The Ending Begins

Clarabelle and I are enjoying a quiet Sunday morning here in the living room while The Boy and Hubster sleep and The Girl has gone out to breakfast. There are biscuits in the oven waiting to be slathered with jelly, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, and a bright, sunny day to look forward to in our little part of the world.

Yesterday Sis and I met at Mom's for a final look-through of things before the estate sale agents arrive to sign the contract on Tuesday evening. We put things in closets that are not to be sold - cleaning supplies, trash cans, the family photos, pie plates, and the bean pot.

It's one of those things you just can't stand to have someone else have, yet you really don't want to keep it yourself. Grandma baked beans in that pot for seventy years. It's obviously old, it's brown, it's chipped, but it's still usable. It was one of the things that didn't sell in the auction of the farm so it came to live at Mom's when Grandma did. It puts quite a picture in my mind - Grandma toting a suitcase under one arm and a bean pot under the other.

We'll meet for the last time before the sale on Tuesday night to be sure we've cleared out the shed and gotten all of the gardening equipment out that we won't need in weeks to come. I still have a few boxes of things to remove and a few boxes of things to take over there before then. The estate sale team will come in on the 3rd to start staging and pricing things.

Then, on the 12th of June, exactly one year to the day from the day we first received that breathless call for help, the sale of the remainder of her worldly possessions will begin. So very much has happened in that year. So many joys, regrets, frustrations and loving times. So much to remember, and so much I'd like to forget.

Sis packed away the coffee pot and our cups. We aren't selling the chairs that sit at the bar in the kitchen. While we're ready to sell almost all of the possessions and the house, we're just not ready to give up our Saturdays just yet. It's been the way we've connected in the past six months since Mom's been gone. I'd like to keep that connection with Sis. It will take work on our parts without Mom, the glue that held us together, but it can be done.

And I hope it is.

Clarabelle and I are in a day-long meeting. I brought Clarabelle with me, along with an internet connection, so that I could keep from falling asleep at the wheel, so to speak. So far Clarabelle has managed to keep both me and my seatmate entertained during the especially dull parts of said meeting.

Have I told you lately how much I love having a laptop???

However, what I don't love is the fact that I stayed up last night until 1:30 a.m. I was supposed to be at this meeting at 8:30 a.m., but managed to arrive fashionably late. My boss was waiting for me as I arrived. At least he had a sense of humor about the whole thing, being as the meeting is off-site.

The schedule for the meeting said breakfast was to be served, so I just took a cup of coffee with me for the drive. When I got here, guess what?

NO BREAKFAST.

There may be some things I can tolerate, but being promised FOOD with no delivery is not one of those. I threatened those on either side of me with cannibalism thirty minutes before break time. Even though it was just a warning, they moved their chairs a little further away just the same.

I think it was a wise move.

Happy Days Are Here Again

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Please welcome Clarabelle to our midst!

She and I are just getting acquainted. I'm showing her the ropes, making a few adjustments, transferring a few files so she can get the lay of the land, and then I fully expect us to be the VERY BEST OF FRIENDS.

FOR MANY MANY MANY MANY YEARS.

For right now I need to work on enlarging her typeface, because hello! I am BLIND AS A BAT. And Clarabelle? Her type and her icons are not for the feint of eye. But we have a whole lifetime to work out these little foibles.

Until then, if I can stop smothering her with kisses long enough, I may actually get something done for a change.

Without my computer rebooting or freezing up every 3.75 seconds.

True story: After fighting Hoopty Desktop for FIVE SOLID DAYS of reboot and freeze while I was on "vacation", I went to work today where there are real, live, WORKING computers. Every time my mouse ran a little bit slow I found myself reaching for the on/off switch to reboot because I knew it was coming at any minute.

Talk about your Pavlov's dog...

Making Do Then Heaving Ho

The new laptop is in!!!

However, I am not.

