Today was hair color and cut day, but it didn't go as well as planned. I arrived at the salon at 10:15 for my 10:30 appointment, confirmed with a phone call yesterday, only to find out that my stylist had made a mistake and my appointment was at 11:30. Not a big deal. I was hungry, so I asked her if there was a café nearby, and there was, so I walked over to it and decided that a spinach omelet was just what I wanted. No, no potatoes, no bread, no hot sauce: just a regular spinach omelet. When it was served, it looked okay, but when I took a bite I discovered that there was no cheese, so it was quite dry and chewy. I went back inside (I had been told to sit outside as there was no single seating inside) and asked the waitress if she could put some cheese on the omelet as it seemed to have been omitted. She said yes, but there would be an extra charge. I declined, went back outside, took a few more bites, and decided I'd had enough--and walked back to the salon wishing that Sparkle was with me to eat the rest of the omelet.
When it was finally my turn in the chair, I showed the stylist a picture of a heavily-layered style that I really like and asked if she could cut my hair into that style. She said "Of course," but then warned me that it would take me some time each morning to fix my hair--and I'd have to use product and tools. I told her I was willing to chance it as I really like the style, and she set to work. Color first because NO ONE in the desert of the female variety is allowed to have GREY HAIR! Whatever: it's only money to get the whole enchilada.
After a thorough rinse of the color processing, she began cutting and I asked her what style she had decided to cut. She said she was going to "heavily layer" my hair, cutting into the natural curl, which is what she's done in the past and I really like. She kept snipping and cutting, stepping back to check her progress, then doing some more snipping and cutting. When she finished, I still had hair (which hasn't been the case in my past), but it was cut kinda funny and was quite straight: no natural curl evident. It's a bit longer, which I like, but the top is really short (which I don't like), and I HAVE FRIGGIN' BANGS! No woman of a certain age should have bangs! They aren't flattering and they sure aren't cute, but there I was, staring at short straight hair with bangs.
Well, I have several cuts from Mary that I have loved, so I guess I'll have to give her this one. Tomorrow morning I'll wet it, walk the dogs, and see what nature and the winds do to style it. I already made a follow-up appointment for the Monday before I leave for the East Coast, so I'll wait to see if I want to keep that appointment based on the intervening month of me doing whatever the heck I can do with what I've got to work with.
Showing posts with label rambling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rambling. Show all posts
Monday, March 18, 2019
Thursday, April 12, 2018
Drained
I don’t know if I have it in me to knit one more fitted hat and matching fingerless gloves. When I cleaned out the yarn stash, I found a total of 7 skeins of either self-striping or ombre yarn, which is a subtle shading from darkest to lighter. I started with Y, and knit him a black/red striped hat. Didn’t have enough of the yarn to make matching gloves, but that remains in the to-do list as I can easily match either the bright red or the pitch black in a plain yarn hidden in my stash.
Next, I knit for Mindy, bright hot pink that is just for fun. I honestly don’t know why I bought that skein of yarn, but there it was and Mindy has a good sense of humor. Then I knit for Jack, making him primary crayon-color stripes on a black background. Turned out really cute, but I guess I can’t say that about something I made for a college man. Next came Rich, who got the blue ombre set of knit springwear that matches his new blue jacket I didn’t know he has. Then it was John’s turn, with manly brown tones, and, finally, the best of all the colors, the purple ombre yarn, which I finished up today and just have to box and mail to Melissa. Purple is one of my favorite colors, but I don’t wear it as often as I should because I never think to purchase purple.
I really like knitting hats and matching fingerless gloves, but I think I may finally have reached my saturation point: if I never knit another set, it’ll be too soon. However, dammit, I found one more skein of variegated yarn that I had put into the wrong plastic cubby, so when I feel up to it I’ll make that for myself as I’m the only one who doesn’t have a set of hat and fingerless mittens. I think the reason I overlooked this last skein is the color: it’s all bright fluorescent colors that won’t look good on anyone or go with anything! I don’t know how I ended up with it and can’t imagine that I actually bought it, but I’m going to set it out until it shames me into knitting it and getting it out of the reserves.
Yeah, I already know that I’m compulsive/obsessive, but just think of all the nice, warm knit sets that all my favorite family now have. The hats and fingerless gloves are perfect for the transition from winter to spring, so my product will come in handy for a couple more weeks as they all live on the eastern side of the country. Me? I live in the desert and it’s already been into the 90s! Guess there’s no hurry for me to knit up that last obnoxious skein of fluorescent variegated yarn.
Next, I knit for Mindy, bright hot pink that is just for fun. I honestly don’t know why I bought that skein of yarn, but there it was and Mindy has a good sense of humor. Then I knit for Jack, making him primary crayon-color stripes on a black background. Turned out really cute, but I guess I can’t say that about something I made for a college man. Next came Rich, who got the blue ombre set of knit springwear that matches his new blue jacket I didn’t know he has. Then it was John’s turn, with manly brown tones, and, finally, the best of all the colors, the purple ombre yarn, which I finished up today and just have to box and mail to Melissa. Purple is one of my favorite colors, but I don’t wear it as often as I should because I never think to purchase purple.
I really like knitting hats and matching fingerless gloves, but I think I may finally have reached my saturation point: if I never knit another set, it’ll be too soon. However, dammit, I found one more skein of variegated yarn that I had put into the wrong plastic cubby, so when I feel up to it I’ll make that for myself as I’m the only one who doesn’t have a set of hat and fingerless mittens. I think the reason I overlooked this last skein is the color: it’s all bright fluorescent colors that won’t look good on anyone or go with anything! I don’t know how I ended up with it and can’t imagine that I actually bought it, but I’m going to set it out until it shames me into knitting it and getting it out of the reserves.
Yeah, I already know that I’m compulsive/obsessive, but just think of all the nice, warm knit sets that all my favorite family now have. The hats and fingerless gloves are perfect for the transition from winter to spring, so my product will come in handy for a couple more weeks as they all live on the eastern side of the country. Me? I live in the desert and it’s already been into the 90s! Guess there’s no hurry for me to knit up that last obnoxious skein of fluorescent variegated yarn.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
It's Shorthand for Life
It’s a form of shorthand for remembering key ideas, and some well-known acronyms are commonplace in our language, such as SNAFU (Situation Normal/ All F---ed Up), SCUBA gear (Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus), 24/7/365 (24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year). We have LALL (Living And Loving Life), as well as CAVU (Ceiling And Visibility Unlimited). In this same vein, we have become accustomed to using key words to capture our life: Eat, Pray, Love; Live, Laugh, Love. Sometimes, it's just easier to use the key words/phrases than it is to process the question and then respond in a meaningful manner.
Lots of people use the word “fine” to respond when asked, “How are you?”, but the folks at Betty Ford say that’s an acronym for “Fucked Up, Insecure, Neurotic, and Escalating,” an interesting twist of shorthand. According to The Italian Job, “fine” means “Freaked Out, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional.” Sometimes, fine is just a shorthand way of saying, “I don’t want to talk about it,” or “My life is so fucked up right now that I don’t think I can talk about it.”
I was impressed with the brief comments made by the quarterback of the Kansas City Chiefs, a football team trying to get a handle on two deaths attributed to one of their players, his own suicide and the homicide of his live-in girlfriend, who was also his 3-month-old child’s mother. According to news reports, they had been dealing for many months with the stress of the professional football career demands, as well as personal relationship issues and financial matters. It all came to a head last Saturday with the two violent deaths, to which the quarterback responded in a press conference that we don’t really communicate with the people in our lives. We tweet what other people want to believe and we say the words that others want to hear, but we seldom, if ever, put down our electronic “social media” connections and really connect with people, both to talk with and listen to the people in our lives.
When we ask, “how ya doin?” and they respond “fine,” we both move on. What more is there to say?
I’m seeing a psychotherapist because my past caught up to my present and the resulting collision was unnerving. I am bi-polar, which is a chemical imbalance within my body, so sometimes I’m up (way, way up) and other times I’m down (way, way down), while other times I’m “fine.” I grew up in a family that didn’t talk about that, no matter what the “that” was, and we didn’t do that, again no matter what the “that” was. I learned to keep my own issues to myself, but because of my body chemistry, that was the worst thing I could do – and things found their own way out no matter how much I tried to keep them inside. Seldom was I “fine,” meaning okay, but more often I was “Freaked Out, Insecure, Neurotic, and Escalating.” I became fairly good at masking my behaviors, but everyone has to remove the mask sooner or later, ready or not.
Today, I had my weekly visit with Jennifer, who is a good therapist for me. I asked her if she was more “eat, pray, love” or “live laugh love,” and she chose the latter as being more positive, more out there, which is what I thought she’d say. She agreed with my choice, “eat, pray, love,” based on the several months we’ve been getting to know one another. I do pray, but not fervently or endlessly, and I prayed yesterday while I was driving to San Diego to see an elderly friend of mine. I just wanted our time together to be good because my friend has steadily deteriorated during the last several months. I spoke with her Sunday morning and enjoyed her upbeat, positive reaction to the fact that I was coming down. Of course, she had a list of things we were going to do.
When I arrived, my worst fear was realized: she had another “mini-stroke” Sunday and this time, it was openly obvious with the blank facial affect, the constant drooling, and her inability to process conversation and respond to it. Although I doubted the wisdom of our going out and about, she insisted, so that’s what we did. It was “fine,” but filled with the stress of knowing her physical condition was not stabilized nor steady from one minute to the next. She would begin to speak, then stop and drift off somewhere other than in the present. I returned her to her residence, tucked her in for a nap, gave her a hug and told her I love her, then drove back home knowing that was probably our last visit.
She’s supposed to be leaving today for holiday time with her daughter and son-in-law, but I doubt she can make that trip. If she does get to Colorado, I doubt she’ll return to California once her family sees the deterioration. They will want her closer to them so they can share what time is left.
The holidays are a difficult time for me in a good year, and I will do my best to enjoy this joyful season this year, too. I do love the food of celebration and I love cooking it as much as I enjoy eating it, so that will take my mind off the negatives. It’s challenging to believe that the year 2013 is so few days away, and my goal for the new year is to do at least one “something” that I enjoy, want to do, and can afford each month. This includes both a visit to Oregon and another visit to Canada, as well as shorter visits to friends who live in Nevada and Wyoming. If retirement is about travel, I’m about to travel!
To be continued … maybe
Lots of people use the word “fine” to respond when asked, “How are you?”, but the folks at Betty Ford say that’s an acronym for “Fucked Up, Insecure, Neurotic, and Escalating,” an interesting twist of shorthand. According to The Italian Job, “fine” means “Freaked Out, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional.” Sometimes, fine is just a shorthand way of saying, “I don’t want to talk about it,” or “My life is so fucked up right now that I don’t think I can talk about it.”
I was impressed with the brief comments made by the quarterback of the Kansas City Chiefs, a football team trying to get a handle on two deaths attributed to one of their players, his own suicide and the homicide of his live-in girlfriend, who was also his 3-month-old child’s mother. According to news reports, they had been dealing for many months with the stress of the professional football career demands, as well as personal relationship issues and financial matters. It all came to a head last Saturday with the two violent deaths, to which the quarterback responded in a press conference that we don’t really communicate with the people in our lives. We tweet what other people want to believe and we say the words that others want to hear, but we seldom, if ever, put down our electronic “social media” connections and really connect with people, both to talk with and listen to the people in our lives.
When we ask, “how ya doin?” and they respond “fine,” we both move on. What more is there to say?
I’m seeing a psychotherapist because my past caught up to my present and the resulting collision was unnerving. I am bi-polar, which is a chemical imbalance within my body, so sometimes I’m up (way, way up) and other times I’m down (way, way down), while other times I’m “fine.” I grew up in a family that didn’t talk about that, no matter what the “that” was, and we didn’t do that, again no matter what the “that” was. I learned to keep my own issues to myself, but because of my body chemistry, that was the worst thing I could do – and things found their own way out no matter how much I tried to keep them inside. Seldom was I “fine,” meaning okay, but more often I was “Freaked Out, Insecure, Neurotic, and Escalating.” I became fairly good at masking my behaviors, but everyone has to remove the mask sooner or later, ready or not.
Today, I had my weekly visit with Jennifer, who is a good therapist for me. I asked her if she was more “eat, pray, love” or “live laugh love,” and she chose the latter as being more positive, more out there, which is what I thought she’d say. She agreed with my choice, “eat, pray, love,” based on the several months we’ve been getting to know one another. I do pray, but not fervently or endlessly, and I prayed yesterday while I was driving to San Diego to see an elderly friend of mine. I just wanted our time together to be good because my friend has steadily deteriorated during the last several months. I spoke with her Sunday morning and enjoyed her upbeat, positive reaction to the fact that I was coming down. Of course, she had a list of things we were going to do.
When I arrived, my worst fear was realized: she had another “mini-stroke” Sunday and this time, it was openly obvious with the blank facial affect, the constant drooling, and her inability to process conversation and respond to it. Although I doubted the wisdom of our going out and about, she insisted, so that’s what we did. It was “fine,” but filled with the stress of knowing her physical condition was not stabilized nor steady from one minute to the next. She would begin to speak, then stop and drift off somewhere other than in the present. I returned her to her residence, tucked her in for a nap, gave her a hug and told her I love her, then drove back home knowing that was probably our last visit.
She’s supposed to be leaving today for holiday time with her daughter and son-in-law, but I doubt she can make that trip. If she does get to Colorado, I doubt she’ll return to California once her family sees the deterioration. They will want her closer to them so they can share what time is left.
