#166-I HAVE A GUEST

PREFACE:     I have decided that it is time for me to start spotlighting other new bloggers.  I met April back in November of 2010 when she became one of my first, non-family, followers.  Then she then she started blogging that December.  Blogging seems to come so easy and natural for April and, like me, it is partly therapy for her, too.  She brings her honest, unique and usually humorous perspective of her life to us, in real time.  You can visit April's blog at confessionsofaterriblemom.blogspot.com (this title is misleading because April is a terrific mom).   Now I am going to let April introduce herself:


Hi, I am April. I love reading blogs and began writing so that I, too, may vent my spleen on an irregular basis all over the blogosphere.  When not writing (or secretly fighting crime in a form-fitting costume),  I can be found in rural Kentucky single-handedly raising 3 kids.  I posted this on Wednesday, March 23rd and Karen asked me for permission to run it on her blog.

(Sorry, April, couldn't resist adding this....kt)

"Type L for Lazy"

I am most definitely not a Type A personality.  I am much more of a Type L for lazy.

Truthfully, I have not been blogging (I know, bad.  Stop nagging already, what are you?  My wife?), or entering contests or *gasp* reading books, because I have been very busy.  Busy with Spring!!

Thank God!  Finally, we have good, warm weather.  The kids and I are spending a lot of time outside, walking, playing, sitting (my fav activity!) and gardening.

I have flipped and flopped about the garden thing since I moved into this house and I finally decided to just go for it.  Granted, my landlord did indicate that she didn't 'think digging is allowed', but I asked her to double-check.  She never got back to me and anyone knows that means it isn't a definite NO, so it must be OK (I realize that it is the logical foundation of life as a 7 year old, but it also applies here, because I said so, that's why!)

I have started with planting some flowers in the newly turned beds in front of the house.  I intend to also eliminate the need for fighting my mower on the steep hills at each side of the house by planting some sort of hardy ground cover.

I have to be honest, if I could afford them and get them to my house, I would go with planting rocks.  It is amazing how little you need to water, weed and care for rocks.  Amazing things.

Finally, I have plans for a good size vegetable plot out back.  I originally was going to go with small or medium, but I went a little nuts when I was buying seeds.  Visions of crunchy salads and juicy melons were dancing through my head.

The most interesting part of all of this, for you dear reader, is visualizing my gardening chores being done with all the finesse, technology and tools of a leper in the 17th century.  I am, as always, teetering on the brink of abject poverty.   So, I have a cheap dollar store shovel and seeds with which to bring about my Martha Stewart transformation.  Oh, and let's not forget the hose.

It was also a dollar store item purchased last year for the kids to play in the water with, but it is now pressed into duty as the official garden irrigation system.  On one hand it is nearly perfect as a soaker hose- given the many, many holes, large and small, adorning it's length.  As a forceful spray from only one source, it is an abysmal failure.  It is worth mentioning that the water squirting from every direction is absolutely frigid in mid-March and that, once again, my heart and constitution are sturdier than I suspected.

I am not discouraged, yet.  If people could scrape vegetables and flowers from the earth for thousands of years with sticks and stones and the occasional ox, then I can manage with an dollar shovel and a leaky hose.  If nothing else, I know that my hard work will be rewarded with a bumper crop of zucchini- that magic squash that even a blind baboon could produce, if it stopped biting and flinging poop long enough to bother.

In fact, it is so easy to grow, it is a wonder I don't see 'wild zucchini' plots everywhere.  It is the dandelion of the vegetable world, only I never stand over a cauldron of bubbling oil attempting to coax crispy goodness from a slice of dandelion.

Don't get me wrong.  I love fried zucchini (though eating 3 lbs a season is my limit, thank you very much Miracle-Gro).  I just hope that all the other things I really want to eat decide to follow zucchini's Type A example and not my Type L.

I also hope my neighbors really like zucchini.

What's not to like!
(Actually, I HATE zucchini..... but I like April's posts......kt 3/2011)

WHEN YOU VISIT APRIL CHECK OUT THESE: 

*Practicing Patience

*Spring Is A Fickle Cuss Word

*Love Is Not A Noun

                                                          Confessions of a terrible mom

#165-A SPECIAL HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO A SPECIAL PERSON!

