.
There was a brief scare, on my part, when it looked as though I had left behind the powercord for my PalmPilot. When I attempted to use the cord that I thought fit it, I was suprised to see that it was labeled "Black & Decker."
Oh, and speaking of tools; sadly, I lost a shoe on the trip. A beloved Liz sandal, which will be greatly missed.
Services will be private.
At the moment, I am unpacking from my recent move and vacation; not a combined activity that I would recommend. While engaged in these activities, it has come to my attention that my world has suddenly become ensnarled by power cords. For my trip, I had my suitcase for clothes, my bag for toiletries and makeup, my laptop, a bag inside my purse that holds my camera, cellphone, iPod and Palm Pilot (large purse). Just for those four items, I needed another bag for the powercords. Oh yes, and then there's the suitcase for my shoes, but that's another story for another day.
While getting ready for the move, I threw away a boxful of unidentifiable power cords. Most likely they went to long forgotten Ataris, Nintendos, Gameboys and cellphones. As I sit in my living room surveying the jumble of partially unpacked boxes, I see power cords dangling outside of several of the boxes. There are cords for telephones, various computer equipment, audio/video equipment and some that are still unidentifiable but seemed a waste to pitch them. And amazingly, very few of them can be used for multiple pieces of equipment. And if they DO fit, there are the dire warnings to not use a power cord from another source as it could damage the item. I don't know whether or not that's true and don't want to risk the expense of being wrong should I conduct an experiment to find out.
As it is, my new home is too old for all of the electrical needs I have. In my room I already have outlets claimed by the TV, DVD player, telephone, DSL equipment, computer equipment, clock radio and lamp.
The living room has lamps, TV/CD/DVD equipment and a phone that I thought was acting strangely. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. It occurred to me that it only worked when the lamp was on. It turns out that it was plugged into the same outlet as the lamp and that outlet is operated by a lightswitch on the wall. Oddly, that is the outlet that is closest to that phone jack.
Because most of the outlets are already in use, it's somewhat challenging to recharge some of my battery powered equipment. At the moment, my camera is recharging in the hallway, my cellphone is in my daughter's room, the PalmPilot is perched on the bathroom sink while it charges up and my iPod is recharging in the kitchen.
I do have powerstrips, but they require a three prong outlet, and there are some issues there as only two of my outlets are fixed for three-prong plugs. Plus, it seems the makers of the powerstrips haven't caught up with technology themselves. The holes are too close together on some of them. A power strip that should hold 6 plugs actually holds three because most powercords have plugs that are about two inches wide.
Wow, that's a lot of electricity. It wouldn't be surprising at all to find out that the real reason for the power outage a year or so ago in the northeast was due to someone recharging all of their electronic equipment.
The vacation from which I just returned was a trip to New York City with my daughter, sister and niece. We all shared a room, and had about the same amount of re-chargeable equipment, which necessitated a schedule for recharging.
There was a brief scare, on my part, when it looked as though I had left behind the powercord for my PalmPilot. When I attempted to use the cord that I thought fit it, I was suprised to see that it was labeled "Black & Decker."
Oh, and speaking of tools; sadly, I lost a shoe on the trip. A beloved Liz sandal, which will be greatly missed.
Services will be private.
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