The holidays are a difficult time for me in a good year, and I will do my best to enjoy this joyful season this year, too. I do love the food of celebration and I love cooking it as much as I enjoy eating it, so that will take my mind off the negatives. It’s challenging to believe that the year 2013 is so few days away, and my goal for the new year is to do at least one “something” that I enjoy, want to do, and can afford each month. This includes both a visit to Oregon and another visit to Canada, as well as shorter visits to friends who live in Nevada and Wyoming. If retirement is about travel, I’m about to travel!
To be continued … maybe
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Playing Chicken
Daisy has been disappearing, not responding to repeated calls of her name, which is unusual for my gregarious Jack Russell terrier lap dog. At night, she'll suddenly leap off the bed, barking loudly enough to wake the dead, and barrel through the doggie door to confront an unknown danger. Sometimes Mia joins Daisy in yard duty, but other times, Daisy is just missing. 
Yesterday, I caught her staring into the alleged easement at the back of the property line. It's a trash dump enhanced by two neighbors who toss anything they don't want in their backyard behind their fences, where I get to see it as a daily reminder of individuals' inconsideration. I used to climb back there and do a thorough cleaning twice a year, but since the neighbors walled off access, unless I'm willing to climb the chain link fence, the trash is going to continue to collect. 
What has caught Daisy's attention is a brazen errant rooster who apparently thinks he's safe on the other side of the open fence. Daisy stays absolutely silent and still for hours, watching and waiting for the rooster's bravado to lead it close enough for the kill. Believe me, I've watched Daisy stalk birds in our backyard, so I know how silent, but deadly, she can be, epecially when she's being taunted. I've seen roosters fly in the backyard when I was a child, so I know that one day, that rooster will be unable to resist the temptation to preen in front of Daisy from a perch he'll think is safe. And that's when Daisy will triumph: she's a master at playing chicken with birds!
It'll be a nice snack, but a huge mess -- especially if Daisy brings her kill inside to share with me.
What has caught Daisy's attention is a brazen errant rooster who apparently thinks he's safe on the other side of the open fence. Daisy stays absolutely silent and still for hours, watching and waiting for the rooster's bravado to lead it close enough for the kill. Believe me, I've watched Daisy stalk birds in our backyard, so I know how silent, but deadly, she can be, epecially when she's being taunted. I've seen roosters fly in the backyard when I was a child, so I know that one day, that rooster will be unable to resist the temptation to preen in front of Daisy from a perch he'll think is safe. And that's when Daisy will triumph: she's a master at playing chicken with birds!
It'll be a nice snack, but a huge mess -- especially if Daisy brings her kill inside to share with me.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Just Another Game
The Super Bowl has become just another football game: regardless of how well the teams play during the season, one team dominates the other in the final game of the season and the other looks inept. Tom Brady is a much better quarterback than yesterday’s game showcased, so it’s embarrassing to have to be "losing quarterback Tom Brady" for the coming season! Eli Manning stepped up to the plate and scored the homerun, but so what? who cares? I’d already seen all of the “hot, new commercials” a dozen times, the half-time show was like watching a bad foreign film without subtitles, and the actual football game was tedious. My vote? Take the “super” out of the bowl and just end the darned season already.
I did, on another track, receive a phone call from the manager of the McDonald’s at which I purchased the nastiest Angus mushroom burger ever. I complained at the chain’s website, provided the specific details of the outlet location, and figured nothing would come of it. My suggestion to the manager is to forget the mushrooms as they are not a product that does fast food well. Mine were black, shriveled, and slimy, not an appetizing accoutrement to any burger, so I threw the whole thing into the trash. It also featured Swiss cheese, although I said several times that I don’t eat Swiss cheese and requested yellow cheese instead. I don’t remember which fast food joint offers to do it my way, but it’s not Mickey D’s.
My Saturday plan was to attend the food truck event downtown, featuring 40 assorted food trucks accompanied by stars from the cooking shows (my favorite weekend pleasure), but 9,999 other people had the same thought. No parking; no easy access; and long, long lines at all the trucks. With an entrance fee of $10 to attend the event, then the cost of food (and calories) extra, I decided to return home and knit headbands for my dotter. Her ears get cold, but she isn’t a hat fan, so I made her an assortment that she can try for the coming cold spell the weather reporters keep predicting. If they work, fine, I can make more, but if they don’t, the ear warmers are easy to make and use up bits ‘n pieces from my stash of multiple boxes of yarn hidden in the guestroom closet.
My Discover card people contacted me again to remind me that Amazon.com is using my outdated card. Yep, I know that, and I keep changing the info on the appropriate page in the website, but evidently Amazon’s amazing technology does not allow for change. Guess I’ll have to switch out the card and delete the Discover card altogether.
Been watching movies at the theatre with my movie buddies, so have seen some outstanding movies, such as Albert Nobbs and Iron Lady, as well as a cute chick flick, One for the Money. Janet Evanovich has written a series (current: Explosive Eighteen) of TRNs (Trashy Romance Novels) that feature a female protagonist, Stephanie Plum, who jumps into a job as a bounty hunter because her cousin has a bail bond business and Stephanie always needs money. The setting is New Jersey, the family is Plum crazy, and it’s both the characters and the romance that help the series be so engaging. The major conflict is between Stephanie, her former boyfriend, Morelli, and the hot, really hot mystery man, Ranger, whose business is personal security. Throughout the 18 books in the series, I’ve taken sides, deciding that Morelli is a commitment, Ranger is for as long as he’s interested, and Stephanie is enjoying both at her whim, as well as theirs. What’s funny is that they both know they are sometimes almost simutaneously enjoying Stephanie in a carnal manner, but don’t seem to be as upset about that as I think they should be. Stephanie isn't even upset at that triangle: shouldn’t she at least see one into a relationship and then break it off if it’s not going to work before taking up with the other?
Yeah, I’m old-fashioned that way: one at a time, girls.
Finishing up with the two outstanding movies, Glenn Close’s portrayal in Albert Nobbs is without equal. The physical appearance of the character is entrancing because it’s difficult to distinguish between the woman actor and the fictional male character. The story is subtle, nuanced, layered as it builds from a quiet beginning to a silent fade-out. Close projects an intensity of emotion through her eyes that confirms the eyes as the windows to one’s soul, and she does this without moving another part of her body. When she meets “the painter,” neither she nor I is aware that he, too, is a woman in man’s clothing, doing a man’s job. That meeting becomes the pivotal moment of Albert Nobbs' life, the exact moment when his life begins to fade and her life begins to emerge. The film is, in the vernacular, A-MAAAA-ZING and an absolute tour d’force for Glenn Close.
The second film of note is The Iron Lady (starring Meryl Streep), which seems on the surface to be the story of Margaret Thatcher, Prime Minister of England, but is much more deeply the story of Margaret Thatcher, a woman whose political life becomes bigger than the sum of its personal parts. It is gut-wrenching to slowly realize that the old woman on the street is the same woman who carved a path into England’s history, but movingly poignant to accept that she is living her past again and again by keeping her deceased husband alive in her present. The day she finally throws away his suits and his shoes sent tears coursing down my cheeks as I realized that once she accepts the past, she also has to accept her present, and her present is devoid of the various forces that made her such a formidable woman. Not only was my heart on the screen, but it was also with my dear friend who is suffering from a slow mental decline herself, and reflected onto myself, especially the feelings of not being who I once was and not knowing who I currently am.
But, most importantly, I’ve been taking good care of my two girls, taking a walk every afternoon, and cuddling with them during the evening hours. I’ve been offered another female Jack Russell terrier, but that’s not a good idea either logistically or practically. The man up the street took the dog from his daughter, who has 4 other large dogs, and wants to find it a good home. He and I have exchanged pleasantries for the past year as I’ve walked past his home and greeted his little barkers, so I’m thinking that he told his daughter that he knows a patsy who will take the dog off their hands. Just sayin’. Mia is aging, but she’s still frisky enough to walk every day and strong enough to pull me to a sudden stop when she wants to sniff a bush, so I’m not ready to send her to the glue factory just yet. The problem is, of course, having someone stay with them when I want to travel, and that’s a problem often without solution, which means I stay home when I want to be gone.
Have some thinking to do.
I did, on another track, receive a phone call from the manager of the McDonald’s at which I purchased the nastiest Angus mushroom burger ever. I complained at the chain’s website, provided the specific details of the outlet location, and figured nothing would come of it. My suggestion to the manager is to forget the mushrooms as they are not a product that does fast food well. Mine were black, shriveled, and slimy, not an appetizing accoutrement to any burger, so I threw the whole thing into the trash. It also featured Swiss cheese, although I said several times that I don’t eat Swiss cheese and requested yellow cheese instead. I don’t remember which fast food joint offers to do it my way, but it’s not Mickey D’s.
My Saturday plan was to attend the food truck event downtown, featuring 40 assorted food trucks accompanied by stars from the cooking shows (my favorite weekend pleasure), but 9,999 other people had the same thought. No parking; no easy access; and long, long lines at all the trucks. With an entrance fee of $10 to attend the event, then the cost of food (and calories) extra, I decided to return home and knit headbands for my dotter. Her ears get cold, but she isn’t a hat fan, so I made her an assortment that she can try for the coming cold spell the weather reporters keep predicting. If they work, fine, I can make more, but if they don’t, the ear warmers are easy to make and use up bits ‘n pieces from my stash of multiple boxes of yarn hidden in the guestroom closet.
My Discover card people contacted me again to remind me that Amazon.com is using my outdated card. Yep, I know that, and I keep changing the info on the appropriate page in the website, but evidently Amazon’s amazing technology does not allow for change. Guess I’ll have to switch out the card and delete the Discover card altogether.
Been watching movies at the theatre with my movie buddies, so have seen some outstanding movies, such as Albert Nobbs and Iron Lady, as well as a cute chick flick, One for the Money. Janet Evanovich has written a series (current: Explosive Eighteen) of TRNs (Trashy Romance Novels) that feature a female protagonist, Stephanie Plum, who jumps into a job as a bounty hunter because her cousin has a bail bond business and Stephanie always needs money. The setting is New Jersey, the family is Plum crazy, and it’s both the characters and the romance that help the series be so engaging. The major conflict is between Stephanie, her former boyfriend, Morelli, and the hot, really hot mystery man, Ranger, whose business is personal security. Throughout the 18 books in the series, I’ve taken sides, deciding that Morelli is a commitment, Ranger is for as long as he’s interested, and Stephanie is enjoying both at her whim, as well as theirs. What’s funny is that they both know they are sometimes almost simutaneously enjoying Stephanie in a carnal manner, but don’t seem to be as upset about that as I think they should be. Stephanie isn't even upset at that triangle: shouldn’t she at least see one into a relationship and then break it off if it’s not going to work before taking up with the other?
Yeah, I’m old-fashioned that way: one at a time, girls.
Finishing up with the two outstanding movies, Glenn Close’s portrayal in Albert Nobbs is without equal. The physical appearance of the character is entrancing because it’s difficult to distinguish between the woman actor and the fictional male character. The story is subtle, nuanced, layered as it builds from a quiet beginning to a silent fade-out. Close projects an intensity of emotion through her eyes that confirms the eyes as the windows to one’s soul, and she does this without moving another part of her body. When she meets “the painter,” neither she nor I is aware that he, too, is a woman in man’s clothing, doing a man’s job. That meeting becomes the pivotal moment of Albert Nobbs' life, the exact moment when his life begins to fade and her life begins to emerge. The film is, in the vernacular, A-MAAAA-ZING and an absolute tour d’force for Glenn Close.
The second film of note is The Iron Lady (starring Meryl Streep), which seems on the surface to be the story of Margaret Thatcher, Prime Minister of England, but is much more deeply the story of Margaret Thatcher, a woman whose political life becomes bigger than the sum of its personal parts. It is gut-wrenching to slowly realize that the old woman on the street is the same woman who carved a path into England’s history, but movingly poignant to accept that she is living her past again and again by keeping her deceased husband alive in her present. The day she finally throws away his suits and his shoes sent tears coursing down my cheeks as I realized that once she accepts the past, she also has to accept her present, and her present is devoid of the various forces that made her such a formidable woman. Not only was my heart on the screen, but it was also with my dear friend who is suffering from a slow mental decline herself, and reflected onto myself, especially the feelings of not being who I once was and not knowing who I currently am.
But, most importantly, I’ve been taking good care of my two girls, taking a walk every afternoon, and cuddling with them during the evening hours. I’ve been offered another female Jack Russell terrier, but that’s not a good idea either logistically or practically. The man up the street took the dog from his daughter, who has 4 other large dogs, and wants to find it a good home. He and I have exchanged pleasantries for the past year as I’ve walked past his home and greeted his little barkers, so I’m thinking that he told his daughter that he knows a patsy who will take the dog off their hands. Just sayin’. Mia is aging, but she’s still frisky enough to walk every day and strong enough to pull me to a sudden stop when she wants to sniff a bush, so I’m not ready to send her to the glue factory just yet. The problem is, of course, having someone stay with them when I want to travel, and that’s a problem often without solution, which means I stay home when I want to be gone.
Have some thinking to do.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Let's Face It
Meg Ryan always had such a distinctive face, a face that could express without words what most of us were feeling as she captured character after character on the big screen. Then, in the middle of the Hugh Jackman film, the one where he's from the past, Meg's face changed into a scary Jack Nicholsonesque joker caricature: she had a face lift or reconstruction or something that completely changed her look -- and not in a good way. Since that change, I've been uncomfortable with her appearance, so I don't want to see her in films. Perhaps coincidentally, she hasn't been cast in many films since altering her facial appearance.