For once, I am having problems coming up with the words to describe today's birthday girl.  First of all,  I got away with referring to her as "OLE GAL" just the other day.  That means that she is a special person to take my ribbing.  But, there is more to her than that.

I am talking about Desiree the writer of the blog Driftwood Ramblings.  Desiree had been a consistent and wonderfully positive commentator on my blog since January 21, 2011.  I definitely look forward to her comments.

Desiree has become one of my favorite people for many reasons.  I started reading her blog shortly after she commented on mine.  Not only is it well written and informative but, it is filled with insight into a person in love with life and in love with the beautiful world she has around her.  She is a devoted ambassador for South Africa and shares all of its splendor and beauty with her "word art."  Not only that she accompanies her "word art" with her "photo art" which cements the whole experience into one grand escape to South Africa.

In and amongst the words and pictures are glimpses of Desiree, the person.  She comes across honest, sincere, and very devoted to her husband, her family, her country and of course her dogs.   Along with this she shares her love of nature and has a delightful way of writing about this love.  She approaches all of this like a fantastic adventure and this excitement resonates in every thing she writes.

To me, it is an adventure to follow her around and experience this this amazing person, and the place she calls home.

Happy Birthday, Desiree!

IF YOU AREN'T A FOLLOWER OF HER BLOG ALREADY, I INVITE YOU TO GO THERE IMMEDIATELY (FACING 50 HAS HAPPILY PROVIDED HER WITH A BUTTON FOR HER BIRTHDAY)...SO CLICK ON IT.....NOW (IT IS ON MY SIDE BAR>>>).
By the way, Carol drew the button herself......Cool, huh!

Here are just 12 out of hundreds of Desiree's 

beautiful PHOTOS:

                                       

This is their "Slum Dog Millionaire, Heathclif.

This is HER Toby.

This is her back yard!

This is her garden!

And, as if that isn't enough....THIS grows in her garden!

kt 3/26/11

#164-THE BEAUTY OF MATHEMATICS!!.mp4

THIS IS DIFFERENT FROM MY USUAL SUNDAY POST.   A FRIEND OF MINE JUST SENT IT TO ME AND,   BEING A TEACHER AND A CHRISTIAN,  I JUST HAD TO SHARE IT.  PLEASE FOLLOW IT THROUGH TO THE END... ... ... kt 3/26/11

#162-TOO TALL FOR ROMANCE

This is the only picture I have of us.  As you

                 can tell we had a very close relationship (he is the one in

                the hat and I am the one with the stringy hair at the back).

           I was 9, he was 10 and we spent a lot of time looking at

 comic books together.   

All of us face many small and large disappoint-ments throughout our life.  However, when a teenager, these disappoint-ments become “end of the world” type events.

One such disappointment happened to me the summer before my junior year in high school.  I had been writing to my child hood sweetheart for a couple of years, but I had not seen him since we were pre teens.

His letters were so sweet and I thought (no I knew) I WAS I in love with him.  So, that fateful summer I visited my relatives in Missouri with every intention of declaring my undying love for him and throwing myself into his arms.  After all, the senior picture of him was gorgeous and I had been touting his MANY fine attributes to my friends.

I took a train from my grandmother's house to the train station in Kansas city where he was going to meet me.  I was all dressed up in a white suit, my hair was piled on top of my head (as was the style at the time) and I had on high heels.  I had done my best to look like Betty Grable, but in fact I Probably looked more like Doris Day. 
   He wasn’t there when I first arrived so I took a seat in the main terminal, I saw him as he entered the main door and knew immediately that there was a problem.  You see, most of the people walking by towered over him.  I nervously watched him approach and then I stood up.  My chin came to the top of his head.

  Call me shallow, but I fell out of love so fast that when heart hit my feet my arches hurt.  I was sure I was going to pass out.  Quickly, I said, “Boy do my feet hurt,” and slipped out of my shoes.  Nope, didn’t help much. 

Nope, not even for Tom!