It came in to the office yesterday while I was out on vacation. I had it shipped there because it was cheaper. When I called today just to find out if it was there because I am a curious sort (in more ways than one) I found it had been delivered already. I am still out on vacation. Who knew it would come so very fast???

Meanwhile, I am still gallumping around with Hoopty Desktop, which still reboots or freezes every 3.7 seconds, making life in the blogging world a living Hades. It also makes reading, researching, or just plain having fun the same irritating mess.

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

Tomorrow night The Boy and The Girl will travel out to TCHANH (The Computer Hospital At Nephew's House) to do a bit of babysitting and get their own desktop back. It is being held hostage until such time as they pay their dues and babysit whilst Nephew and his wife go out on an Official Date. Then they can come back home and hook it up and everyone will be happy.

In the meantime, I will remove the hard drive from Hoopty Desktop and attempt to sell it in the sale at Mom's. And if nothing else works, I will donate it to a Worthy Cause. Just so long as it isn't in my house anymore, I will be OK with that. Until then, I have found that running a fan aimed directly at Hoopty is making it stay up longer. Apparently it is like me - unable to function once it gets hot, and it gets hot a lot in its old age.

That was a joke, son.

Please tune in tomorrow when I launch the new and improved version of Blogging! Now With A Laptop!

Happyhappyjoyjoydancedance....

Glory Be!

Ladies and Gentlemen,

We have an estate sale company!

The first one I spoke with about taking over the sale long, long ago finally called back. I lost their card to begin with, then found it after we'd started setting up the sale ourselves. I called them, but didn't get a return call and so figured they weren't interested. Not so. They were in Mexico.

I met with them today at Mom's, and they seem to think there will be enough profit in it for them to take it on. They even came down 5% on their usual fee, and agreed to sell a few things for the lady that was going to help us without taking a cut. We sign the contract on June 2 and they'll start setting things up on June 3. The sale will be June 12-14.

We'll be putting together fliers to hand out at the sale for people who might be interested in buying the house as well. Hopefully we'll get some nibbles on it from people who see it during the sale.

Life goes on. It doesn't stop for the fact of us missing her. As much as we hate it, we have to move along with it. And this is the next step.

I just wish I felt better about taking it.

We Are Starved for Words

It is no secret that my family is nothing but what keeps authors and publishing houses in business. We are ravenous for books. We devour them. We sever their flesh with our radioactive eyes and ears on a daily basis, never content. We must always have another at the ready to replace the one we just killed off.

In short, we love to read.

Because of this, it came as no surprise to Sis and me as we worked at Mom's today. Whilst setting up for the sale, we have set one whole room aside for nothing but books, audiobooks, movies and cassette tapes, with the occasional DVD or CD thrown in for good measure. As of today we have two six-foot tables completely covered, and we're hoping to get a third. What was once the playroom or Sis' old bedroom has now become The Library. To say it correctly one must point one's nose upward whilst speaking in a disdainful English accent. If, say, a customer at the sale were to ask if there were any books for sale, you'd say, "I believe they're (raised nose) in The Library, Madam." and you'd walk away in a proper disdainful huff.

Why, I don't know. Because the books? They will be CHEAP. And PLENTIFUL. Sis and I are even hauling our considerable fortunes of self-help, novels, literature, trashy novels, Christian trashy novels (they think about going to church at least once), spiritual books, computer books, mysteries, dog books, finance books, funny books, Captain Underpants books...you name it, we've probably got it.

We also got one table set up for the collectible stuff before we called it a day. We're planning to do the same thing on Tuesday, since I'm on vacation. And tomorrow is the day we move the old furniture out of here and over to Mom's. FINALLY.

We're having the Cutie family over for lunch, then going over to Eldest's Son's for dinner. I hope we can get almost all of it moved tomorrow, then I can spend a goodly rest of my time off cleaning and reorganizing the dining room and office. Things are stinkin' FILTHY here.

At any rate, the Ambien seems to be doing what I pay it to do and I can barely keep mine eyes open. Rather than sleep in my chair I think I'll go upstairs.