This past week, I taped a Christmas movie that features Melissa Gilbert, who has brought many chick flick TV characters to life during the past several years. I was horrified to see that the Melissa we all remember has been replaced with a Lisa Renna knock-off: big, fishy mouth and eyebrows way up on top of her forehead. Nothing cute or endearing about the finished product, and certainly NOT the look for a romantic lead in a light-hearted seasonal drama!! Her face became a distraction during the film and I found myself wishing that someone more youthful, more natural looking, had been cast instead of Melissa Gilbert.
It used to be that women who had "work done" came back from a two-week vacation looking rested, relaxed, smoothed out. No one really knew if she had "work done" or not because it was subtle, not startling. Let's face it: it's nice that public people have access to plastic surgery, to the quick pick-up that keeps them forever the way we remember. However, with all the excellent plastic surgeons available to people of means, how the heck did two of the top stars end up with such dramatic -- and not very flattering -- fixes?
This past week, I taped a Christmas movie that features Melissa Gilbert, who has brought many chick flick TV characters to life during the past several years. I was horrified to see that the Melissa we all remember has been replaced with a Lisa Renna knock-off: big, fishy mouth and eyebrows way up on top of her forehead. Nothing cute or endearing about the finished product, and certainly NOT the look for a romantic lead in a light-hearted seasonal drama!! Her face became a distraction during the film and I found myself wishing that someone more youthful, more natural looking, had been cast instead of Melissa Gilbert.
It used to be that women who had "work done" came back from a two-week vacation looking rested, relaxed, smoothed out. No one really knew if she had "work done" or not because it was subtle, not startling. Let's face it: it's nice that public people have access to plastic surgery, to the quick pick-up that keeps them forever the way we remember. However, with all the excellent plastic surgeons available to people of means, how the heck did two of the top stars end up with such dramatic -- and not very flattering -- fixes?
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Old Dogs; New Trick
Yesterday, I had a new doggie door installed, one that goes through the wall. The purpose was so I could actually use the slider out to the backyard as it has been blocked off with a patio door doggie door thingy, making the passageway pretty ... slim ... for humans to pass through sideways. The installation went very well, as did the over-the-stove microwave installation necessitated by the repositioning of the doggie door.
However, the dogs aren't too happy about their new door, especially Mia, who has hip issues. We positioned the door to accommodate her size, agreeing that Daisy will figure it out regardless of how we position it. The dogs were not included in that conversation; had they been, they would have argued for the lot of humans in their lives to lose weight, rather than moving the doggie door.
In the middle of the night, when night noises set Daisy off like a car alarm, she took off running from sleeping next to me to full protection mode in a heartbeat. I heard her hit the slider, where the doggie door used to be, followed by a yelp. No, she didn't figure out to take one step to the right and go through the doggie door -- she came slinking back to my bedroom, either chagrined or pissed. She must have explained the situation to Mia because she didn't move from her floor pillow once during the night.
Part of the problem is a double flap, one inside the house and one outside, which is great for inclement weather, but not so great for the dogs to deal with when they are used to one flap. I've used Velcro to fasten the inside flap to the frame until they get used to the new process, so we'll see how that works.
Meanwhile, I'm afraid the dogs of the neighborhood are going to get away with uncontrolled barking and roaming of the streets because neither Daisy nor Mia wants to deal with the doggie door to get outside for neighborhood watch duty. It would be funny, but I love my dogs and don't want them to hurt themselves until they figure out this new thing in their very comfortable old lives.
Addendum: I had to add "ramps" on either side of the wall-through as Mia's hips don't allow her to crawl through as easily as she did the former doggie door, and poor little Daisy can no longer simply soar through the flap and fly out the door. They will get used to the new door, but the meantime is going to be challenging.
However, the dogs aren't too happy about their new door, especially Mia, who has hip issues. We positioned the door to accommodate her size, agreeing that Daisy will figure it out regardless of how we position it. The dogs were not included in that conversation; had they been, they would have argued for the lot of humans in their lives to lose weight, rather than moving the doggie door.
In the middle of the night, when night noises set Daisy off like a car alarm, she took off running from sleeping next to me to full protection mode in a heartbeat. I heard her hit the slider, where the doggie door used to be, followed by a yelp. No, she didn't figure out to take one step to the right and go through the doggie door -- she came slinking back to my bedroom, either chagrined or pissed. She must have explained the situation to Mia because she didn't move from her floor pillow once during the night.
Part of the problem is a double flap, one inside the house and one outside, which is great for inclement weather, but not so great for the dogs to deal with when they are used to one flap. I've used Velcro to fasten the inside flap to the frame until they get used to the new process, so we'll see how that works.
Meanwhile, I'm afraid the dogs of the neighborhood are going to get away with uncontrolled barking and roaming of the streets because neither Daisy nor Mia wants to deal with the doggie door to get outside for neighborhood watch duty. It would be funny, but I love my dogs and don't want them to hurt themselves until they figure out this new thing in their very comfortable old lives.
Addendum: I had to add "ramps" on either side of the wall-through as Mia's hips don't allow her to crawl through as easily as she did the former doggie door, and poor little Daisy can no longer simply soar through the flap and fly out the door. They will get used to the new door, but the meantime is going to be challenging.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Prince$$: Living on the American Dime
I was transfixed by a TV show the other evening, entitled Prince$$, the goal of which is to confront a person who lives well beyond her means with the reality that a lifestyle demands a way to pay for it that does not involve leeching off one’s friends. The Prince$$ is a mid-thirties woman with literally no means of support who relies on her friends, as well as a now ex-boyfriend, to support a very lavish lifestyle to which she proudly claims she is entitled as she waits for her career as a famous singer to happen for her. An intervention was staged by people close to her, and a potential benefactor confronted the Prince$$ about her failure to realize just how close she is to total financial collapse and to living on the streets.
I have difficulty processing that there are people who live off the generosity of others and expect to do so as one of their God-given rights in their personal pursuit of happiness. When it was pointed out to Prince$$ that she needs to generate at least $2,500 a month in income by actually getting a job and going to work, she laughed because she doesn't work. It was also pointed out that her current lifestyle choices demand a monthly income of closer to $12,000 a month, a sum that the former boyfriend was partially paying out of pocket for her, including a current $900 cell phone bill, until he finally tired of being her ATM.
As an example of how totally out of touch with reality the Prince$$ is, after making sandwiches in a soup kitchen, then delivering them to the homeless living on the city streets, Prince$$, who failed to generate even a single dollar of actual income during the six weeks of taping, hailed a taxi to take her home!
The Prince$$ did audition for a job singing in a bar, but failed to show up for work because she didn’t want to take time away from her future singing career by working hours that could be spent in pretending she was already a successful singer. She arrived almost 2 hours late for a recording session arranged by the benefactor. The recording engineer told Prince$$ during the session she's just not that good, but the Prince$$ dissed his ability to recognize talent when he hears it. After being told by an agent that her voice is not professional quality, she became more determined than ever not to waste time even thinking about looking for a job, but to spend more time ... spending money she doesn't have for a career she also doesn't have.
After 6 weeks of being shown the future reality of literally living on the streets, the Prince$$ was shocked when her potential benefactor, who had offered a prize of $5,000 if the contestant came to understand that to pay for her lifestyle, she has to generate income, told her that because the benefactor had seen absolutely no behavioral changes whatsoever, there would be … nothing given to her in return. The Prince$$ screamed at the camera, "This is NOT the way this is supposed to end!"
There was no other way this episode could end: no free ride on the benefactor's dime and all the local homeless shelters are already filled beyond capacity.
A recent newspaper's very biased, unscientific poll asked readers to determine who is responsible for the downgrading of the US’s credit rating: Republicans, Democrats, or other. My choice: other, including each and every one of us. An individual’s early lifestyle often determines the financial decisions s/he makes as an adult, including rising above one's circumstances and achieving the American Dream or giving in to fate and living on the American Dime.
All too recently, the American economy bent and almost broke by picking up the mortgage defaults for all the people who wanted the million dollar mansion on a tract home budget! This kind of person’s thinking seldom goes beyond the “I want” stage because this individual does not hear the word no. If I am the type of person who believes in saving others from themselves, then I can be dragged into the morass with the Prince$$. The missing piece, however, is the individual’s impulsive emotional choices, rather than a decision-making process based on factual information. And one fact is that there are far too many government programs, such as Welfare, that allow people an income without requiring anything in return.
People have received entitlements since The Great Depression, entitlements that were meant to be a hand up, not a permanent hand-out. However, generations of families live on money provided by the government for food, subsidized housing, child care, and medical care. What these lifelong recipients often fail to realize is that the programs were meant to be short-term assistance funded by the taxes workers pay on their earned income. A person who does not pay taxes, but receives the benefit from those who do, drains the system dry. The system only works when entitlement programs help workers who temporarily need a short-term helping hand, not when people build a lifestyle based on public assistance.
When Congress repeatedly votes to extend benefits, it does so all the while knowing that there is no money to pay for those benefits in the long-term. Once a person receives the benefit, there is always a way to extend it far beyond the original intent of the program. There is no way to continue to pay for these programs without raising taxes, but no politician worth his voting record is going to just say NO to a potential voter who is living on the American Dime or ask a working supporter to pay more out of pocket for free entitlement programs!!
In order to receive Social Security, for instance, a person should have to pay into it, but Social Security has become a money pot for far too many other reasons than a retirement benefit for workers who paid into it for a minimum of 40 calendar quarters. Once an individual learns that s/he can receive free of charge what working people are required to pay for, it is not a big leap to accept the hand-out, rather than the offer of a temporary hand-up. Why leave the front porch when money can be earned by staying put?
It’s challenging for me to accept that politicians refuse to cut unnecessary spending from the country’s budget especially because they personally benefit from the bloated budgets. My free MediCare actually costs me $3649.90 annually, but my Congressional representatives pay nothing for their medical care. Let them pay a portion of their medical care, pay for their haircuts, purchase and drive their own cars, fill the gas tanks out of their salaries, and provide their own cell phones/usage plans – just as the rest of us have to do to stay within our personal budget constraints. Our leaders need to be the example they expect the rest of us to follow, rather than trying to blame [me] for wanting a Social Security benefit into which [I] have paid during a lifetime of working one, two, and even three jobs simultaneously.
If every American adult, working or not, donated $10 to pay off the debt, [as NetFlix said about their recent price increase, about the price of a Starbuck's latte], especially those who are receiving "free" government assistance, it would get the ball rolling in the right direction. Everyone needs to feel part of the problem if we ever expect to see a solution. As long as individuals feel entitled to free goods and services, there will continue to be free goods and services; if, however, anyone who receives an entitlement has to pay for it by donating time, labor, or services back to the community, we could turn this train wreck around. But, the ball has to roll downhill, not be pushed uphill on the workers' backs.
Verizon workers are striking because they refuse to give up even one cent of their salary or benefits: evidently, they’d rather see people lose their jobs than bend a bit themselves so others can continue to work. One of the most rabid of the union leaders averred, “We aren’t going backwards,” but to me, that’s the most backward of all our thinking.
Isn't that also the lesson we learned from our government leaders and Prince$$ this past month? No one is willing to budge from stuck on stupid.
I have difficulty processing that there are people who live off the generosity of others and expect to do so as one of their God-given rights in their personal pursuit of happiness. When it was pointed out to Prince$$ that she needs to generate at least $2,500 a month in income by actually getting a job and going to work, she laughed because she doesn't work. It was also pointed out that her current lifestyle choices demand a monthly income of closer to $12,000 a month, a sum that the former boyfriend was partially paying out of pocket for her, including a current $900 cell phone bill, until he finally tired of being her ATM.
As an example of how totally out of touch with reality the Prince$$ is, after making sandwiches in a soup kitchen, then delivering them to the homeless living on the city streets, Prince$$, who failed to generate even a single dollar of actual income during the six weeks of taping, hailed a taxi to take her home!
The Prince$$ did audition for a job singing in a bar, but failed to show up for work because she didn’t want to take time away from her future singing career by working hours that could be spent in pretending she was already a successful singer. She arrived almost 2 hours late for a recording session arranged by the benefactor. The recording engineer told Prince$$ during the session she's just not that good, but the Prince$$ dissed his ability to recognize talent when he hears it. After being told by an agent that her voice is not professional quality, she became more determined than ever not to waste time even thinking about looking for a job, but to spend more time ... spending money she doesn't have for a career she also doesn't have.
After 6 weeks of being shown the future reality of literally living on the streets, the Prince$$ was shocked when her potential benefactor, who had offered a prize of $5,000 if the contestant came to understand that to pay for her lifestyle, she has to generate income, told her that because the benefactor had seen absolutely no behavioral changes whatsoever, there would be … nothing given to her in return. The Prince$$ screamed at the camera, "This is NOT the way this is supposed to end!"
There was no other way this episode could end: no free ride on the benefactor's dime and all the local homeless shelters are already filled beyond capacity.
A recent newspaper's very biased, unscientific poll asked readers to determine who is responsible for the downgrading of the US’s credit rating: Republicans, Democrats, or other. My choice: other, including each and every one of us. An individual’s early lifestyle often determines the financial decisions s/he makes as an adult, including rising above one's circumstances and achieving the American Dream or giving in to fate and living on the American Dime.
All too recently, the American economy bent and almost broke by picking up the mortgage defaults for all the people who wanted the million dollar mansion on a tract home budget! This kind of person’s thinking seldom goes beyond the “I want” stage because this individual does not hear the word no. If I am the type of person who believes in saving others from themselves, then I can be dragged into the morass with the Prince$$. The missing piece, however, is the individual’s impulsive emotional choices, rather than a decision-making process based on factual information. And one fact is that there are far too many government programs, such as Welfare, that allow people an income without requiring anything in return.