I developed a sudden attack of severe curvature of the spine. Dropping my shoulders I did my best imitation of Quasimodo.  Nope, only lost another inch.

You see, he had stopped growing at around 5 foot. I was over 5’6” tall and very slender which made me appear taller (not to mention the hair that extended upward another 5 inches).

What had started out as a romantic meeting of two teenagers destined for true love turned into an embarrassing moment that sent me into shock.  Neither one of us could just turn around and walk away.  I was supposed to be staying with his mother and sister for the weekend; and then my parents were to pick me up.

It was an embarrassing situation, but we both got through it somehow. You would have thought he could have mentioned his Lilliputian tendencies in one of his many letters.   Men!  I had a lot to learn.


I HAVE HAD IT, TRYING TO GET THE PARAGRAPHS TO INDENT PROPERLY.  I KEEP HAVING ALL KINDS OF MECHANICAL PROBLEMS ON THIS THING (C.R.A.P at work again).  SO, IT'S POSTING, AS IS!      kt 3/2011                                                                                                                           

#161-WHERE IS "IRON" MAN WHEN I NEED HIM?

Hey, lady, I'm a super-
hero!  I DON'T DO
HOUSEWORK!

It is 11:34 PM on Saturday the 19th of March and I am throwing in the towel, (or as you will soon see, throwing out the iron).  I'll begin with last Saturday which was my father's 100th birthday reception.  (We had to cancel it twice in February because of snow and finally it was a go in the 12th).  However, difficult it was to gather all of his stuff to display on tables, it has been twice as difficult to put it all back in their assigned places.

Therefore, I was supposed to spend most of this week returning pictures to albums, to walls and to book shelves.  I needed to return memorabilia to boxes, quilts to the closets, and birthday cards to his table side.   However, Tuesday, my granddaughter had to deliver her car to the Air Force pick up site in St Louis so it could be delivered to her next station.  She needed me to follower her to St. Louis (6 hours away) and bring her back (another 6 hours).   So that shot the heck out of Tuesday.  It ended up messing up Wednesday and Thursday also, because I was so exhausted from the drive all the way to St. Louis IN A SNOW STORM that I needed the two days to recuperate.

Back to the choirs revolving around the aftermath of the reception.  Part of the party was the loan of 8 fairly large, round, white, cotton, table cloths and 6 blue rayon table drapes.  The loan came with written instructions on how to wash and IRON the table cloths.

Now, I don't iron!   The only ironing I have ever done is to... ... well, it has been so long I don't even remember the last thing I ironed.  So, I washed and dried them, a few at a time, and yanked them out of the dryer piping hot hoping that I would not have to iron them.  Nope, they had that crinkly look that SHOUTED this lazy woman DID NOT IRON ME!

Like most people who do not know how to do something (or absolutely hate doing something) I put the ironing off until today.  I was not being too successful.   First of all I had to find the iron (and that was no easy task).  Then I discovered that it wouldn't steam so I had to find a squirt bottle so I could spray the table cloth.  Next, I discovered that a large ROUND tablecloth was difficult to iron on the ironing board.  I also discovered that my kitchen floor was a little dirty and needed to be cleaned before I could iron, lest the tablecloth (laying partly on the floor) pick up some dirt and require being washed again (Heaven forbid!).

The first one was a disaster.  It wrinkled as fast as I ironed it.   I then experimented by folding the darned thing in half and ironing one side of the half, and then flipped it over to iron the other half and discovered the beautiful IRONED in wrinkles.  It took me 30 minutes to complete this one.

That is when Toby decided that I wasn't paying enough attention to him and grabbed the second one, took off, and ran merrily around the front room dragging it behind him.  He was having a wonderful time (while I was trying to remember where I kept my gun, which in all actuality I have used more often than my iron.....although not lately).

I finally rescued table cloth #2, finished it in 25 minutes (personal best so far) and went back to work.  That is when I discovered that the iron was not doing it's job.  Back and forth, back and forth....nothing...Come to find out, Toby had disconnected the cord when he ran through the room to see where the cat was going.