Nighty Nite

Getting Through Year One

I keep wondering if this year of firsts will ever stop. More than that, I wonder if I'll make it through sometimes.

Tonight was Nephew's graduation. Sis has been having a bad week of it, remembering how she promised that if it was within her power, Mom would get to be there.

Only it wasn't within her power. But in a way, Mom was still there.

We were sitting next to each other as the graduates started the processional up the aisle. I knew how hard this was for Sis. Nevertheless, I couldn't stop the blasted tears. I kept seeing Mom sitting in a seat between us, all made up and dressed to the nines, purse in her lap and a smile on her face. She would have been so proud of Nephew.

So, I turned my head the other way and pretended to be interested in something on the other side of me, all the while blubbering and snotting away. But then I sneaked a peak at Sis.

She was doing exactly the same thing.

She looked at me and I looked at her. She said, "I. MISS. MOM." And we both cried together.

After a few minutes we calmed down and started wondering what Mom would think of the sorry lot we were. She wasn't much for emotional displays as we were growing up. That's not the way she was brought up. We imagined her telling us to straighten up and stop the tears, that there was nothing to cry about. We joked about some of her other key sayings when faced with tears as well, and by the time the ceremony started we were fine.

The next big date coming up is June 12, the day Mom called us for help. After that will be her birthday, July 29. Of course, we hope to have the sale in the near future, and that will be hard as well.

But we're getting through it, scars and all, leaning on each other.

Randomness of a Random Order

Today was my last day of work for a few glorious, shining days. I am on vacation until Thursday next, and I have indeed vacated already - in both mind and body.

I have several HUGE projects lined up for my time off, almost none of which will actually get done. However, it is good to dream. Here they are, in some sort of order. If you can figure out what the order is, you're a better man than I am.

1. Get out of bed on a daily basis.

2. Go to Nephew's graduation from my Alma Mater tomorrow evening.

3. Sort through all the random (dare I say it?) crap in my office/dining room /basement/bedroom and box it all up or haul it all to the garage to be

4. Hauled to Mom's in a truck on Sunday for the sale.

5. Price all of Mom's stuff and my stuff and Sis' stuff.

6. Organize all of the stuff. (Mom would call this "doing it bass-ackwards")

7. Decide whether or not to call the city and have them come to fix this:

I mean, they did PROMISE to make it look like it did before and all, and it has been quite a few days...

But it does make our yard stand out from all the others, so I may not after all.

8. Take delivery of my BRAND NEW LAPTOP. (happyhappyjoyjoydancedance) And it can't come soon enough. I've had to reboot four times since I started this post. GRRRRRRR - Make that FIVE.

Here's the one I got from CDW. http://www.cdw.com/shop/products/default.aspx?EDC=1711431 I think it was a great deal for $499. You will be hard-pressed to find one with this many features for this price elsewhere, IMHO. On top of that, I got the employee discount because it's the same company we use at work to purchase our computers. Now, if UPS would cooperate and be extra fast, I could be in business!

And with that, I'll be on my merry way before the computer crashes aga

Please Hold

My life is spent on hold.

At this moment I am on hold with a certain cell phone company we'll call Hint, because it's obvious they have nary a hint as to what they're doing (also it rhymes with the REAL name. "Oh really?" you say. "Whatever could it be?" To which I answer "DUH.")

If, by any odd and unreasonable chance, I am ever to hear the hold music for this company at some sort of party or function or in some waiting room or elevator I fully intend to start foaming at the mouth and running around on all fours. No one person should be subjected to the same six notes played on a French horn over and over and over and over and over again. It really is considered a form of torture in some cultures. Look it up.

And yet I find I put my life on the very same hold pattern all the time (sans irritating music). I realize there are things in my life I want to do, but something inside me puts them "on hold" for indefinite periods of time.

For instance: I want to completely finish the living room. Have it DONE. Not have to worry about what's going up on the walls, what knick-knacks should be where, if it all comes together as a cohesive unit, if it looks good or not. But I cannot seem to MOVE on it.

