By Royal Command of Queen Linds, And With Tongue Firmly In Cheek

Because I am now holding my head, which was once betwixt my shoulders, in my two hands at the moment, I am finding it rather difficult to type. But type I shall!

It is now somewhere around the hour of 11:oo in the p.m. I have just this moment gotten home from yet another horrendous shopping trip which will be chronicled at a later date.

I also stuffed myself with sushi to compensate for the horrendous shopping trip, so it wasn't a total loss.

But that's another story.

It is now T minus some short time before The Family Photo is to be taken. In the past week Son came down with some sort of flu-type thing that kept him home from work. Thankfully, he seems to be better now. However, he has apparently given it to his lovely wife, Cutie's mom. She is being stoic about the whole thing and says the show must go on.

There have been numerous discussions regarding colors to wear. I made the mistake of saying "Fall colors such as sage green, burgundy, burnt orange" in my original email to everyone. As it turns out, the main colors we ended up with after much discussion and many long-distance phone calls are some sort of green, some sort of eggplant/burgundy/purple-y color, cream and black.

As you can tell, we're all about the color palette.

Now, for we of the OCD variety, let me explain how this ties in to the Family Shopping Trip.

It begins with me getting home from a full day of work and herding the turtles of the family out to dinner near where we plan to shop. Our quest is simple: a pair of black Dockers and a shirt in whatever color we decide to go with for each of the guys and a matching pair of black slacks and top for The Girl.

"That's child's play!" you cry. "An hour at most."

Oh, but you have never shopped with US.

The Dockers weren't a problem. The shirts were demons from the pit of hell.

At the point we began we had two colors possible. There was a lovely shade of rust, and then there was the eggplant. I was leaning toward the rust color because the jacket I had for the photo was black and gray and rust-colored. It was the jacket that covered the most hide. Second place went to the jacket in eggplant.

The Girl immediately chose two shirts in burgundy, neither of which would match any of what I had to wear. They were nixed.

We then went back and forth from one end of the men's department to the other, trying on shirt after shirt, never finding one small enough for The Boy (a 14.5 inch neckline) that would match one for Hubster. Either we found a rust-colored one for The Boy and there was NOTHING either in a stripe or solid for Hubster, or we found a stripe that would fit Hubster in eggplant and The Boy refused to wear a solid "purple" because it was too girly and he and his father would look like twins.

Let me hasten to say that as much as I love him, there is no way Hubster would pass for a fifteen-year-old with a 30-inch waist. It just ain't gonna happen.

The Girl finally gave up and went to look for her clothes. I continued in the futile search for shirts. Being as Hubster had acquiesced to visiting one store and one store only, I had to make the most of it. Hubster started whining after the first 45 minutes about how his feet hurt and he wanted to go home, and after a while he wandered out to the car as I kept up the manic hunt for the "perfect" shirts in the "perfect" colors.

The Girl found a top but no pants. The Boy went AWOL along with Hubster, and still I searched.

Finally I gave up. It was after 8 p.m., I was exhausted, I was angry, and I was frustrated. Most of all I was too anal for my own good.

So we went to another store.

Hubster stayed in the car this time. The Girl went off on her own, acting as if she didn't know me. The Boy shopped for jeans, still refusing to wear "purple" at all costs.

And when they dragged me out of store in a straight jacket I was still trying to find a nice stripe to match the rust-colored shirt in my hand.

I've Been Remiss And I Can Tell Your Affection Has Waned

I'll admit it. I've been looking for ways to keep from writing.

The knitting. The television. The cleaning. Even going so far as to organize a family photo.

HAVE I NO SHAME?

But it has to come to an end sometime. And when it does, or maybe even before, I'll tell you the story of taking the whole family shopping for clothes.

Oh, it is a doozy, that one. And my anal-osity came out in full force, it did. One for the books.

So I'll leave you with that little taste of the future for now.

I know you're waiting with great anticipation.

All three of you that are left, that is.

Bless your little pointed heads, each and every one of you.

A Purl By Any Other Name Would Still Be Backwards Knitting

I bit the proverbial bullet today and taught myself how to purl.