Setting the iron on the end of the ironing board to reheat I went to find Toby a diversion.  I chose his balloon.  You see, Toby loves helium balloons.  He doesn't pop them like most dogs, he just carries them around by their string.  It is the cutest thing I have ever seen...UNTIL TODAY!  I will bet you don't see where this is going, but hang on...  In comes Toby with his balloon in tow.  He pulls it directly into the iron and the darn thing instantly melts upon contact, snags on the iron and continues to disintegrate.  I yell...... Toby yanks........ and the whole thing goes to the floor.

I shoved Toby out of the way of the hot iron, yank it up by the chord (because it it starting to melt the linoleum on the floor).  Toby thinks its a game and tries to go after the iron.  I dance around screaming,  "NO TOBY, NO TOBY!"  and while yanking the plug from the wall I dance the gooey iron over to the sink and toss it in.

Was the sink empty?...No...Were my dishes done?...NO...but the iron is....... and, mannnnnnn, so am I!
kt 3/2011

#158-THE NEWSPAPER HEADLINE READ: SHE FEEDS HER DAD KIBBLES!

I have been caring for my 100 year old dad since he fell and severely shattered his shoulder about 4 years ago.  It has been interesting, frustrating and sometimes funny.

There are a number of skills that one develops when working with the elderly.  I am going to only mention four today.

1.  One needs to talk slower.
     Since my dad is very hard of hearing, this skill is important.  I have ADHD I generally don't do anything slow, and it has been hard for me to remember to  t  a  l  k    s  l  o  o  o  o  w.   He won't ask me what I said or say that he didn't understand me he will just shake his head or say ok.  Just to test this I once said to him, "Dad, the President is here to see you."  He answered, "Ok, I'v got to pee."

2.  One needs to talk louder.
     Well, I never had a problem here.  In fact I have always talked too loud.  Just ask any member of my family, any friend, any student I have ever had, or several employers.  My voice can be heard at the back of any theater or auditorium.  I guess I missed my calling.  Should have been a stage actor.

3.  One needs to be Patient.
    Dad does things at a snail's pace (Kind of like Tim Conway did.  Watch this through to the end and you will see Conway's famous old man's walk).



Because of dad's slow walk,  I have to travel at a snails pace when walking with him.  I already shared about my ADHD and I don't do slow.  Well, at least, I didn't do slow until I started working with Dad. After almost running over him a few times I disciplined myself through mental imaging.  I imagined a newspaper article elaborating about an old man's injuries inflicted by a thoughtless daughter running over him while escorting him down a ramp to the car.  It is amazing what picturing something in one's head can do.


4.  One needs to NOT over react.
     This brings me to today's story.

Last week I was fixing Dad's dinner.  I had it all on the table and ready to go when he took his seat.  Usually I put Toby out at this time so he won't learn to beg at the table.  I picked up Toby's bowl of kibbles and was starting to take the bowl, and Toby, out back.  Suddenly, Dad asked me where his drink was.

I set the bowl down on the table and went to get Dad's drink.  That is when I heard this loud crunching sound.  I looked round to see what Toby was doing (automatically thinking he had gotten into something).  Toby was just sitting there staring at me and then looking at Dad (in an accusatory manner).  I turned and looked at Dad and he was sitting there with a fist full of Toby's kibbles, munching away.

Calmly I put the glass of juice on the table, and slowly took Dad's hand in mine before he could pop any more kibbles into his mouth.  I (again, calmly) said, "Ahhh, Dad, let me have that, it's dog food."  He handed what was left in his hand to me (save one) said, "Oh," and popped one last kibble into his mouth.

After I put Toby out I ran (yes ran) to my computer and typed up some notes.  I was laughing so hard I could barely type.  Is it awful to laugh at a 100 year old man?   Nope!  My dad is the one who taught me to laugh hard and often.

Well, I have to go now as Toby just brought me a pair of reading glasses minus one ear piece (really).

When I went to look for the other half I found a trail of several tissues (which means that he can now jump up onto my bed to reach my Kleenex box....oh bother), one shoe, a pencil, a sock, and the earpiece to my glasses...all leading from my computer room to his play room.  Between Toby and my dad I had better get this PATIENCE skill down well or I could loose what is left of my mind!
kt 2/2011

#157-TOTALLY TUBULAR TUESDAY (Jasper Jacob Laird)

Somewhere around 1972 we had a Beagle named Jasper.  He was one of the stubbornness dogs I have ever owned (unless Toby takes over that dubious honor).

