#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

#150-SAFE (Phil Wickham)

SO MANY TIMES IN OUR LIVES WE FEEL AS IF WE ARE ALONE.  WHEN THIS HAPPEN TO ME I HEAD STRAIGHT FOR MEMBERS OF MY CHURCH FAMILY WHO SHOW ME THEIR LOVE AND REMIND ME OF HOW MUCH JESUS LOVES ME.

Phil Wickham is new to me, but I really like his song, "Safe."

#149- DULDRUMS: A STATE OF OR PERIOD OF INACTIVITY, STAGNATION, OR SLUMP

DISCLAIMER:  This is not one of my usual posts. But, I have been doing some heavy thinking and it's wearing me down.  Therefor I decided to share (after all this IS my therapy.  I guess that makes you guys my shrink).  If you choose to read on then you AUTOMATICALLY enlist as a "guest shrinks" and are expected to ride this out with me.


It is Tuesday, March 1st and I am sitting at my computer reading over all of the February comments I  received.  You see, I have been thinking about when the end will come.  No, Silly, NOT THAT!  I could care less about leaving this earth behind.  I was thinking about this blog.

My mind has been... ...(can't think of the word I want)... ... but I have been experiencing the...(I got it)... DOLDRUMS.  Perhaps this has been caused by the long, bleak, dreary, dismal, miserable, wretched, saturnine (look it up), frigid, snowy, winter. (See the depth of my condition?)  Perhaps it is because I reached my 70th birthday without achieving something extraordinary (like being national teacher of the year).  Perhaps it is because I am always late for everything (and just now experiencing a mid-life crisis).

Ahhhhhh, Mannnnnn, I knew it!  I answered all but 2 with YES.
On #1 my hair is already totally white (I perfer to call it platinum blond).
On #6 (as you know) I just got a tattoo.

I need to recharge, get away, to something new besides body art!  But, I can't right now.  My dad needs me here.  He would be gone in three months if I put him in a nursing home (not to mention that we can't afford it).  I could go sky diving (there is a place only an hour away from here).  I could take scuba diving classes (there's a place only 30 minutes from here).  But what if I flame out or bubble up, who will take care of Dad?

Ok, Charlie pull the chord...
Charlie....Charlie....oh, $#*!

When I was teaching I would recharge every summer and greet the first day of school with all kinds of ideas and enthusiasm.  My promise to myself was that I would retire from teaching when it became hard for me to get pumped back up.  My promise was to quit teaching when it stopped being fun (and I kept that promise).

I have made the same promise to myself about this blog.  These last two weeks I have been worried that the time has already come.  I haven't felt particularly humorous lately (and that is what my blog is all about..sharing the the humor in my life).  I guess I bit off more than I can chew.  I shouldn't have tried to post daily but, everything I read about blogging said that daily post were necessary (that is if one wanted to have someone to read the blog and leave the nourishing comments).  I spend HOURS developing posts (and reading comments) and then more HOURS reading the posts of others and commenting (after all if one says they are a follower then they should follow...right?).  I am finding that I am up later and later, trying to keep up.

Will I burn out if I keep this pace up?  Maybe that is what I am experiencing.  Another fear I have is that I will run out of things to write about about which to write (oh bother, I worry about that kind of stuff too). 

So, I am in a quandary.  I know that with spring and summer coming soon I will want to get outside, do more, visit my daughter, and on and on.  Therefore I need to cut back, but where?

Maybe go to a Monday, Wednesday, Friday posting schedule would help.  But, I love the Sunday's Song (so that has to stay).  Plus, I like Thursday's Therapy because I get to respond to the comments of others (however that is one of the harder posts to do and it takes me longer and gets more visits from the C.R.A.P. team).  I guess Totally Tubular Tuesday's could move to Wednesday (but, that is such a cool name for a post.  What could I call it if it moved to Wednesday?).  Friday Flash backs will stay for now as they are (obviously) the easiest ones to do (and they give me a chance to recycle some of my better posts to new readers).  Saturdays can be dropped because that is when I get the least traffic.  Ohhhh, mannn, this kind of thinking is a real bummer (I don't get headaches, but if I did I would be having one right now).


I guess I need to figure out why I am writing this blog in the first place.  Why would I want more readers or to even keep the readers I have?  Has this become an ego thing?  I HOPE NOT!

I started this blog because my daughter suggested that I write some of the stuff down that I share when I visit with her (face to face, on FB or over the phone).  She would crack up (but she has to, she's my daughter and she loves me).  


Then I thought it would be nice for me to write some of my stories down for my grandchildren to have as my gift to to them.

But, now, I seem to be writing more for YOU, my readers.  Although the subject matter is still about my goofy interactions with this world we live in, I have found that pleasing YOU has become more important to me.  My daughter laughingly called me a blog "ho" because your comments are a big payoff for me (I guess that would make my daughter my pimp because she started me off on this).  Actually, I think I am addicted (and before I "Sheen" I think I should take action).
No, I am not fishing for pats on the back, or encouragement, because you guys are already good about that.  However, if you have any suggestions, just spit it out.