And may I just say this about that? I hate it. It's like trying to eat with your feet, only I'd probably have better luck with the latter.

Please notice how I bring eating into EACH AND EVERY POST. It's a gift, really.

The purl? It is not. I think it was invented by some woman with too much time on her hands that couldn't stand on her head and knit at the same time because people of that time would have thought her improper. Or possessed. At this point I'm leaning toward the second option, since she came up with this little wonder.

And then there are the people who decided to create various other stitches I'm learning that all have abbreviations I can't remember. So when I happen upon them in a pattern other than the one for the dishcloth/potholder that I have now MASTERED (thankyouverymuch), I have to look them up on YouTube and watch them countless times to see how they're done. And then I forget which one is which, causing me no small amount of consternation and another trip back to YouTube.

Because the Interweb is my friend.

I believe once I have mastered the knitting portion of my education on the Internet I will expand my horizons even further and learn something else new and different.

Like brain surgery or atomic molecular reconstruction.

Sounds a lot more fun than purling.

We're A Club And This Is Our Clubhouse

At times I tend to wax poetic about certain things. The color of leaves in Fall, the love of a mother for her child, or a really good cuppa coffee that brings a tear to my eye.

Let me introduce the latest.

Chubby's is a midtown joint that has been only a stone's throw away from me for the past six years. Day in and day out, it sat there patiently waiting for me. It wasn't pushy. It just kept serving up down-home food 24 hours a day, knowing that somehow, someday I'd come through those doors.

And when I did we'd be one forever.

And Chubby's was right. They consider me a regular now.

It's not really my fault, though.

The Chubster has GOOD food. Meatloaf. Liver and onions (stop groaning - you haven't tasted THEIR liver and onions). Salisbury steak with mushroom gravy. Fresh salads. All-day breakfasts. Stuff like Mom used to make back before I had to cook every night after working all day.

Sigh.

And get this - REAL mashed potatoes. These puppies don't come out of a box.

Portions are big enough to split into two meals on the specials of the day. The only really bad thing I've had is the broccoli with cheese sauce. It's nasty. The rest of it is wonderful.

The prices are extremely reasonable as well. That's why you'll find my big enormous behind up on one of the swiveling barstools at lunchtime at least twice a week.

If you see me, look away fast. I wouldn't want Hubster to think the Chubster and I had a thing going.

Even though we do.

Meet the Folks, or Why We Need A Family Photo NOW

(L to R - Eldest Daughter, Eldest Son, The Boy, Me, The Girl, Hubster, Cutie's Mom, Cutie's Dad)

Oh the times, they have a-changed!

This photo was taken eight, count 'em, EIGHT years ago. It was the last formal family photo we had done. Complete with dogs. Onyx the black lab (L), was given to a farm family shortly after this shoot due to his propensity to eat everything in sight, including telephone wires, cable television wires, wallpaper and dirt. Lizzie, the miniature poodle, was six months old. Hogie (R) would soon be joined by Jewel, another rescued dog from a local shelter.

I am a bad, bad person. The history of my family has gone by the wayside. But not altogether. Here we all are, sans dogs and the new husband, on Eldest Girl's wedding day a couple of years later.

Since this photo we have added another daughter-in-law, two granddaughters and one grandson. Oh, and the son-in-law that didn't get pictured here for some reason or another.

Cutie's dad and mom (upper right) now live out of town and have a very tight schedule. We had originally planned this photo shoot for last July, but the weather was so hot and humid that we would have been miserable. We opted for fall instead. It looks like it will be another inside shoot due to the lateness of the season, but that's fine by me as long as we get the photo taken!

After all, The Boy and The Girl are now taller than I am...


It's embarrassing.

I'm Considering Whether or Not I Should Start Writing This New-Fangled Thing Called A Blog. What Do You Think?

Hello, my name is Chris.

You may remember me from a previous life. The one where I was not overtaken with knitting perfect potholders or catching up on complete seasons of television shows I used to watch before we got The Evil Satellite Dish.

The one where I actually had a life.

It is an amazing thing, this time we are given. And the fact that we are given only two hands and one brain really cuts down on the productivity part.