This is Jasper and my son, Gene.
they had just won the dog show.

I don’t remember where or how we acquired Jasper, but I do remember he was the cutest little guy.  I went about my usual routine teaching him to sit, come, stay, and potty on a paper (on the back porch).  All was going fine until he got older  You see, he was the first male dog I had ever had.  Eventually, the errors of my ways were made evident.

One day I was in the kitchen when Jasper went to his potty to relieve himself.  That’s when I got the big surprise.  Jasper was raising his leg and peeing on the wall.  The urine then ran down the wall and onto the paper (well, at least it ended up on the paper).  At first I just taped a newspaper (backed by plastic) on the wall.  But, that was only a temporarily fix until I retrained him to go outside.

Jasper liked the cat post, too!

One month later, Jasper, was house broken and doing his business outside.  But, this caused another problem.  I was sharing  a duplex with my parents.  Half of the yard was theirs and half was mine.  Now just try to explain this to a young Beagle.  Mother’s half was edged by rose bushes, which displayed the most beautiful roses in a myriad of colors and types.  Mom loved her roses (and so did Jasper).

I was home on the Saturday mother first caught Jasper in her roses.  He was gleefully digging at the roots.  Now, there were plenty of other places Jasper could have dug, but he chose the rose garden.  I think he must have seen my mother digging in her the roses, making those careful little bowls around each one, and decided to join in.  When I heard Mom yell at Jasper I looked out the window to see her swiping at him with a broom.  He just thought it was some kind of game. 

Mom tried everything to keep him out of her roses.  But, as a continuation of the game he began to run by the bushes, pluck a flower and play toss and fetch with it.

She came up with all kinds of ideas to discourage Jasper, but the funniest one was when she bought a huge shaker of cyanine pepper.  She sprinkled the pepper liberally all throughout the rose garden.

It didn’t take long to see and hear that this wasn’t going to work.  Hearing Jasper whimpering and sneezing, I went out the back door to find him feverishly digging in Mom’s flower bed.  His eyes were beet  red and he was sneezing and wheezing like an aging pipe organ.  Mother came out about the same time I did, threw up her hands, and said,  “I’ve had it!  He’s going on a chain as soon as I can get one!”

That is when I decided that Jasper needed a new home.  I thought it would be crewel to chain such an active young dog.  So, (since he had good papers) I found him a home at a local stud farm.  I am sure Jasper never missed us!  But we missed him (especially my son)!  
kt 3/2011

#156-SO, WHO'S THE REAL ANIMAL HERE?

MAX

About fifteen years ago I had a cat named Mad Max.  He was a crazy black cat who was a riot.  I went to the pound to get a kitten for my dog, Chelsea, (a hyper toy poodle) who needed a playful companion.

When I looked around the cat enclosures at the pound there were several cats but none caught my fancy.  As I was walking out, two little black legs shot out of a bottom cage and snagged my jeans.  Most of the bottom cages were empty and I hadn't seen the little squirt.

I asked the caretaker if I could see the attention seeking cat and she opened the cage.  At that very moment this kitten sprinted out of the cage, jumped up onto her desk, swatted at a ball on top of the desk and sent the ball flying across the room.  He took off after the ball (which had caromed into another room) and disappeared.  All of this took only a matter of seconds.  With a big smile on my face I said to the lady, "If you can catch him, that's the one I want!"

CHELSEA

Well, hyper Chelsey and Mad Max were a match made in heaven.  The wrestled and tussled and played their way into my heart.  Several years later, I had to give Chelsey to my Aunt Zelda (who had just lost her dog of 15 years).  I had let Chelsey stay with her while I was on vacation and Aunt Zelda started to cry when I came to pick Chelsey up.  I just couldn't leave with my dog so Chelsey became Aunt Zelda's dog.

Max was lonely and ended up having to cope with a new dog, Luke, my German Shepherd.  But I have yet to get to the story I wanted to tell you about Mad Max.