People have received entitlements since The Great Depression, entitlements that were meant to be a hand up, not a permanent hand-out. However, generations of families live on money provided by the government for food, subsidized housing, child care, and medical care. What these lifelong recipients often fail to realize is that the programs were meant to be short-term assistance funded by the taxes workers pay on their earned income. A person who does not pay taxes, but receives the benefit from those who do, drains the system dry. The system only works when entitlement programs help workers who temporarily need a short-term helping hand, not when people build a lifestyle based on public assistance.
When Congress repeatedly votes to extend benefits, it does so all the while knowing that there is no money to pay for those benefits in the long-term. Once a person receives the benefit, there is always a way to extend it far beyond the original intent of the program. There is no way to continue to pay for these programs without raising taxes, but no politician worth his voting record is going to just say NO to a potential voter who is living on the American Dime or ask a working supporter to pay more out of pocket for free entitlement programs!!
In order to receive Social Security, for instance, a person should have to pay into it, but Social Security has become a money pot for far too many other reasons than a retirement benefit for workers who paid into it for a minimum of 40 calendar quarters. Once an individual learns that s/he can receive free of charge what working people are required to pay for, it is not a big leap to accept the hand-out, rather than the offer of a temporary hand-up. Why leave the front porch when money can be earned by staying put?
It’s challenging for me to accept that politicians refuse to cut unnecessary spending from the country’s budget especially because they personally benefit from the bloated budgets. My free MediCare actually costs me $3649.90 annually, but my Congressional representatives pay nothing for their medical care. Let them pay a portion of their medical care, pay for their haircuts, purchase and drive their own cars, fill the gas tanks out of their salaries, and provide their own cell phones/usage plans – just as the rest of us have to do to stay within our personal budget constraints. Our leaders need to be the example they expect the rest of us to follow, rather than trying to blame [me] for wanting a Social Security benefit into which [I] have paid during a lifetime of working one, two, and even three jobs simultaneously.
If every American adult, working or not, donated $10 to pay off the debt, [as NetFlix said about their recent price increase, about the price of a Starbuck's latte], especially those who are receiving "free" government assistance, it would get the ball rolling in the right direction. Everyone needs to feel part of the problem if we ever expect to see a solution. As long as individuals feel entitled to free goods and services, there will continue to be free goods and services; if, however, anyone who receives an entitlement has to pay for it by donating time, labor, or services back to the community, we could turn this train wreck around. But, the ball has to roll downhill, not be pushed uphill on the workers' backs.
Verizon workers are striking because they refuse to give up even one cent of their salary or benefits: evidently, they’d rather see people lose their jobs than bend a bit themselves so others can continue to work. One of the most rabid of the union leaders averred, “We aren’t going backwards,” but to me, that’s the most backward of all our thinking.
Isn't that also the lesson we learned from our government leaders and Prince$$ this past month? No one is willing to budge from stuck on stupid.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Ya Kin Callit Faux, But It's Still Fake
I'm gonna guess that we done run outta things ta talk 'bout 'til Tot Mom is released and we all can play "Where's Casey?"
In the desert, the big bruhaha is about faux landscaping elements designed to disguise cell phone towers. We have old-school, butt-ugly, plain metal towers, as well as faux trees of all sizes, shapes, and colors, and rocks in an assortment of sizes and shapes, but there just isn't any pleasin' the folks! The faux cell phone tower pine trees don't match the natural desert vegetation (duh!), so we planted faux cell phone palm trees -- that look just like cell phone towers disguised as FAKE palm trees. The vegetation response was to quiet the protestors about using plain ole metal cell phone towers, but this is the land of hundreds of HUGE metal windmills whirling the tourists into the Valley! Why not just hide the cell phone towers in the windmill fields and be done with it!
Now, the protests have targeted the faux rocks that just don't look ... rocky ... enough, to the point that critics are telling the cell phone companies to go out and round up some REAL desert rocks to surround the FAKE rocks so they look more "natural."
Okay, so you be the judge: is surrounding this huge faux rock with real desert rocks gonna work for you? Make the faux rock look more real? more natural? more like God placed it in the ideal desert location to generate more signal bars? Or is just about anyone who sees this gigantic FAKE rock in the middle of any natural environment gonna know that this is a FAKE rock?
Yeah, that's what I thought!
We just all have too much time on our hands to worry about far too many little things that don't warrant the time, the resources, or the expenditure of personal energy.
In the desert, the big bruhaha is about faux landscaping elements designed to disguise cell phone towers. We have old-school, butt-ugly, plain metal towers, as well as faux trees of all sizes, shapes, and colors, and rocks in an assortment of sizes and shapes, but there just isn't any pleasin' the folks! The faux cell phone tower pine trees don't match the natural desert vegetation (duh!), so we planted faux cell phone palm trees -- that look just like cell phone towers disguised as FAKE palm trees. The vegetation response was to quiet the protestors about using plain ole metal cell phone towers, but this is the land of hundreds of HUGE metal windmills whirling the tourists into the Valley! Why not just hide the cell phone towers in the windmill fields and be done with it!
Now, the protests have targeted the faux rocks that just don't look ... rocky ... enough, to the point that critics are telling the cell phone companies to go out and round up some REAL desert rocks to surround the FAKE rocks so they look more "natural."
Okay, so you be the judge: is surrounding this huge faux rock with real desert rocks gonna work for you? Make the faux rock look more real? more natural? more like God placed it in the ideal desert location to generate more signal bars? Or is just about anyone who sees this gigantic FAKE rock in the middle of any natural environment gonna know that this is a FAKE rock?
Yeah, that's what I thought!
We just all have too much time on our hands to worry about far too many little things that don't warrant the time, the resources, or the expenditure of personal energy.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Dog Days of Summer
Travel has been restricted by physical capability, but I finally felt that I could do this and took off for a couple of days. However, although I feel comfortable leaving Mia at home alone, Daisy is another matter. Fearing the worst if I left her alone, I decided that Daisy would travel with me. The RAV easily accommodates her canvas casita, as well as a bowl of food and a container of water, and since Daisy will settle wherever I put her little afghan, it was a done deal.
There is one hotel in Goleta that advertises it welcomes pets as guests, so that’s where I booked my 2-night stay. I should not, however, have assumed that welcoming pets as guests also means accommodating their needs. When I arrived and finished registering, I asked about the doggie area. Actually, they don’t have one, but I was welcome to take my dog to the back of the back parking lot, next to the freeway, where there was a bare 10x10 dirt area behind all the landscaping. Nope; not fenced, so Daisy has to be on a leash. Nope, not lit, so the late night potty routine would have to be completed before the sun set. Nope, not convenient when Daisy wakes up and 5 am and has to GO, NOW!
My complaint about the lack of pet accommodation led to the suggestion that I could take Daisy into the fenced pool area … where she was free to poop and pee … as long as no other guests were in the area at the same time. Wow. I was speechless. When I found my voice, I expressed health concerns about humans using the pool area after it has been used by family pets!! I would never sunbathe or swim in my dog run at home, so I was willing to bet money that paying guests would not like to spend time in the pool area if they knew that dogs were encouraged to use it as a potty place.
The room was pet friendly, but not so much the human: bare linoleum floors, with 2 wooden chairs, a plastic table, and a raised platform bed. No dresser or area to put the suitcase/unpack clothing, but lots of bare linoleum. I didn’t have to worry if Daisy used the floor in our room as a potty place because there was no way she would be using the pool area, and I was uncomfortable with the back parking lot area in the dark.
Perhaps I am not consciously aware of how much time Daisy spends going in and out of the house, but it did not take too long for me to realize how spoiled I am by the convenience of a 24/7 doggie door. We walked to the back bare spot a couple of times, as well as the full acreage of the shopping center surrounding us -- and this was the first hour after our arrival. I figured out very quickly that this was not going to work for me physically because there was no place to let Daisy off the leash to run and I am not yet physically able to walk her as much as she needed to be walked. I went on-line and found a nearby doggie park, so off we went to a really nice park, surrounded by huge oak trees, shaded benches, and lots of room for many dogs to play in peace.
I was surprised to find the park empty, and Daisy must not have been willing to run around by herself because she perched on my legs and sniffed the air. Finally, about ½ hour into our park experience, another owner showed up with a dog. When I questioned the lack of animals, she explained that “technically,” the park is only open from 8-10 AM, then from 3-8 PM, because the residents of the surrounding homes fought hard when this property was donated by a dog lover to become a protected dog park, but they lost. The only consession to the residents' concerns about "dogs barking 24 hours a day" is the restricted usage hours. The good news is that the sign posting all this info is completely obliterated, so my arrival at the wrong time was blissful ignorance.
The second day of our quick trip, Daisy had a great time at the doggie park the several times I took her there. She played with other dogs, then leaped onto a bench and sat next to me for a while. Yesterday, before driving back home, Daisy and I went to the park for an hour or so, arriving at 7:30 AM. However, not only did she not do her business, but she perched on my lap for at least 45 minutes!! It was a relief when another dog arrived, but after Daisy shared personal greetings, she ran back to my lap. When another dog arrived, she growled at it from my lap and that’s when I knew it was time to hit the road.
After a long drive that Daisy enjoyed soundly asleep in her canvas casita, we drove back into the garage to the sounds of Mia’s excited barking. I closed the garage door, let Daisy off her leash, and told her to go find Mia, but Daisy refused to leave the car!! She crawled back inside the casita, curled up, and seemed determined to stay there, so I picked it up with her inside and carried it into the house. She still would not come out, and when Mia sniffed at the open door, Daisy growled at her. It was at least an hour before Daisy came out, and then only to pee in the middle of the living room carpet. My best guess is that she was literally pissed at being back home. She refused to have anything to do with Mia or me until it was time for bed last night.
The main lesson from this little vaca is that many travelers take their pets, but I will not do so again. First, I was not aware that there are few, if any, rest stops between PS and SB. The last one I saw was an hour from home, in Cherry Valley; after that, I had to find an off-ramp with chain food outlets and landscaped planters so Daisy could at least pee. Next, the physicality of having to take Daisy out a dozen times a day because there was no fenced place for her did me in: I could barely get out of bed this morning and am so sore that I have aches where I didn’t know I had body. Additionally, even though I broke the trip into two, 2-hour segments, my back locked up tighter than a drum, making movement challenging and painful. I finally realize that I’m not ready to take off for the two weeks I planned, but need to up the physical exercise and strengthening activities before I plan another trip.
And, it goes without saying, leave both dogs at home.
There is one hotel in Goleta that advertises it welcomes pets as guests, so that’s where I booked my 2-night stay. I should not, however, have assumed that welcoming pets as guests also means accommodating their needs. When I arrived and finished registering, I asked about the doggie area. Actually, they don’t have one, but I was welcome to take my dog to the back of the back parking lot, next to the freeway, where there was a bare 10x10 dirt area behind all the landscaping. Nope; not fenced, so Daisy has to be on a leash. Nope, not lit, so the late night potty routine would have to be completed before the sun set. Nope, not convenient when Daisy wakes up and 5 am and has to GO, NOW!
My complaint about the lack of pet accommodation led to the suggestion that I could take Daisy into the fenced pool area … where she was free to poop and pee … as long as no other guests were in the area at the same time. Wow. I was speechless. When I found my voice, I expressed health concerns about humans using the pool area after it has been used by family pets!! I would never sunbathe or swim in my dog run at home, so I was willing to bet money that paying guests would not like to spend time in the pool area if they knew that dogs were encouraged to use it as a potty place.
The room was pet friendly, but not so much the human: bare linoleum floors, with 2 wooden chairs, a plastic table, and a raised platform bed. No dresser or area to put the suitcase/unpack clothing, but lots of bare linoleum. I didn’t have to worry if Daisy used the floor in our room as a potty place because there was no way she would be using the pool area, and I was uncomfortable with the back parking lot area in the dark.
Perhaps I am not consciously aware of how much time Daisy spends going in and out of the house, but it did not take too long for me to realize how spoiled I am by the convenience of a 24/7 doggie door. We walked to the back bare spot a couple of times, as well as the full acreage of the shopping center surrounding us -- and this was the first hour after our arrival. I figured out very quickly that this was not going to work for me physically because there was no place to let Daisy off the leash to run and I am not yet physically able to walk her as much as she needed to be walked. I went on-line and found a nearby doggie park, so off we went to a really nice park, surrounded by huge oak trees, shaded benches, and lots of room for many dogs to play in peace.
I was surprised to find the park empty, and Daisy must not have been willing to run around by herself because she perched on my legs and sniffed the air. Finally, about ½ hour into our park experience, another owner showed up with a dog. When I questioned the lack of animals, she explained that “technically,” the park is only open from 8-10 AM, then from 3-8 PM, because the residents of the surrounding homes fought hard when this property was donated by a dog lover to become a protected dog park, but they lost. The only consession to the residents' concerns about "dogs barking 24 hours a day" is the restricted usage hours. The good news is that the sign posting all this info is completely obliterated, so my arrival at the wrong time was blissful ignorance.
The second day of our quick trip, Daisy had a great time at the doggie park the several times I took her there. She played with other dogs, then leaped onto a bench and sat next to me for a while. Yesterday, before driving back home, Daisy and I went to the park for an hour or so, arriving at 7:30 AM. However, not only did she not do her business, but she perched on my lap for at least 45 minutes!! It was a relief when another dog arrived, but after Daisy shared personal greetings, she ran back to my lap. When another dog arrived, she growled at it from my lap and that’s when I knew it was time to hit the road.