I mean, I could knit so many more potholders with four hands. And we all know world peace and the solution to hunger in underdeveloped nations can be solved with the hand-knit potholder.

It's a given.

There are other things I've been working on as well. The honest-to-goodness-this-time-no-backing-out Family Photo is coming up on November 1. The first photographer, my dear friend HeyJules, decided she was more comfortable shooting pics of nature than thirteen uncontrollable adults, and really? She ended up being the only SANE one in the whole process. I found another photographer willing to take the plunge (he hasn't met us yet) and we now have 2/3 of the equation. Well, maybe 3/5. We have the date, the photographer, the color group we're all wearing, but no place or time. I still have to work on that with the photographer, working around nap times and grouchy kids.

It's a good time all around.

In the process of all the good times, my left earbone has managed to swell up to the size of a grapefruit. It wouldn't be so bad except I look a little lopsided. At lunchtime yesterday I made a "quick" trip to the clinic inside the drugstore down the street to find that I had an outer ear infection. Apparently it doesn't go away on its own, so the clinician prescribed some cream and ear drops and antibiotics to bring it down to human size. Thankfully, the drugs are working.

Because it does nothing for one's self-esteem to have people look at you with horror in their eyes and say, "EEEEWWWW!!!" It tarnishes the brass just a bit.

In other news, I now have new glasses. And I pick up my new sunglasses today. And we bought a larger television for the office. And I can SEE again!!!

And hush.

I believe that's it for this edition of Whatever Happened to What's-Her-Name? Take care, and we'll see you again real soon!

Ah Be Normal Knitting Christmas Lists and Feet

Today is the first day I have felt normal since last Friday.

And we all know I use the term "normal" very, very loosely.

As a matter of fact, I was banished to the couch to sleep by Hubster during my period of relative abnormality, because really? Who wants to try to sleep with someone who tosses and turns and gets up and down and snores and groans and ....

It pains me to admit this. It pained Hubster more to try to sleep with it.

However, tonight will mark my glorious return to the homeland. I think I've finally kicked this in the gizzards. It's about time.

In other news, I'm about to bring up the "K" word again. Yes, I've finished yet another in the line of abysmal dishcloths. HOWEVER, they are more and more, at least LOOKING like dishcloths now. Instead of some sort of misshapen geometric disaster, that is. I'm telling you, once you screw up a beginner pattern every way you can, the only way to go is up!

And lastly, I have an idea for those of you who do Christmas lists in your family.

Amazon is celebrating the tenth year of their Wish Lists. To do this, they are having a sweepstakes for everyone that creates or adds to an existing Wish List. This week's prize is a kitchen makeover, and there are more prizes available as the weeks go on. In addition, you can now add items from sites other than Amazon to your Wish List, and you can create as many as you want. Once created, those lists can be sent to anyone who has an email address.

I'm having my grown children create Wish Lists for themselves and their children. That way I'll have the exact item(s) they want, whether I buy it/them from Amazon or not. I told them to go hog wild - to choose anything they wanted no matter what the price - because after all, it's just a list. We'll decide how much we'll spend on each of them and then use the list accordingly. The bigger the list, the better. Amazon lets you prioritize your wishes as well so you can get what they really want.

If this works I may just win the Nobel Peace Prize, Family Edition.

At very least I might be able to avoid the remodeling at the local Wal-Mart.

I've given them until Halloween, October 31, to get the lists in. I'll start nagging after that, bludgeoning after Thanksgiving. Maybe, just maybe it will work.

Did I mention I'd like to avoid Wal-Mart this year?

Tonight The Girl and I are headed out for her birthday pedicure. I decided to celebrate with her, being as she won't go by herself and I really want a pedicure.
It's a WIN-WIN situation!

Gee, I wonder how I could put one of those on an Amazon Wish List?

I'll Have A Shot of Flu With A Pepto Chaser

Remember way back when Prince Charles got engaged to the then Lady Diana? There was a joke going around that when they got married and had their first child they would name it Up. Then the family would be known as Up, Chuck and Di.

I can relate to that this weekend.

Wednesday I made the mistake of getting a flu shot.