SIMON

About 8 years ago I was keeping my son's Rhodesian Ridgeback, Simon, and trying to find him a home.  He was way too rough for the young children in my son's home so the dog had to go.

Max had made friends with Luke, but  Simon was another matter.  Simon wanted to EAT Max (you see, Ridgebacks were originally bread to hunt lions).

Simon had only been here for a few days when I heard a terrible ruckus out in the back yard.  I looked out to see that Simon had Max down on the ground and it looked as though he was killing him.  Max was screaming and putting up a valiant fight while Luke looked on, confused by Simon's attack.

I thundered through the house and out the back door.  I yelled Simon, NO!  But, Simon ignored me.  The only thing I could think of to do was to pull ALPHA on Simon.  I attacked him growling and snarling.  I bit him hard, he yelped and he let go of Max.  I snatched Max up immediately and Max was not out of his defense mode yet, as Max bit and clawed me on the arm.  Awhhhh $#:!.

First I wrapped Max up in a large towel and put him in a carrier, in the car.  Then I cleaned the bite and scratch wound as best I could and headed for the vet. (about 40 minutes away).  I had neglected to check to see if I had enough gas, and yes, you guessed it, I didn't.  Half way there I ran out of gas and had to call for roadside assistance.

After an hour by the side of the road,  several complaints by my father (who had accompanied me) and feline vocalizations (of the worst kind) we were on our way again.  When I arrived at the vets. I explained the situation (he broke into a big grin when I told him about biting Simon).  Incidentally the vet. did (jokingly) suggest that I might need to bring Simon by for shots, too.   I left max with the comedic vet. and headed for the hospital emergency room to have the bite taken care of.


Well, the emergency staff cleaned up the bite (which took two stitches), gave me a shot and shared the story throughout the hospital.

Max was OK, I was OK, and Simon was a little cowed when he saw me,  Luke was wondering if we were going to play that fun game again and Dad just shook his head.
kt 3/2011

#153-THIS OLD BROAD NOW HAS "STYLE!"

I'll look a lot more stylish as soon 

as I put my bra back on, my wig on, 

and my teeth in, but I ain't puttin'  

that darn girdle on!

The title of the award kind of stumped me, "The Stylish Blogger Award."  I have never been considered stylish in any sense of the word.  When I hear the word STYLISH I think of something that is attractive, elegant, smart or chic.  Then I look at my blog and say..."What... This?" I have a plain ole standard blogspot design, nothing new, nothing special.  I am afraid to change anything because I don't know in the #$!! Idid it in the first place.

So, I went to an online dictionary and looked up the word style and found that it can also mean: a particular manner or technique by which something is done, created, written or performed, as in a unique style.  Oh...well, that's different.  I am certainly one of a kind.  People have been telling me that for years.  Ok, now I can accept this award without feeling like a hypocrite!    Phew!

Wow!  Thank you, caterpillar (musingsnconfessions.blogspot.com) for the honor.  And, I might add congratulations because I see you not only received this award, but also the Metetastic award as well.  Good for you kiddo!

I think this is what blogging is all about.  No, not getting and giving awards but to provide a safe nourishing place for people of all different styles to express themselves.  As I have said many times before, it IS a kind of therapy.  We can say things to strangers that we can't say to those closer to us (and by extension those closer to us can get a a better glimpse into us by reading what we write to strangers).  Does that make sense?

I don't know where or how these awards originate.   I do believe that we need to support and encourage each other in every way we can.  I know how it makes me feel when I get one and I'm guessing I am not the only one who likes to get recognized.

I am supposed to share seven random facts about myself (and, incidentally each of these are topics for future blogs and are 100% true).

1.  I am not afraid of snakes and have been known to grab copperheads by the back of the neck.
2.  I once rescued an extremely large snapping turtle from the middle of a highway by making it latch onto my jumper cables and then dragging it to the ditch.
3.  I made my washing machine blow up by using my magnetic personality!
4.  I once fed dog kibbles to my father (watch for this one coming soon).
5.  I ran out of gas, one winter, on my way to work, with nothing on under my winter coat (I swear).
6.  I have been fortunate to have taken one of those hair raising Tijuana Taxi rides to a bull fight.
7.  I have had the experience of being in three fairly major earthquakes (not the SF one).