After a long drive that Daisy enjoyed soundly asleep in her canvas casita, we drove back into the garage to the sounds of Mia’s excited barking. I closed the garage door, let Daisy off her leash, and told her to go find Mia, but Daisy refused to leave the car!! She crawled back inside the casita, curled up, and seemed determined to stay there, so I picked it up with her inside and carried it into the house. She still would not come out, and when Mia sniffed at the open door, Daisy growled at her. It was at least an hour before Daisy came out, and then only to pee in the middle of the living room carpet. My best guess is that she was literally pissed at being back home. She refused to have anything to do with Mia or me until it was time for bed last night.
The main lesson from this little vaca is that many travelers take their pets, but I will not do so again. First, I was not aware that there are few, if any, rest stops between PS and SB. The last one I saw was an hour from home, in Cherry Valley; after that, I had to find an off-ramp with chain food outlets and landscaped planters so Daisy could at least pee. Next, the physicality of having to take Daisy out a dozen times a day because there was no fenced place for her did me in: I could barely get out of bed this morning and am so sore that I have aches where I didn’t know I had body. Additionally, even though I broke the trip into two, 2-hour segments, my back locked up tighter than a drum, making movement challenging and painful. I finally realize that I’m not ready to take off for the two weeks I planned, but need to up the physical exercise and strengthening activities before I plan another trip.
And, it goes without saying, leave both dogs at home.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
On the News Front ...
The lady who asked for artificial sweetener in her coffee was given a packet of sugar, she drank, reacted, and headed for the ER because she's diabetic. This occurred in the drive-through at DUNKIN' DONUTS (smile); I seldom understand one word uttered by a drive-through attendant, so I'm pretty sure they don't understand me, either. Hence, I always double-check my order by asking that it be read back to me, and then I check again at the window. This event is unfortunate, but is it worth a lawsuit because the woman who drank the coffee claims that she could have died. Really? She drove herself to the ER, so although it was probably scary, I'm not convinced that she was in mortal danger from the one packet of sugar inadvertently added to the coffee she only partially drank. Surely an apology, and maybe free coffee for a month, but a lawsuit??
Hurrah: it's about time that society again demands real singers who sing real songs with real lyrics!! Okay, so we've had to return to the 1980s boy/girl bands to get it, but hurrah. Combining Backstreet Boyz with (aging) New Kids on the Block is sheer genius (oops, that's another reality show, isn't it?), great marketing, and totally appealing to generational audiences. At the same time, the girl band, the Go-Go's, were rocking it on another morning show. The crowds were singing along, swaying in the early morning air, while enjoying the heck out of performers without sun glasses or weird costumes singing melodies that accompany lyrics that tell a story, rather than rhyming words that end in "uck."
On the other side of the sound stage, Rhianna(or however you spell her name) singing about killing a man and portraying it in a video? Okay, so NOW I'm totally over the Chris Brown thing. Let's have an equally strong reaction to her actions as we had to his two years' ago: boycott her, condemn her in the media for her inappropriate actions, make her life a living hell, rather than elevating her to sainthood as the poster child for poor, abused women. She is now the abusive one, victimizing impressionable young children who worship her music and her message.
Tickets for Coachella are on sale and actually mentioned in the new TV series Franklin & Bash: "I already bought my 3-day Coachella pass," says Bash. Anyone who lives in the Valley knows that you have about 3 days to buy your pass because the sell-out happens almost overnight! The good news locally is that the festival promoters have booked all the acts for a double-weekend due to the incredible attendance. The bad news is that no one told the local residents before making this decision. Residents who live within 5 miles of the venue are pretty much land-locked for the duration. There were 4 weekend concerts during the "season," but now there will be 5 weekends that families are forced to stay in their homes and batten down the hatches. Probably would have been nice to include their concerns in the decision-making process.
My dogs became conditioned to going to the dog park far too quickly. Because it's 30 minutes one-way, I'm only making the trip twice a week; however, the dogs don't know how long the trip is, how much gas costs, or how tiring it is to take them to the dog park. They just want to go romp and stomp with the other dogs, so they lurk over me on the couch, constantly lick either my kneecap or my hand, and roll over for tummy scratching to show me that they want to go to the dog park every day, not just twice a week. We limped around the block last evening, my really poor substitute for the preferred experience, but one block is all I can make these days. On the dog front, I'm feeling like a personal failure, even though I did buy them a new squeaky ball at Wal-Mart and played fetch for a full half-hour.
My horoscope has been kick-ass this past week and continues to be positive. Told me about sudden, unexpected wealth -- and I found a 1942 wheat penny on the ground, as well as two quarters and two other pennies. Told me that there would be romance in my life, and the cute 40-something guy at the birthday cake shop was utterly charming. Told me that my head would be filled with creativity and lofty thoughts -- and I wrote this blog.
What more does the world want?
Hurrah: it's about time that society again demands real singers who sing real songs with real lyrics!! Okay, so we've had to return to the 1980s boy/girl bands to get it, but hurrah. Combining Backstreet Boyz with (aging) New Kids on the Block is sheer genius (oops, that's another reality show, isn't it?), great marketing, and totally appealing to generational audiences. At the same time, the girl band, the Go-Go's, were rocking it on another morning show. The crowds were singing along, swaying in the early morning air, while enjoying the heck out of performers without sun glasses or weird costumes singing melodies that accompany lyrics that tell a story, rather than rhyming words that end in "uck."
On the other side of the sound stage, Rhianna(or however you spell her name) singing about killing a man and portraying it in a video? Okay, so NOW I'm totally over the Chris Brown thing. Let's have an equally strong reaction to her actions as we had to his two years' ago: boycott her, condemn her in the media for her inappropriate actions, make her life a living hell, rather than elevating her to sainthood as the poster child for poor, abused women. She is now the abusive one, victimizing impressionable young children who worship her music and her message.
Tickets for Coachella are on sale and actually mentioned in the new TV series Franklin & Bash: "I already bought my 3-day Coachella pass," says Bash. Anyone who lives in the Valley knows that you have about 3 days to buy your pass because the sell-out happens almost overnight! The good news locally is that the festival promoters have booked all the acts for a double-weekend due to the incredible attendance. The bad news is that no one told the local residents before making this decision. Residents who live within 5 miles of the venue are pretty much land-locked for the duration. There were 4 weekend concerts during the "season," but now there will be 5 weekends that families are forced to stay in their homes and batten down the hatches. Probably would have been nice to include their concerns in the decision-making process.
My dogs became conditioned to going to the dog park far too quickly. Because it's 30 minutes one-way, I'm only making the trip twice a week; however, the dogs don't know how long the trip is, how much gas costs, or how tiring it is to take them to the dog park. They just want to go romp and stomp with the other dogs, so they lurk over me on the couch, constantly lick either my kneecap or my hand, and roll over for tummy scratching to show me that they want to go to the dog park every day, not just twice a week. We limped around the block last evening, my really poor substitute for the preferred experience, but one block is all I can make these days. On the dog front, I'm feeling like a personal failure, even though I did buy them a new squeaky ball at Wal-Mart and played fetch for a full half-hour.
My horoscope has been kick-ass this past week and continues to be positive. Told me about sudden, unexpected wealth -- and I found a 1942 wheat penny on the ground, as well as two quarters and two other pennies. Told me that there would be romance in my life, and the cute 40-something guy at the birthday cake shop was utterly charming. Told me that my head would be filled with creativity and lofty thoughts -- and I wrote this blog.
What more does the world want?
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
AH-HA, My Computer: I Fixed U
There are no short stories in my life, just really, really long ones that I try to abbreviate with limited success. That being said, one day I turned on my mini laptop and up popped a window that asked me a series of questions, to which I of course responded with agree until I finished with all the options. I have no idea what the questions were, why I responded to them, or why I ended up with a new network controlling my wi-fi, but that's what happened. I no longer could use my big laptop, nor access the internet on my TV, but I could use the mini to my heart's content.
Since that happened, I've asked everyone with proximity to a computer (1) what did I do and (2) how do I undo it? No positive responses, so life continued with me no longer able to use my big laptop because it required some kind of identification number about which I had no conscious knowledge. And then came today, when one of my international students came down to wish me a happy birthday and go out to lunch. He brought along his laptop, and after he logged onto my wi-fi, we now had a new network -- this one with his name and no idea how to either delete it or deal with it.
After a couple of hours of fretting and fussing, we went to lunch so we could ponder what had happened and what we were going to do about it. Nothing came to mind, so when we returned to my home, I suggested that I use the straightened paperclip and reset the router. AH-HA indeed: with all of the computers turned off, I reset the router and voila! I could once again log onto the wi-fi with the big laptop and access the internet on my TV, which meant the daily weather in my designated sites, as well as Netflix. We no longer saw the newest wi-fi network Yucheng created, and he was logged onto the same one as my computers.
My determination is that I no longer need to know what I did to cause the problem as long as I never power up the mini at my home. I'm sure that if I ever make that mistake again, I will have to deal with Yucheng's new network, rather than the former new one I inadvertently created, so I'm taping a note to the mini to remind me never to turn it on within range of my wi-fi.
When I can't fix a problem, I often find a work-around, and thankfully, I found one today that worked.
Since that happened, I've asked everyone with proximity to a computer (1) what did I do and (2) how do I undo it? No positive responses, so life continued with me no longer able to use my big laptop because it required some kind of identification number about which I had no conscious knowledge. And then came today, when one of my international students came down to wish me a happy birthday and go out to lunch. He brought along his laptop, and after he logged onto my wi-fi, we now had a new network -- this one with his name and no idea how to either delete it or deal with it.
After a couple of hours of fretting and fussing, we went to lunch so we could ponder what had happened and what we were going to do about it. Nothing came to mind, so when we returned to my home, I suggested that I use the straightened paperclip and reset the router. AH-HA indeed: with all of the computers turned off, I reset the router and voila! I could once again log onto the wi-fi with the big laptop and access the internet on my TV, which meant the daily weather in my designated sites, as well as Netflix. We no longer saw the newest wi-fi network Yucheng created, and he was logged onto the same one as my computers.
My determination is that I no longer need to know what I did to cause the problem as long as I never power up the mini at my home. I'm sure that if I ever make that mistake again, I will have to deal with Yucheng's new network, rather than the former new one I inadvertently created, so I'm taping a note to the mini to remind me never to turn it on within range of my wi-fi.
When I can't fix a problem, I often find a work-around, and thankfully, I found one today that worked.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Winding up the Week
This has been an interesting week, with little bits of this 'n that to keep it moving from one day to the next, including the reno of my bathroom shower, the site of the infamous fall last December.
Construction is tricky: no matter how detailed the plans, how thorough the process, the amount of materials purchased and on-site, the project always takes twice as long and goes over-budget! This project is no different. What I want is a basic tiled shower with two improvements: one, raise the shower head, which has always hit me right between the eyes, and two, move the shower head to the inside wall, on the same side of the bathroom as the toilet. By relocating the shower head, I can access the shower from the limited floorspace not occupied by the toilet and may (and I emphasize may) avoid a future fall. And, I wanted tile, not a prefab plastic surround.
Not fancy, just functional. My guys bought all the materials -- except not enough pvc pipe fixtures to relocate the condensation drain from the air conditioning unit on the other side of the bathroom wall. This piece of pvc pipe flopped loose behind the previous prefab surround, but had to be dealt with before any other step could be undertaken in the new tile shower. Next, we discussed the bench (I guess every shower needs a bench), and had to decide on both size and placement. I didn't like the look of a square box under the water handle, which would remain on the outside wall, and, in my opinion, provide me with an obstacle course. After discussing alternatives, I agreed to a smaller bench angled across the corner of the shower stall on the outside wall. Of course, there wasn't enough wood to reconfigure the bench, but, fortunately, I had bits and pieces from other jobs in the past couple of years, so he was able to cobble the new bench together.
Then, the little "box" inside the shower, the one that holds shower essentials, needed to be planned and framed in. Once that was completed, I realized that one small box was not adequate, so we added another box -- except the guys had not provided the contractor with adequate wood. This time, we took apart a wooden delivery pallet and reused the 4x4 frame. Then, we had to insulate the outside wall, except there was no insulation in the pile of material in the garage. Then, we needed to change the plan to put a 12x12" tile inside the little shower boxes because ... the guys bought 13x13" tiles, not the 12x12" tiles they told Rob they bought, and that was a different problem to work through (I simply went back to the big box store and bought 2 more sheets of the 2" tiles that will become the floor: problem solved, and no extra time spent cutting and fitting 13" tiles!!).
The biggest issue was the 13" tiles because the tile man spent a long time marking off the tile placement without checking the size of the tile first. Then, one of my guys called to tell him to include the band of glass tiles (in a separate box under the other two kinds of tiles) -- and that threw off all the new markings for the 13" tiles. The tile guy was far beyond frustrated, but he's a pro, so he sucked it up and stuck it out. At 7 pm last evening, knowing that he was driving back in a pouring rain storm, he finally called it quits for the day without quite reaching his goal.
The dogs complicate strangers in the house as Daisy runs like hell the instant she sees an opening. We spend too much time playing "Where's Daisy?" as the workers come in and out of the garage, but the rule is: you let her out, you go find her and bring her back home. Sure, the dogs can be outside when it's not raining, but it's been raining. I know Daisy was cold yesterday, especially after she came into bed with me and burrowed all the way under all the blankets, then curled up right next to my back to keep warm. I don't think she moved last night and was still huddled up next to me when I woke at 5 am.