I should have remembered why I haven't gotten one in the past five years. Silly me, I thought it was only because I swelled up like a toad at the injection site. I forgot about the other fun that always follows.

For some reason my quite cumbersome body looks at the totally dead virus as an invader from an alien planet. It sometimes takes up to a week after I get this type of shot, but I always, ALWAYS, end up sicker than your proverbial dog with some sort of stomach/achy/wish I was dead thing. And I cursed the memory I did not possess on Wednesday with a mighty and powerful curse when it showed up.

Today has been worse, with the vile demonic bug attacking joints I did not know I had along with making me both ravenous and nauseous at the same time. Sleep has been my only escape.

And if you mention to a doctor that you believe you'll pass, thank you, on the flu shot for the year because you tend to start heaving up Cleveland within a week of the shot EVERY SINGLE TIME, said doctor will look at you over his/her glasses with that you-are-such-a-phony look and say, "Hmmm. But it's a DEAD VIRUS. It CAN'T make you sick."

Manslaughter is perfectly legal in the above case. Especially if you've heard it more than once from more than one doctor, and doubly so if you've heard it more than once from the same doctor.

The H1N1 shots are supposed to be available soon at local health departments. For some reason I'm not so very excited at the prospect of getting one.

Probably because with my luck, I'll end up running around on all fours with a curly tail, squealing my head off.

Oh, between the times I'm heaving up Cleveland, that is.

Blind as a Bat and Cain't See Besides

I've been having a little trouble lately with my eyesight.

In my little hideaway, what we call the office, I have a chair. Beside the chair is a table and beside the table is a floor lamp. Across the room is a desk. On that desk is a 13" television. My thought, when we cleaned out the room and I started using it again, was that I would be able to sit in the chair, put my feet up and play on the computer or knit (snort) or whatever and watch television at the same time.

I can watch the television all I want. I just can't see what's playing on it.

And so, unless Mawmaw wants to go back into the living room and be subjected to Kourtney and Khloe, Rob and Big, WWF and Dog the Bounty Hunter on the larger screen, Mawmaw can do one or more of several things.

1. I can listen to the music stations...if I can find them.
2. I can stretch the cords across the room and put the television on my lap. However, this pretty much negates any other work I would want to do.
3. I can give up the easy chair and go back to the desk chair.
4. I can buy a bigger television.
5. I can get new glasses.

Of the above, the last two options seem the most likely. However, if it went the way it did the last time I will get my eyes examined, grumble about how much worse my eyesight is and the cost of new glasses, and then go home - forgetting to purchase said eyewear. And then I'll forget to file the insurance forms to get reimbursed for the exam and the glasses I didn't purchase.

Or I can buy a bigger television. Much less trouble, lasts much longer, provides much more entertainment value. But I have an eye test coming up next year for my driver's license. Televisions don't help out much with that. I mean, they rarely cooperate with you at the driver's license office when you ask them to put the test up on the "big screen" so you can see it better.

In fact, they may even frown a little. I've seen it happen.

At least I think I have.

Or I could do both. But there again, Christmas is coming and the folks hereabouts have taken to liking the fact of getting a gift or two other than socks. In good years they may get underwear as well, but if I go this route we may have to knock everyone back down to a piece of hard candy and an orange.

But wouldn't it be nice to see the joy on their faces as they watched me enjoying my new television?

Oh well, it was worth a try....

Today.

Today I am an anathema to electronics.

It is a full moon (or at least it was last night) and the shelectronic wolf has come out in me.

So far today I have killed both the computer at work and my work cell phone.

I deny all culpability in both cases. Things should not break simply because you use them or try to charge them.

Even if you DO have super-human strength when the moon is full....

Ah-ooOOOOOOO.......

I Wished Upon The Star Of Mundacity, And My Dreams Came True!

Oh, Interpeeps! Such blog fodder I have for you today!

The trip to the vet was Quite An Adventure.

Lizzie was just fine, thankyouverymuch, until she had to be lifted up onto that stainless steel table. Then all eight pounds of her started to shake and shiver all at once, and she became like a second skin to me.

In addition, she began emitting this odoriferous gas that could have put down a horse on the first inhale if you were in need of having a horse put down or anything like that.