Now, for the hard part.  With my last award I had a very difficult time deciding how to pick the recipients and ended up cutting the 5th one up into pieces and sending a part to almost every blogger I read.  Some bloggers already have so many they have stopped accepting these awards.  AND PLEASE DO NOT FEEL THAT YOU HAVE TO ACCEPT OR DECLINE.  IT IS TOTALLY UP TO YOU!

Again, this is me making up my own rules (no surprise there).  I say share if you want to, but you don't have to answer a darned question, or list one single random fact if you don't want to.  But it would be nice if you at least sent it on to a few bloggers you want to encourage.

Here are my 5 (in no particular order) and they are all blogs I recommend you check out:

• driftwoodramblings.blogspot.com
• megnificentlife.blogspot.com
• oklahomasmalltowngirl.blogspot.com
• perfectionmoreorless.blogspot.com
• hiccup-in-time.blogspot.com

kt 3/2011

#152-TOTALLY TUBULARY TUESDAY(Toby)

Uhhhh, Hi.  My name is Totally Tubular Toby; you can call me Toby.  I think I'm a people, but my mom keeps calling me "her baby".  Is a "her baby" people?  Her father calls me "that dog."  When I make mistakes she calls me other names (but I don't think I should tell you).  This world is so hard to understand.


Today I have a very scary and confusing story to tell you.

You'd look sad too if you went through what I just went through!

The other morning my mom had a very serious look on her face.  She held me and hugged me, but I just squirmed and chewed on her shirt sleeve because I didn't want any of her gushy, gooey, lovey, dovey, stuff that early in the morning.


Mornings are for romping, chasing the cat, getting into as much trouble as possible, and eating.  This is when I knew something was up.  Mom wasn't fixing my food.  PANIC ATTACK!  WHY ISN'T MOM FIXING FOOD?  I tried to tell her my fear as I cried, "WHERE IS MY FOOD?  MOM, YOU KNOW HOW I LIKE FOOD!  I NEED FOOD, NOW!"  She ignored me (well, she tried anyway, I'm kinda hard to ignore when I hangin' onto her pant leg with my teeth).


Finally, she got my blanky out of that darned kennel, picked me up and headed for the "ride" (STILL NO FOOD!).  We got into the "ride" and went to the place of smells.  It is a place that stinks of a lot of different kinds of animals along with a yucky smell that I can't quite put my nose to (not that I'd want to. Well, maybe).  


I remember being there before and, as I recall, I was poked and prodded and then felt a sharp pain in my neck.  Mom just stood in the corner and kept saying, "You're ok, you're ok."  Well, if having something shoved up your you know what is ok then I'd hate to see what she thinks is NOT ok.


Back to the other day.  We rode in the "ride" until we got to the place of smells.
Mom handed me over to a complete stranger (along with my blanky) and walked away...are you reading this SHE WALKED AWAY!  A COMPLETE STRANGER!  I set up such a howl that it made her stop for a second, then she went on out the door.  I screamed and accidentally went potty on the lady.


My blanky and I were put into this kennel (without a treat, Mom always give me a treat when she puts me in one at home...THAT DOES IT!  NO FOOD!  NO TREAT!  I'M IN HELL!) and there I sat along with a few other unfortunates.  Each one of them was as confused as I was.  I tried to talk to them but they weren't interested.  This one "baby" looked really sad.  He said he thought he was in here because he pottied on his mom's best rug.  (OMG it that why I'm here?  It's all your fault Heathcliff!  You're the one who told me I could do it!  Growl!)

I didn't mean to...honest!

The lady came back in and took me to a room of even more awful smells and that is the last I remember until I woke up.   My head felt strange and so did my lower body.  They had a thing around my neck to keep me from checking out why I felt funny down there.  In fact it took me a while to figure out why I couldn't see if my feet and tail were still there (Could I survive with just a head?  Sure, as long as I could eat...eat?...suddenly I didn't care about food...weird, huh?).