Yesterday, I also had to contend with asthma issues, probably triggered by the "hot mop" guy who doesn't hot mop to water-seal the shower before framing and tiling. He used a propane torch to heat the tar paper and mold it in place, which generated a noxious odor. I kept all of the doors closed and the windows open, so thought it would not be an issue, but when I reopened the house yesterday for the next stage of the construction, there must have been more fumes than I could smell. By noon, I was done in, no energy, unable to breathe, relying on my inhaler to function. I tried to spend time outside, but it was so cold and windy that the fresh air didn't help my breathing issues. I canceled my class, which I seldom do, because it was not going to happen yesterday, and trundled off to bed as soon as Rob left.
Today, the tile guy says he will finish, one way or another, as he has another job tomorrow. This afternoon, I'm going to stay with my friend who had lung surgery for his cancer last week, while his wife goes to work, so will leave Rob to his business. My friend will probably sleep -- and I just may join him!
The good news is that I've made remarkable progress on one of my "using up yarn bits 'n pieces" afghans. This one is circles of various colors bordered with solid black in a granny square design, then made into 4x4 tiles sewn into strips that are sewn together to form the blanket. Once I have this middle part completed, I'll add another wide border around the outside and be done. Then on to the next using up yarn project already in progress: the knit squares made of half varigated and half solid colors. I'm stumped on how this is going to go together and look okay, but I'll get back to it after I finish the granny squares afghan.
It's been a long week, but each day has had interesting bits to it, so I simply keep on keeping on.
Construction is tricky: no matter how detailed the plans, how thorough the process, the amount of materials purchased and on-site, the project always takes twice as long and goes over-budget! This project is no different. What I want is a basic tiled shower with two improvements: one, raise the shower head, which has always hit me right between the eyes, and two, move the shower head to the inside wall, on the same side of the bathroom as the toilet. By relocating the shower head, I can access the shower from the limited floorspace not occupied by the toilet and may (and I emphasize may) avoid a future fall. And, I wanted tile, not a prefab plastic surround.
Not fancy, just functional. My guys bought all the materials -- except not enough pvc pipe fixtures to relocate the condensation drain from the air conditioning unit on the other side of the bathroom wall. This piece of pvc pipe flopped loose behind the previous prefab surround, but had to be dealt with before any other step could be undertaken in the new tile shower. Next, we discussed the bench (I guess every shower needs a bench), and had to decide on both size and placement. I didn't like the look of a square box under the water handle, which would remain on the outside wall, and, in my opinion, provide me with an obstacle course. After discussing alternatives, I agreed to a smaller bench angled across the corner of the shower stall on the outside wall. Of course, there wasn't enough wood to reconfigure the bench, but, fortunately, I had bits and pieces from other jobs in the past couple of years, so he was able to cobble the new bench together.
Then, the little "box" inside the shower, the one that holds shower essentials, needed to be planned and framed in. Once that was completed, I realized that one small box was not adequate, so we added another box -- except the guys had not provided the contractor with adequate wood. This time, we took apart a wooden delivery pallet and reused the 4x4 frame. Then, we had to insulate the outside wall, except there was no insulation in the pile of material in the garage. Then, we needed to change the plan to put a 12x12" tile inside the little shower boxes because ... the guys bought 13x13" tiles, not the 12x12" tiles they told Rob they bought, and that was a different problem to work through (I simply went back to the big box store and bought 2 more sheets of the 2" tiles that will become the floor: problem solved, and no extra time spent cutting and fitting 13" tiles!!).
The biggest issue was the 13" tiles because the tile man spent a long time marking off the tile placement without checking the size of the tile first. Then, one of my guys called to tell him to include the band of glass tiles (in a separate box under the other two kinds of tiles) -- and that threw off all the new markings for the 13" tiles. The tile guy was far beyond frustrated, but he's a pro, so he sucked it up and stuck it out. At 7 pm last evening, knowing that he was driving back in a pouring rain storm, he finally called it quits for the day without quite reaching his goal.
The dogs complicate strangers in the house as Daisy runs like hell the instant she sees an opening. We spend too much time playing "Where's Daisy?" as the workers come in and out of the garage, but the rule is: you let her out, you go find her and bring her back home. Sure, the dogs can be outside when it's not raining, but it's been raining. I know Daisy was cold yesterday, especially after she came into bed with me and burrowed all the way under all the blankets, then curled up right next to my back to keep warm. I don't think she moved last night and was still huddled up next to me when I woke at 5 am.
Yesterday, I also had to contend with asthma issues, probably triggered by the "hot mop" guy who doesn't hot mop to water-seal the shower before framing and tiling. He used a propane torch to heat the tar paper and mold it in place, which generated a noxious odor. I kept all of the doors closed and the windows open, so thought it would not be an issue, but when I reopened the house yesterday for the next stage of the construction, there must have been more fumes than I could smell. By noon, I was done in, no energy, unable to breathe, relying on my inhaler to function. I tried to spend time outside, but it was so cold and windy that the fresh air didn't help my breathing issues. I canceled my class, which I seldom do, because it was not going to happen yesterday, and trundled off to bed as soon as Rob left.
Today, the tile guy says he will finish, one way or another, as he has another job tomorrow. This afternoon, I'm going to stay with my friend who had lung surgery for his cancer last week, while his wife goes to work, so will leave Rob to his business. My friend will probably sleep -- and I just may join him!
The good news is that I've made remarkable progress on one of my "using up yarn bits 'n pieces" afghans. This one is circles of various colors bordered with solid black in a granny square design, then made into 4x4 tiles sewn into strips that are sewn together to form the blanket. Once I have this middle part completed, I'll add another wide border around the outside and be done. Then on to the next using up yarn project already in progress: the knit squares made of half varigated and half solid colors. I'm stumped on how this is going to go together and look okay, but I'll get back to it after I finish the granny squares afghan.
It's been a long week, but each day has had interesting bits to it, so I simply keep on keeping on.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
3-Legged Walk
Thursday night, about 10 pm, Daisy and Mia ran full bore out the doggie door to confront an intruder into their territory, probably the little white fluff-ball from down the street as it wasn't yapping like the little yapper a few more houses down. I heard a yelp from Daisy and, after about 30 seconds, Mia came thundering into the bedroom, barking at full intensity. She was upset and wanted me to come with her: NOW!!
Picking up a flashlight after strapping on my knee brace, I headed out behind Mia, who raced around the back of the house. Daisy was curled in a ball at the edge of the fence that separates my house from the house next-door. She was softly whimpering, so I leaned toward her and asked her what was wrong. She looked up at me with those big, brown cow eyes and actually allowed me to pick her up, something Daisy never does. I carried her into my bedroom, set her gently on the bed, and asked her again, "What's wrong, Daisy?"
Apparently, she hurt her leg, the one she curled up tightly against her body. I stroked her, wrapped her in a blankie, and settled in. At 10 pm, there's nowhere to take her, so we just had to get through the night. I couldn't see anything obvious, such as a snake bite, a cut, or a gunshot wound, which Mia had several years ago. Daisy spent the night curled up with me, trembling.
In the morning, she barely moved, so I called the vet's office when it opened at 8 am and scheduled an appointment for later in the day. Daisy spent the day either on my lap or curled up in the blankie next to me on the couch. When I set her down outside so she could go potty, she kept her injured leg curled up tightly against her body.
I should have taken Daisy to my former ortho surgeon because the vet had a hell of a time holding onto Daisy, much less examining her, then he concluded that he "wasn't seeing" what I was seeing, she was fine, and these things have a way of working out all by themselves. Really. So the trip wasn't a total loss, I had the vet give both dogs their shots and we left the office in a pouring rain, Daisy's leg still curled against her. More couch time followed our return home.
This morning, for the first time, Daisy put the leg onto the floor, briefly, and scampered toward the garage door: she wanted to go for her morning walk. I tried to reason with her, but when she limped around a bit, proving to me that she was ready for her leash and a walk, I got the girls ready and off we went. Daisy limped a bit at first, but once she started using her leg, she seemd to be okay. She did curl it back up by the time we were heading into the home stretch, but she does just fine on 3 legs.
The moral of the story is that I paid $150 for the dogs' shots this year because the vet was no help at all with the hurt leg. She's still favoring it a bit, but I guess it'll work itself out, the same way that my knee is "as good as it's going to get" and I have to learn to adjust to what is, not what I want it to be.
Always another lesson.
Picking up a flashlight after strapping on my knee brace, I headed out behind Mia, who raced around the back of the house. Daisy was curled in a ball at the edge of the fence that separates my house from the house next-door. She was softly whimpering, so I leaned toward her and asked her what was wrong. She looked up at me with those big, brown cow eyes and actually allowed me to pick her up, something Daisy never does. I carried her into my bedroom, set her gently on the bed, and asked her again, "What's wrong, Daisy?"
Apparently, she hurt her leg, the one she curled up tightly against her body. I stroked her, wrapped her in a blankie, and settled in. At 10 pm, there's nowhere to take her, so we just had to get through the night. I couldn't see anything obvious, such as a snake bite, a cut, or a gunshot wound, which Mia had several years ago. Daisy spent the night curled up with me, trembling.
In the morning, she barely moved, so I called the vet's office when it opened at 8 am and scheduled an appointment for later in the day. Daisy spent the day either on my lap or curled up in the blankie next to me on the couch. When I set her down outside so she could go potty, she kept her injured leg curled up tightly against her body.
I should have taken Daisy to my former ortho surgeon because the vet had a hell of a time holding onto Daisy, much less examining her, then he concluded that he "wasn't seeing" what I was seeing, she was fine, and these things have a way of working out all by themselves. Really. So the trip wasn't a total loss, I had the vet give both dogs their shots and we left the office in a pouring rain, Daisy's leg still curled against her. More couch time followed our return home.
This morning, for the first time, Daisy put the leg onto the floor, briefly, and scampered toward the garage door: she wanted to go for her morning walk. I tried to reason with her, but when she limped around a bit, proving to me that she was ready for her leash and a walk, I got the girls ready and off we went. Daisy limped a bit at first, but once she started using her leg, she seemd to be okay. She did curl it back up by the time we were heading into the home stretch, but she does just fine on 3 legs.
The moral of the story is that I paid $150 for the dogs' shots this year because the vet was no help at all with the hurt leg. She's still favoring it a bit, but I guess it'll work itself out, the same way that my knee is "as good as it's going to get" and I have to learn to adjust to what is, not what I want it to be.
Always another lesson.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
A Sheety Day
One day, while rambling through a linens' store, I came across the most incredible sheets I've ever touched. Not just creamy in color, but with a soft, creamy texture that ages remarkably well. After several months of luxuriating on this set of sheets, I decided to purchase another set as I did NOT want to become my mother, who slept on one set of sheets, washed them, and put them back onto her mattress before returning to bed that night. I always told her it was okay to have two sets of sheets -- or more, if she wanted them -- but she lived through the Great Depression and felt that one sheet was more than many people had -- you know, back then: half a century ago!
The high-end sheets I purchased didn't seem exactly the same as the ones I had purchased earlier, but they had the same extraordinarily high thread count and were within budget, so I purchased them. I washed them before use, an old habit, and then made my bed. Yes, they are soft, and have aged well, but they are wider than they are long, so they don't tuck in at the bottom and stay tucked. I've tossed and turned them loose at the bottom for about a year now, and even reverted to using the "better" set of high-end luxury sheets every day, washing and returning to the bed in one day (I'm sure my mother would approve).
Today, I decided that's it: I'm going to fix this tuck-in by adding to the bottom of the sheet, which will become the tucked-in part and not seen by the sheet police.
Much better!! And I didn't do this a year ago because ...
The high-end sheets I purchased didn't seem exactly the same as the ones I had purchased earlier, but they had the same extraordinarily high thread count and were within budget, so I purchased them. I washed them before use, an old habit, and then made my bed. Yes, they are soft, and have aged well, but they are wider than they are long, so they don't tuck in at the bottom and stay tucked. I've tossed and turned them loose at the bottom for about a year now, and even reverted to using the "better" set of high-end luxury sheets every day, washing and returning to the bed in one day (I'm sure my mother would approve).
Today, I decided that's it: I'm going to fix this tuck-in by adding to the bottom of the sheet, which will become the tucked-in part and not seen by the sheet police.
Much better!! And I didn't do this a year ago because ...
Monday, July 5, 2010
The Bombs Bursting in Air
I remember the excitement of past July 4th celebrations, when we crowded into the beach-front stadium to watch the fireworks bloom and sparkle over the Pacific Ocean shoreline. Uncle, a fire-fighter who often had to work the event, provided the tickets that allowed our little tribe to attend the event. The marching bands, the patriotic speeches, the enthusiasm of the crowd always made July 4 memorable.
July 4, 1985 I sat on the lawn in front of the orchestra shell at the Mall in Washington, DC, barely able to contain my emotions as the huge orchestra filled the seats on the stage, prepped the music on the stands, and tuned their stringed, wind, and percussion instruments. Military personnel in formal dress uniforms were everywhere, shining like Christmas lights and drawing the eye to the reason for the patriotic display. The performers were excellent; the tributes stirring; and the fireworks display awesome, especially when the 1812 Overture boomed across the sparkling skies, punctuated by live cannon fire and pierced by jetliners landing at the nearby airport.
This is America, the land of the free and the home of the brave, at its best.
Few Valley communities hosted fireworks shows and celebrations this year, the events cut from budgets straining to provide the basic necessities for residents reeling from the economic slowdown. I assumed that the neighborhood celebrations would be more widespread and bigger than in past years, so I prepared to grit my teeth and get through it safely.
Last night, I hunkered down and prayed that none of the bottle rockets whizzing overhead would score a direct hit. I kept the dogs locked up as literally hundreds of fireworks not just lit up the sky around me, but shook the earth from the concussive force of the explosions and rained debris into my yard and onto my roof. When the "safe and sane" fireworks were gone, the hand-held pistols added the coda to the night: bang, bang, bang; bang, bang, bang; bang, bang, bang. As I cringed inside my home, I prayed that the guns were being shot into the air and not aimed at my outside walls or fellow party-goers.