You're welcome.

The vet came in and started going through her tightly curled doggy fur, and yes, we were the proud owners of Barnit and Bailflea's Traveling Circus.

More gas. More shivering.

Her temp was taken, and it was getting to the point where we were going to have to haul out the WWII Army surplus gas masks. Girlfriend had a SERIOUS problem. The more scared she got, the more gas she shot.

We opened the door to the exam room and an assistant came in to hold Lizzie while I turned my back. Dr. Vetster administered several shots and drew blood for a heartworm test, then told us it might be prudent to wait in the outer room where there was better ventilation.

I couldn't have agreed more. The air had begun to get more than a little thick.

I walked. Lizzie had her own jet pack to propel her out there.

I paid, got the meds we needed, and decided to take the Liz Monster home rather than suffering through her output in an enclosed car while The Boy got his hair cut. As it was we had to travel with the windows down the whole way home.

We dropped her off, I dropped The Boy off, and I was off to my own Amusement Park of the Suburban, Wal-Mart.

It was CROWDED for a Thursday night. Everybody and their brother needed something from Wal-Mart last night, or so it seemed. Then I found out the true treasure of the evening.

On Monday morning, they're shutting down part of our Wal-Mart in order to (be still my beating heart) TURN IT INTO A WAL-MART SUPER CENTER!!!

Glory.

Hallelujah.

And so they were having a super-sale on bunches of stuff no one really needed or wanted but HAD to have. Two examples: I was inches away from picking up a food dehydrator for my vegetarian nephew for a Christmas gift when some hussy SNATCHED IT OUT OF MY HANDS!!! I almost wrestled her to the ground for it, but there wasn't any ground...it was covered with bargain hunters. In another case, I spotted one of those things you hang bananas on that sits on the counter. But before I could get to it, someone who is obviously a PROFESSIONAL SHOPPER that covets banana hooks levitated it over to her cart.

And so you see me, the dehydrator and banana hook-less wretch that I am today. I'm sure this will haunt me for the rest of my days.

Or not.

But enough about my shopping angst.

When y'all were still in diapers and this store was built, we hoped it would have groceries like some of the other MEGA-Wal-Marts. But the uppity-ups in the Wal-Mart world did not see fit to shine their smiling faces upon us. And lo, we were sad.

And we took out our sadness on them by shopping at the Hy Vee next door and the Price Chopper down the street. And it took them many, many years, but apparently the uppity-ups have seen the error of their ways and have decided that now we may, too, be worthy of spending more money on edible products in Wal-Mart stores instead.

Smooth move. And all this begins just before the Christmas season starts? I dunno, seems like you could've waited until January when it was slow, but that's just from someone who actually SPENDS MONEY THERE.

Lastly, and certainly leastly, I bought me a new ball of red cotton yarn.

And that's all I have to say about that.

My Dog Has Fleas

Nope, it's not just the way to remember how to tune your ukulele anymore, Gladys.

Lizzie really does have fleas.

We've been noticing a little lot more scratching of late. A lot more biting and licking.

And when I told Hubster to quit it, he told me it was okay because Lizzie was doing it, too.

ba-dump dum.

So tonight Lizzie is going to the vet. It's her favorite place on earth next to the groomer. She's getting the whole nine yards - shots, worming, flea treatment, everything she never wanted. I have a definite feeling that I will be the one in the doghouse tonight instead of her.

Speaking of doghouses, we're getting her a different kennel with new bedding in it as well. We certainly don't want to risk re-infection. Besides that, we can consider it a late birthday present for her.

The Boy is coming with me, but only because I told him that if he didn't I wouldn't take him to get his hair cut.

Teenagers. You can't spank 'em anymore, and they're too tough to chew.

In other news, I am no longer talking about knitting or teeth. Which leaves the gulch pretty much dry, pardners.

QUICK!! SOMETHING MUNDANE!!! HAPPEN HERE!!!

Until then? I'm off to become the object of ridicule for taking such poor care of my pet at the vet's office.

If you need me, I'll be the one standing outside the exam room as they shoot my puppy girl full of needles.

wah.