Mom finally came to pick me up (PHEW!) and I pottied all over the lady again as she handed me off (on purpose, take that, lady!).   Mom wrapped me in my blanky and took me to the "ride."  That is when I got more of the  gushy, gooey, lovey, dovey, stuff.   And, boy did I want it this time.  When we got back to my home Mom and I cuddled and slept the rest of the afternoon.  For some reason I suddenly liked the gushy, gooey, lovey, dovey, stuff.

I still don't know what happened, but I think my bark is higher that it used to be and there is less to lick than before.  Heathcliff seemed to know where I was going.  Mom told HIM, but not me!  By the way, Heathcliff, thanks for the note.  I AM milking it for all it's worth.

Toby

kt 2011

#151-AN AMUSING MUGGING

       







Suddenly, we were assaulted by no less than 15 crazed animals (a feeding frenzy) and my children had disappeared from sight.  My hand was trapped and I couldn’t get free.  I was yelling for help but, no one came!

That is what my English teacher called a grabber.  Let the reader get a taste and want to find out more.

This was just a simple day excursion for my children and me (in 1972).  Nothing like this was supposed to happen at Magic  Mountain in Southern  California.

We had just arrived at this beautiful park and the first attraction was a fantastic petting zoo.  It had pigs, llamas, calves, and all kinds of goats.  It was early in the morning and the usual throngs of people had not arrived as yet. 

My children wanted to feed the animals.  The feed dispensers were inside the enclosure.  I watched as other parents and kids were robbed of the joy of hand feeding by apparently starving animals.  The animals would crowd around and get the food before the kids had a chance to hold it in their hands.

Figuring that I was "smarter than the average bear" (a quote from Yogi Bear) I deduced (through careful observation) that it was the sound of the feed hitting the metal shoot of the dispenser not the quarter going into the slot that sparked the conditioned response (ok, I'm a show off) of the animals.  Therefore, I led my children to the far end of the “farm” and quietly slipped a quarter into the machine (after carefully placing my fingers into the shoot so the feed would fall silently into my hand). 

All right  guys,  I will 

make the initial hit.  

You follow me in for 

the kill.

Boy, was I wrong.  It was the click, click, click of the tumblers that alerted the animals and unlike Pavlov's dog they were not tethered, or in a cage.  They REACTED immediately.

Before I could yell, “Run for your lives!” a HERD of STAMPEDING animals hit me from behind.  A calf (which was more like a small cow) rammed its head into my elbow, launching my fingers and part of my left hand up into the machine.  At that time the tumbler rolled over again and trapped my middle finger in the danged thing.  A llama was on my back and hanging over my shoulder with it’s long tongue slapping at my hand.  And, its conditioned response (saliva) was dripping all over me (and there was also evidence that it may have been an excited male llama).  Several goats were between my legs lapping at my hands (more saliva) and the pigs were under them (salivating on my shoes, I'm sure).

Both of my children had disappeared in a dust storm of Biblical proportions.  The noise was deafening.   After what seemed like minutes instead of seconds, the air cleared  and I saw my 9 year old son sitting on the fence laughing until tears ran down his face.  My 6 year old daughter had rolled under the fence and was sprawled on the ground (with glazed over eyes and covered in dust).  I was still being held hostage by the machine.  I called for help but, no one came.  My son finally extricated me from the bully machine.  I had to go to the first aide station for medical attention to the finger I planned to FLIP at the Children’s Farm as I walked by (Yes, it was the middle digit of my left hand).

     That is not the end of the story.  Apparently, someone watching the “show” took advantage of me and took my wallet out of my purse (or possibly one of the goats) because my wallet showed up at a local gambling establishment the next day (smart goat!).  Of course the person (or goat) had $50 cash to spend (money it took me months to save).  I had to threaten to sue to get the park managers to get them to cash a check.  I was determined that a mugging was not going to stop our FUN on the MOUNTAIN.

     This picture was taken after the mugging.  That poor lion was so drugged that all he could do was snore.  The kids were thrilled, the lion was in la la land and I was faking a smile on my  face!   So, 3 out of 4 were happy.  Not a bad percentage.

kt  3/2011