The crash house two doors down, the one with perhaps as many as two dozen occupants, had a fireworks budget to rival any small town. The missiles went aloft in all directions and showered my yard with the dying embers, as well as the house next door, the house behind me, the house across the street, and the empty lot. I kept a watchful eye on the hoses I stretched out, ready for use, in both the front and backyards, just in case. The neighbors next door to me, on the other side, added their stash of fireworks to the night sky, and then the house a couple down from me, across the street, lit up the night. Behind me, the live band played festive Mexican music as part of the host's extensive fireworks display.
Believe it or not, in an area devastated by wildfires that raged out of control for weeks, fireworks are legal. Anyone can buy "safe and sane" fireworks available to the families who want their own patriotic salute in their backyards, which is neither a safe, nor a sane, activity. Some communities, like mine, have a stipulation that the fireworks cannot be sent heavenward, but since the majority of the fireworks are bought in Mexico for use in nearby SoCal communities, the regulation means nothing to the revelers who want to have the biggest, the best, and the loudest celebration in town.
Could I call the police? Sure, but law enforcement has its hands full with the drunks, the gang fights, the traffic accidents, the everyday business of the cops in any community. It's best to just wait it out, hoses ready, and hope that the party-goers run out of incendiary devices before they start a home on fire or anyone gets hurt.
Happy Birthday, America! I'm so glad we celebrate your birthday once a year, and not more often!!
July 4, 1985 I sat on the lawn in front of the orchestra shell at the Mall in Washington, DC, barely able to contain my emotions as the huge orchestra filled the seats on the stage, prepped the music on the stands, and tuned their stringed, wind, and percussion instruments. Military personnel in formal dress uniforms were everywhere, shining like Christmas lights and drawing the eye to the reason for the patriotic display. The performers were excellent; the tributes stirring; and the fireworks display awesome, especially when the 1812 Overture boomed across the sparkling skies, punctuated by live cannon fire and pierced by jetliners landing at the nearby airport.
This is America, the land of the free and the home of the brave, at its best.
Few Valley communities hosted fireworks shows and celebrations this year, the events cut from budgets straining to provide the basic necessities for residents reeling from the economic slowdown. I assumed that the neighborhood celebrations would be more widespread and bigger than in past years, so I prepared to grit my teeth and get through it safely.
Last night, I hunkered down and prayed that none of the bottle rockets whizzing overhead would score a direct hit. I kept the dogs locked up as literally hundreds of fireworks not just lit up the sky around me, but shook the earth from the concussive force of the explosions and rained debris into my yard and onto my roof. When the "safe and sane" fireworks were gone, the hand-held pistols added the coda to the night: bang, bang, bang; bang, bang, bang; bang, bang, bang. As I cringed inside my home, I prayed that the guns were being shot into the air and not aimed at my outside walls or fellow party-goers.
The crash house two doors down, the one with perhaps as many as two dozen occupants, had a fireworks budget to rival any small town. The missiles went aloft in all directions and showered my yard with the dying embers, as well as the house next door, the house behind me, the house across the street, and the empty lot. I kept a watchful eye on the hoses I stretched out, ready for use, in both the front and backyards, just in case. The neighbors next door to me, on the other side, added their stash of fireworks to the night sky, and then the house a couple down from me, across the street, lit up the night. Behind me, the live band played festive Mexican music as part of the host's extensive fireworks display.
Believe it or not, in an area devastated by wildfires that raged out of control for weeks, fireworks are legal. Anyone can buy "safe and sane" fireworks available to the families who want their own patriotic salute in their backyards, which is neither a safe, nor a sane, activity. Some communities, like mine, have a stipulation that the fireworks cannot be sent heavenward, but since the majority of the fireworks are bought in Mexico for use in nearby SoCal communities, the regulation means nothing to the revelers who want to have the biggest, the best, and the loudest celebration in town.
Could I call the police? Sure, but law enforcement has its hands full with the drunks, the gang fights, the traffic accidents, the everyday business of the cops in any community. It's best to just wait it out, hoses ready, and hope that the party-goers run out of incendiary devices before they start a home on fire or anyone gets hurt.
Happy Birthday, America! I'm so glad we celebrate your birthday once a year, and not more often!!
Friday, April 9, 2010
One Step Forward; Two Steps Back
If the rest of the month continues the way it has begun, I'm gonna be in big trouble.
First, the knee specialist pushed my appointment back a week, so I'm still limping around and in constant pain! I'm irritated, but have no option, so have to wait it out. I'm taking the vicodin so I can work, but that simply masks the pain: when the pills wear off, it's still there.
Next, I applied for the MediCare stuff, mostly online, which was mucho convenient; however, it also became redundant! I provided both my street and my mailing address, assuming, as one may be prone to do, that mail would then be sent to my mailing address. Oh, no: I'm getting packets at the street and in my box! And, as if that were not enough to tax my patience, I'm getting duplicates!! This last week, I ended up with 3 copies each of 2 different packets -- and believe me when I say they are packets, not just letters.
One prescription plan packet had a little plastic card with my name on it and a warm, welcoming letter all about my new prescription plan, while the other 2 packets simply had a John Doe plastic card. All I had to do, the adhesive strip across the plastic membership card with my name on it told me, is call and verify enrollment. When I did that, I ended up re-enrolling another 2 times! I tried, I really tried to tell the three different people with whom I spoke in the course of this experience that I had ALREADY enrolled: I was simply calling to verify that enrollment and activate the membership card, the one with my name on it, not the two cards with John Doe on them.
No way. No person by my name or birth date in the computer data base, so we went all the way through it again, and then when I transferred to the prescription service number, we did it a third time. I dread finding out that I'm going to be getting 3 enrollment cards and 3 bills each month.
Then, my census form arrived in the mail two days after the postcard that told me I was going to receive my census form the next week. I filled it out the day I received it and mailed it the next day. Two days later, I received ANOTHER complete census form with instructions that told me if I had already completed a census form to ignore it, but if I had lost mine or not received it, fill this in and mail it out because ... "our records indicate that we have not received your census in the mail." Really? I guess the US Gov't has higher expectations for the US Postal Service than we citizens who actually use the service. We KNOW it's impossible to send something and have it arrive anywhere the next day, much less have the receiving agency open the envelope and process it the same day it's received.
What a total waste of time, money and resources. And now, those pesky census people are showing up in neighborhoods to ascertain why people haven't returned the form. I thought citizens had until April 30 to return the forms, so why are census workers already out checking? Must be stimulus money we're spending to artifically pump up the unemployment statistics.
And, since it's Spring in the Desert, a special time of the year when I open all the doors and windows to let nature into my humble abode, I bought the screen panel that fits on a spring rod inside the casing so I can take it down at the end of the open door season. Installed it to keep the flies out and allow the dogs to come in, but it seems to be working the opposite from my plan: the flies are coming in, but the dogs won't go out. Whatever.
I also bought those ugly sticky hanging fly catcher rolls to put by each open window and door as my house is abuzz with dozens of flies. Sure enough, the word went out to the fly community: come on down, boys! Snack time! This lady has that really good-tasting sticky fly stuff all over her house! Nah, you won't stick to it: we know how to make that not happen.
And, because I'm getting the new-to-me couch tomorrow, I bought one of Woolite's new shampoo sticks designed especially for high traffic areas and area rugs, exactly what I needed to clean. Well, I'm pretty good at following directions, and I even saw the commercial yesterday, so I was confident I could work this tool. Not. I assembled it, inserted the sample bottle of rug shampoo, and slowly drew the dark blue bristles toward me to spread the shampoo. Nothing until the last inch of the pull, and then a really scanty spattering of white foam. Removed the can of shampoo, shook it again, put it back in until it clicked, turned the lever to the spray icon, and did it again -- with the same results.
After literally a dozen tries at this process, I said to hell with it, opened the new can of spray on shampoo, sprayed the area rug, used the tool to work it into the fibers, and did just fine. Pretty expensive to get the stick to spray the shampoo onto the carpet if it won't do that, but the bristles on the brush did a great job of spreading the foam and picking up the dog hair. Probably could have used a push broom with stiff bristles and not paid for the fancy-schmantzy applicator, but I warned you that this is how my world is tilting this month!
Finally, I bought an array of colorful tees to wear until school is out and a package of iron-on appliques to pretty them up a bit. Because I bought the bargain bag of appliques, 40 pieces I thought might match a couple of the tees, I now have a bag of appliques that don't go with any of the tees!
Some days, it just doesn't pay to live in Lizaland.
First, the knee specialist pushed my appointment back a week, so I'm still limping around and in constant pain! I'm irritated, but have no option, so have to wait it out. I'm taking the vicodin so I can work, but that simply masks the pain: when the pills wear off, it's still there.
Next, I applied for the MediCare stuff, mostly online, which was mucho convenient; however, it also became redundant! I provided both my street and my mailing address, assuming, as one may be prone to do, that mail would then be sent to my mailing address. Oh, no: I'm getting packets at the street and in my box! And, as if that were not enough to tax my patience, I'm getting duplicates!! This last week, I ended up with 3 copies each of 2 different packets -- and believe me when I say they are packets, not just letters.
One prescription plan packet had a little plastic card with my name on it and a warm, welcoming letter all about my new prescription plan, while the other 2 packets simply had a John Doe plastic card. All I had to do, the adhesive strip across the plastic membership card with my name on it told me, is call and verify enrollment. When I did that, I ended up re-enrolling another 2 times! I tried, I really tried to tell the three different people with whom I spoke in the course of this experience that I had ALREADY enrolled: I was simply calling to verify that enrollment and activate the membership card, the one with my name on it, not the two cards with John Doe on them.
No way. No person by my name or birth date in the computer data base, so we went all the way through it again, and then when I transferred to the prescription service number, we did it a third time. I dread finding out that I'm going to be getting 3 enrollment cards and 3 bills each month.
Then, my census form arrived in the mail two days after the postcard that told me I was going to receive my census form the next week. I filled it out the day I received it and mailed it the next day. Two days later, I received ANOTHER complete census form with instructions that told me if I had already completed a census form to ignore it, but if I had lost mine or not received it, fill this in and mail it out because ... "our records indicate that we have not received your census in the mail." Really? I guess the US Gov't has higher expectations for the US Postal Service than we citizens who actually use the service. We KNOW it's impossible to send something and have it arrive anywhere the next day, much less have the receiving agency open the envelope and process it the same day it's received.
What a total waste of time, money and resources. And now, those pesky census people are showing up in neighborhoods to ascertain why people haven't returned the form. I thought citizens had until April 30 to return the forms, so why are census workers already out checking? Must be stimulus money we're spending to artifically pump up the unemployment statistics.
And, since it's Spring in the Desert, a special time of the year when I open all the doors and windows to let nature into my humble abode, I bought the screen panel that fits on a spring rod inside the casing so I can take it down at the end of the open door season. Installed it to keep the flies out and allow the dogs to come in, but it seems to be working the opposite from my plan: the flies are coming in, but the dogs won't go out. Whatever.
I also bought those ugly sticky hanging fly catcher rolls to put by each open window and door as my house is abuzz with dozens of flies. Sure enough, the word went out to the fly community: come on down, boys! Snack time! This lady has that really good-tasting sticky fly stuff all over her house! Nah, you won't stick to it: we know how to make that not happen.
And, because I'm getting the new-to-me couch tomorrow, I bought one of Woolite's new shampoo sticks designed especially for high traffic areas and area rugs, exactly what I needed to clean. Well, I'm pretty good at following directions, and I even saw the commercial yesterday, so I was confident I could work this tool. Not. I assembled it, inserted the sample bottle of rug shampoo, and slowly drew the dark blue bristles toward me to spread the shampoo. Nothing until the last inch of the pull, and then a really scanty spattering of white foam. Removed the can of shampoo, shook it again, put it back in until it clicked, turned the lever to the spray icon, and did it again -- with the same results.
After literally a dozen tries at this process, I said to hell with it, opened the new can of spray on shampoo, sprayed the area rug, used the tool to work it into the fibers, and did just fine. Pretty expensive to get the stick to spray the shampoo onto the carpet if it won't do that, but the bristles on the brush did a great job of spreading the foam and picking up the dog hair. Probably could have used a push broom with stiff bristles and not paid for the fancy-schmantzy applicator, but I warned you that this is how my world is tilting this month!
Finally, I bought an array of colorful tees to wear until school is out and a package of iron-on appliques to pretty them up a bit. Because I bought the bargain bag of appliques, 40 pieces I thought might match a couple of the tees, I now have a bag of appliques that don't go with any of the tees!
Some days, it just doesn't pay to live in Lizaland.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
What a Day
I finished the primer coat on all the windows and got most of the office space painted, as well as the last wall in the guest room -- but then I locked myself out of the house! Sure, there are keys here and there, but none outside, so I was stuck. The knob on the screen door was locked and it wouldn't budge. Mia sat in the doorway, wondering when I was going to come back inside.
Believe it or not, a friend who stopped by squeezed through the doggie door and let me back into my house!
I am so tired that I cannot believe it and want to go take a shower, but Mike is supposed to be here to install the blinds -- so I'm waiting. I do that a lot with people I hire to do projects. Wait, that is.
At this point, whatever. It's just been one of those days.
Believe it or not, a friend who stopped by squeezed through the doggie door and let me back into my house!
I am so tired that I cannot believe it and want to go take a shower, but Mike is supposed to be here to install the blinds -- so I'm waiting. I do that a lot with people I hire to do projects. Wait, that is.