After going through all of this I have made one decision...(see the therapy helps) I will be dropping  Thursday and Saturday.  Starting today I will let Friday's post hang over into Saturday and Wednesday's post hang over into Thursday. (Boy, I feel better already.)  I will make other decisions when spring finally gets here and maybe my funny bone will start tickling me once more (if I have to I will wash my feet in the basin again [see #47], maybe glue something else to the floor [see #148], pull another one of my Tim Taylor routines [see #138], or whatever I have to do to recharge).  I will probably post this several Saturdays so everyone can find out about my concerns and my new schedule.


Phew (3 hours later), I'm done!  Now I have Saturday, and Thursday to recharge.

kt 3/2011

#147.5-WHAT'S UP WITH THAT!

Lately I have been receiving all kinds of junk mail aimed at enticing me to join a dating service (SeniorSingles Match, Senior Match, Perfect Matches, etc).  What's up with that?  I'm 70 for crying out loud!

At one time I was on the look out for someome to share my life with.  After all I have been divorced for over 40 years.  However, when I discovered I had to either pick one up a the local shelter (an buy him teeth), steal one from someone else (probably have the same problems as most used cars, like too much mileage), or wait for someone's wife to die (what a morbid thought).  Therefore, I decided it wasn't worth it.

However, if I WERE in the market there would be several criteria I would have to insist on.  For example:

Oh, YES, I WOULD have specifications.  I would like:

1.  a man who loves to cook but, also likes to clean up the mess.

2.  a man who likes to travel, alone!

3.  a man who still looks good with my glasses on.

4.  a man who has lots of money, but can't remember he has given it ALL to me.

5.  a man who does not dwell on his past.

6.  A man who has good insurance (especially for nursing home care and "final expenses").

7.  A man who has absolutely no children (or ex-wives).

8.  A man who does not need to wear depends.

9.  A man who insists on separate bedrooms (so it ok if he snores = my one concession).

10.  BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY A man who loves to cuddle, but has prostrate prostate trouble (get my drift).

So, with this criteria do you think I should go on one of those dating services?  Neither do I!

I WASN'T FINISHED WITH THIS ONE YET!  IT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO POST UNTIL 3/21 BUT THE C.R.A.P. (Computer Related Attacks by Poulterguists) STRUCK AGAIN.  OH WELL!  kt 3/2011

# 147-THURSDAY'S THERAPY (Comments on #83 O Christmas Tree... ...)

I love reading people's comments.  Therefore, I have decided to pick a comment each Thursday to post.  Of course this will fall FLAT if you guys aren't making comments!  This is no longer an issue.  In fact, I have so many wonderful comments to choose from that I am having a hard time keeping up.  THANK YOU!  ALL OF YOU! 

(And yet another change.  I decided to rename this meme THURSDAY'S THERAPY because I consider this blog to be therapy for me as your comments keep me going!  Also, since I have been getting so many comments I am going to do several of the comments on a particular post, again.)

jhitomi said...

My family had one of those silver foil trees and the rotating circle of colored lights illuminating it. I thought it was really great.
clenna said...

My mother was so proud when she bought a silver tree. We all thought she'd lost her mind. And those rotating color lights - ugh! 

My first year married we got a real tree - scrawny tree. (all that we could afford). The water stand broke the first day, so we just leaned it against the wall. Do you know that a year later we were still finding pine needles in the carpet (last year that I had a real one!)

 I just looked them up!  They are now termed "vintage"  or  "retro" and a 7 ft tree with a color wheel cost $675.00!

Gina Alfani said...

Having raised baby birds . . . I know what you are talking about!

You know what . . . I absolutely hated those silver Christmas trees.

Thanks for visiting my blog . . . I'm partial to the squirrel cartoon too :)

Have an awesome day . . . Gina



ape2016 said...

How funny! I had a parakeet named Kiki. She was sweet and I often took her from her cage and she would walk all over me and perch on my shoulder and make all sorts of little 'talky' noises at me. I started working a lot, so I got her a friend. Another parakeet, Coco. Coco turned out to be evil and made my Kiki evil, too. Where once I had a sweet bird that loved to 'groom' me, I ended up with 2 that tried to peck my eyes out. One day when I was cleaning the cage, they both pecked me up badly and then got out of the cage. I used to kill myself trying to catch them, this time I didn't even flinch when the flew out the door when the kids came in from playing. I know, I am bad!

The Desert Rocks said...

I bet you look for them in the trees every time you hear chirping birdies.

And, please explain to me how I can get this when looking up parakeetlip art (really!)?

                     

                                                     








Raynata said...

Newest follower! Can't wait to read all your uncommon thoughts!

Jenny said...

Found you on the blog hop! I'm your newest follower! 


Well, I guess I didn't live up to their expectations because I just checked and I have not heard from them again.  This is why I call this post Thursday's "Therapy." This is helping mt to learn to live with stuff like "rejection".  I have also learned that there are a lot of wonderful strangers out there who accepts this looney lady just as I she is!  kt 3/2011