At this point, whatever. It's just been one of those days.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Gathering Together
M & J's daylong journey to the desert went well, with arrival occurring after a half-dozen intermediate stops along the way. When I look at a map, it's a pretty direct flight path from PA to CA, but it gains distance when it's via Chicago, then LAX, not to mention the added hours spent sitting in an airport terminal. We left the local 'port for a nearby restaurant because a 5 pm arrival meant the peak of the cross I-10 logjamb, which occurs between 6-9 am and 4-6 pm. OF course, we ordered too much food, so packing up our to-go boxes, we finally headed across the freeway to my little abode in the desert dusk.
Earlier that morning, finally deciding that the pinkish lavendar color was not working, I repainted the closet doors the same color as the walls, an excellent decision with which my dotter agreed. I left the small stripes of ribbon trim I glued to the gold door frame, softening the brassy metal in the main colors for the interior decor. I explained that the new door got caught up in the holiday rush, so would not be installed until the coming week, but my dotter likes the new colors and agreed that the access to the outside is going to be a plus feature to the floorplan.
(Update: I talked to the Valspar rep, who explained that the return policy on their paint does cover performance issues, but not color selection. He asked me to send him the receipt for a full refund, which I have done. He's going to contact Lowe's and reinforce the policy about performance refunds as he explained that about 95% of their paint products are mixed colors, which means that no one could ever return a paint product if refunds were based solely on color choice.)
Dotter and I grabbed a bottle of wine and headed outside to the chiminea for the wind-down to bedtime, as well as the opening of the b'day gifts: 2 pieces of jewelry and 2 boxes of See's candy. When I had queried pumpkin or pecan, as in pie, the response was, "See's candy," both boxes of which disappeared into the guest room and have not resurfaced. For a twelve-year-old, it's a challenge to understand that yes, it's only 8 pm in CA, but that means that last night, it was 11 pm, and the time change added to 10 hours of travel would add up to a crash and burn ... soon. We made it to 9 pm before all lights were out.
T'day, it was totally fun to cook with dotter, play a few games with g'son, and then clean up the ensuing kitchen mess. Dotter went for her run, still prepping for the charity event she entered, while g'son and I drove to a friend's house to borrow a couple of bikes. He wanted something to do, but CA law requires a helmet, so off to K-Mart down the block. I also taught him how to make a Mexican left-over casserole, which features tortillas, onions, cheese, black olives and left-over chicken, turkey, pork or beef. We'll heat and eat this meal Saturday evening after they come back from visiting dotter's hometown and some local friends.
I also had bought a couple of Nintendo games to keep g'son company, but my selections weren't so hot, so another trip to K-Mart to find a specific game he discovered in one of the airport terminals. Yep, they had one game left, which I bought and is a great success. However, when we put the DVD into the player for the Star Wars film, it wouldn't play. It didn't just freeze; it also skipped randomly through scenes and restarted the beginning a couple of times. We tried it on the laptop, but it wouldn't play, so another trip to KMart for a replacement, which also would not play in the DVD player. We hooked up the laptop again and crowded around the coffee table, but honestly -- no one could hear the sound!! We tried 2 different sets of external speakers, but still could not hear a word the characters were saying, so I grabbed the guest room TV from the office and we huddled around the little TV with the built-in DVD player and nice, LOUD sound, and watched the movie, which was pretty good.
As dotter says, "They began the series again with new, young characters, so we can have even more SW sequeals as all of these characters age!"
Today, they head up the hill for a visit with dotter's dad and his new family, which includes a son g'son's age. I have some housecleaning to do, as well as some prep work for Monday's classes, which means I can putter about a bit. They return tomorrow evening, which gives us Sunday to share before they depart early Monday morning.
Earlier that morning, finally deciding that the pinkish lavendar color was not working, I repainted the closet doors the same color as the walls, an excellent decision with which my dotter agreed. I left the small stripes of ribbon trim I glued to the gold door frame, softening the brassy metal in the main colors for the interior decor. I explained that the new door got caught up in the holiday rush, so would not be installed until the coming week, but my dotter likes the new colors and agreed that the access to the outside is going to be a plus feature to the floorplan.
(Update: I talked to the Valspar rep, who explained that the return policy on their paint does cover performance issues, but not color selection. He asked me to send him the receipt for a full refund, which I have done. He's going to contact Lowe's and reinforce the policy about performance refunds as he explained that about 95% of their paint products are mixed colors, which means that no one could ever return a paint product if refunds were based solely on color choice.)
Dotter and I grabbed a bottle of wine and headed outside to the chiminea for the wind-down to bedtime, as well as the opening of the b'day gifts: 2 pieces of jewelry and 2 boxes of See's candy. When I had queried pumpkin or pecan, as in pie, the response was, "See's candy," both boxes of which disappeared into the guest room and have not resurfaced. For a twelve-year-old, it's a challenge to understand that yes, it's only 8 pm in CA, but that means that last night, it was 11 pm, and the time change added to 10 hours of travel would add up to a crash and burn ... soon. We made it to 9 pm before all lights were out.
T'day, it was totally fun to cook with dotter, play a few games with g'son, and then clean up the ensuing kitchen mess. Dotter went for her run, still prepping for the charity event she entered, while g'son and I drove to a friend's house to borrow a couple of bikes. He wanted something to do, but CA law requires a helmet, so off to K-Mart down the block. I also taught him how to make a Mexican left-over casserole, which features tortillas, onions, cheese, black olives and left-over chicken, turkey, pork or beef. We'll heat and eat this meal Saturday evening after they come back from visiting dotter's hometown and some local friends.
I also had bought a couple of Nintendo games to keep g'son company, but my selections weren't so hot, so another trip to K-Mart to find a specific game he discovered in one of the airport terminals. Yep, they had one game left, which I bought and is a great success. However, when we put the DVD into the player for the Star Wars film, it wouldn't play. It didn't just freeze; it also skipped randomly through scenes and restarted the beginning a couple of times. We tried it on the laptop, but it wouldn't play, so another trip to KMart for a replacement, which also would not play in the DVD player. We hooked up the laptop again and crowded around the coffee table, but honestly -- no one could hear the sound!! We tried 2 different sets of external speakers, but still could not hear a word the characters were saying, so I grabbed the guest room TV from the office and we huddled around the little TV with the built-in DVD player and nice, LOUD sound, and watched the movie, which was pretty good.
As dotter says, "They began the series again with new, young characters, so we can have even more SW sequeals as all of these characters age!"
Today, they head up the hill for a visit with dotter's dad and his new family, which includes a son g'son's age. I have some housecleaning to do, as well as some prep work for Monday's classes, which means I can putter about a bit. They return tomorrow evening, which gives us Sunday to share before they depart early Monday morning.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Doing Chores
David Bromstad always asks clients for their color inspiration, so I had mine held tightly in my hand as I headed to the paint department early this morning. My inspiration is an eggplant memo pad given to me by a friend that has all the colors I love: that rich, deep purple, a spring green, light violet, and deep, dark rose accents. My guest room is the latest target of the do-over phase I’m in, waiting for the window to be replaced with a glass door to the backyard, complete with a mini-redwood deck. The door will open the space, as well as add light to the room, which has a solid wall of closet covered by those plain off-white sliding doors.
The first step was tough: I removed one of the mirror doors from my bedroom and swapped it out with the center slider in the guest room closet. Adding the mirror door to the wall of sliding doors helped break up that solid sea of terminal beigeness and will reflect the new color off the walls onto that side of the room as well. I removed all my knick-knacks from the wall, patched all the holes, striped the molding with removable tape, pulled the furniture away from the walls, took my shower, and headed out to buy paint. I had narrowed my choices to two color cards, but simply could not figure out which color(s) to buy.
I like Kilz Kolors as the paint really covers in one coat, a big plus when you are old and have arthritis from head-to-toe: once really is enough! The lady at the counter, however, just wanted me to make a decision so she could move on. It was obvious that she was filling in for someone else, and she didn’t want to be in the paint department this morning. When I asked her why she sells a roller frame for which she does not stock the correct paint roller, she rolled her eyes and told me to take my time: she’d be back. That may be, but I know when I’m not wanted. I left.
Big mistake.
I crossed the street to Lowe’s, where I found lots of helpful sales staff this morning, including the guru of the paint department. I told him that I knew the colors I wanted, just not which shade to complement my color inspiration. He made two suggestions, I selected one, then I asked for Kilz Kolors, which he told me they do not stock because it’s an “inferior” brand of paint. He recommended what he told me was a Consumer’s Best Buy, Valspar, and I told him to mix the colors we had selected. It took forever because when he lifted out a can of paint from the mixer, the seam had split and my, oh my, what a mell of a hess that was!!! He told me he’s not supposed to reshake old paint cans, but he did it as a favor to a customer, and that’s what caused the problem. After helping with the cleanup, I loaded my purchase into the truck and headed back home to knock out the painting project before lunch.
That was the plan; however, I will NEVER buy Valspar paint again. As I rolled a coat of paint onto the wall, the downstroke removed it. I tried again; same result. Getting nowhere fast, I only finished one small little area behind the door to the guest room before getting totally pissed and deciding to drive back to Lowe’s, return the paint, and buy the Kilz at Wal-Mart.
Lowe’s doesn’t refund custom paints. It does not matter that the color is correct: I simply cannot use the paint. It’s the worst paint I have ever tried to apply to a wall, and I’ve done a lot of painting during my lifetime. I left the paint on the counter as I had no use for it and drove back across the street to Wal-Mart. I got another two gallons of paint, actually changing my color choice to a less red purple, drove back home, and restarted the project.
One coat and done. It even covered up the wall where I had applied the Valspar. I love the color, but I can’t finish the project as the door didn’t arrive, so the wall where it’s going will be cut, the door fitted, and then the drywall repaired before that part of the job is finished, at which time I’ll finish the painting project. I’m also going to paint the two beige closet doors, but I’m not sure what color I’ll be using. It may be a slightly different shade from what’s on the walls. Then, I have to decide what little touches to add to change the color palette to the new hues.
Bottom line: even unfinished, the room already looks better than it did when I got up this morning! But I’m still pissed about the Valspar as I paid $75 for two gallons of paint I left on the counter, and then had to buy another two gallons at Wal-Mart. Lesson learned, but one of the reasons I do all this work myself is to be able to afford it. For what I spent on paint today, I could have hired this done and sipped tea while someone else wore himself out painting the guest room!
The first step was tough: I removed one of the mirror doors from my bedroom and swapped it out with the center slider in the guest room closet. Adding the mirror door to the wall of sliding doors helped break up that solid sea of terminal beigeness and will reflect the new color off the walls onto that side of the room as well. I removed all my knick-knacks from the wall, patched all the holes, striped the molding with removable tape, pulled the furniture away from the walls, took my shower, and headed out to buy paint. I had narrowed my choices to two color cards, but simply could not figure out which color(s) to buy.
I like Kilz Kolors as the paint really covers in one coat, a big plus when you are old and have arthritis from head-to-toe: once really is enough! The lady at the counter, however, just wanted me to make a decision so she could move on. It was obvious that she was filling in for someone else, and she didn’t want to be in the paint department this morning. When I asked her why she sells a roller frame for which she does not stock the correct paint roller, she rolled her eyes and told me to take my time: she’d be back. That may be, but I know when I’m not wanted. I left.
Big mistake.
I crossed the street to Lowe’s, where I found lots of helpful sales staff this morning, including the guru of the paint department. I told him that I knew the colors I wanted, just not which shade to complement my color inspiration. He made two suggestions, I selected one, then I asked for Kilz Kolors, which he told me they do not stock because it’s an “inferior” brand of paint. He recommended what he told me was a Consumer’s Best Buy, Valspar, and I told him to mix the colors we had selected. It took forever because when he lifted out a can of paint from the mixer, the seam had split and my, oh my, what a mell of a hess that was!!! He told me he’s not supposed to reshake old paint cans, but he did it as a favor to a customer, and that’s what caused the problem. After helping with the cleanup, I loaded my purchase into the truck and headed back home to knock out the painting project before lunch.
That was the plan; however, I will NEVER buy Valspar paint again. As I rolled a coat of paint onto the wall, the downstroke removed it. I tried again; same result. Getting nowhere fast, I only finished one small little area behind the door to the guest room before getting totally pissed and deciding to drive back to Lowe’s, return the paint, and buy the Kilz at Wal-Mart.
Lowe’s doesn’t refund custom paints. It does not matter that the color is correct: I simply cannot use the paint. It’s the worst paint I have ever tried to apply to a wall, and I’ve done a lot of painting during my lifetime. I left the paint on the counter as I had no use for it and drove back across the street to Wal-Mart. I got another two gallons of paint, actually changing my color choice to a less red purple, drove back home, and restarted the project.
One coat and done. It even covered up the wall where I had applied the Valspar. I love the color, but I can’t finish the project as the door didn’t arrive, so the wall where it’s going will be cut, the door fitted, and then the drywall repaired before that part of the job is finished, at which time I’ll finish the painting project. I’m also going to paint the two beige closet doors, but I’m not sure what color I’ll be using. It may be a slightly different shade from what’s on the walls. Then, I have to decide what little touches to add to change the color palette to the new hues.
Bottom line: even unfinished, the room already looks better than it did when I got up this morning! But I’m still pissed about the Valspar as I paid $75 for two gallons of paint I left on the counter, and then had to buy another two gallons at Wal-Mart. Lesson learned, but one of the reasons I do all this work myself is to be able to afford it. For what I spent on paint today, I could have hired this done and sipped tea while someone else wore himself out painting the guest room!
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