The office has been clear of extra furniture since last Sunday. But instead of getting down to the task of sorting through things, deciding what needs to go and what needs to stay, organizing and cleaning, I have sat. Sat and looked at the mess and wondered how on earth I was going to begin. Frozen.

Point me in the right direction, tell me what to do to begin, get me started, and I'm a whirlwind. But leave me alone to my own devices and I will stand, unsure of where to start, feet planted firmly in Doing Nothing Land.

I'm hoping to get into one of my organizing moods soon. I think I'll need it to survive this next season, what with the sale at Mom's coming up.

As for the rest of my time here on earth? I'd like to do some writing. I'd like to travel. I'd like to build my cabin on some land in the woods. I'd like to be skinny. I'd like to learn how to ballroom dance. I'd like to enjoy more grandbabies and see the grandchildren I have more. I want to LIVE my life instead of sitting it out.

And I want to get OFF of HOLD.

Water, Water Everywhere, But Not A Drop To Drink, Brush My Teeth, Or Shower

The maniacal forces of life are at it again.

I went to bed around 9 p.m. last night. Hubster stayed up watching a movie and then went to close and lock the front door before turning in. As he looked out into the front yard, he saw a waterfall going down the embankment.

Which was strange, because we don't have a waterfall in the front yard. And it wasn't raining.

It seems as though a water main chose last night to burst under the depths of our front lawn. If Hubster had listened to God correctly he would have built the house like a boat so that it could have floated away.

As it was, it merely flooded the basement.

And now we have a HUGE hole in our lawn the size of a small swimming pool. We're thinking of keeping it.

Except we don't have any water to fill it, because the main? It's still broken.

All I have to say is, "Thank You, God, for Wal-Mart facial cleansing wipes and bottled water on hand in a crisis situation."

Because without them, it would be Ugly today. Ugly Indeed.

Look What I Found!

Me with Mom
This photo now sits on my desk to remind me of happy days. I do miss her!

Me And Hoopty Are Parting Ways

Oh Interpeeps! It almost killed me to use incorrect language in that title, I'll have you know. I am almost dead here. And I may have to change it yet.

But on to the reason for my inane verbiage.

I have missed you in the few days I've been gone. However, I cannot tarry as I type this little update.

"Why so?" you ask.

Because my computer is shooting craps yet again. Yea and verily so.

But don't cry for me, Argentina! Hubster has finally for sure and indeed OK'd the purchase of a spankin' brand new laptop! After seeing the angst I was suffering due to having to reboot every 3.7 seconds because the computer is now FREEZING UP that often or shutting itself off or both, he acquiesced.

It was either that or suffer the slings and arrows of a crazed madwoman (is that redundant?) and wonder if he indeed was going to awake ALIVE the next day or if she in her madness would bash in his head with said computer as he slept, thereby causing him to awake NOT alive.

Yes, levels of insanity are running high here.

So, armed with the ads from the Sunday paper and a computer that WORKS at my place of employment and a lunch hour, I shall valiantly endeavor to find a replacement for my Hoopty Desktop.

In the words of the immortal song, "Got along without you before I met you, gonna get along without you now."

And let that be a comfort to us all.

Amen.

WATCH OUT, WORLD!

I am in a mood.

I got up mad this morning, and it hasn't abated. Not one little bit.

I stopped by Starbucks to get a drink. That involved driving past the workplace, where I noticed someone had ALREADY taken my parking place. When I got to Starbucks I had to wait in line for FIFTEEN MINUTES to get my drink, only to be met by Miss BlondeCheerfulHappySmileyChirpy, whom I promptly punched* in the face as I headed out with my venti iced mocha nonfat w/whipped. That it took FIFTEEN MINUTES to obtain. Because now I was late to work.

When I got there I promptly put off doing the job I've been putting off for the past two weeks, told everyone to watch out and brook me a wide path, punched* out two employees that didn't, and headed back to my lair with claws out and frightening death-glare in place.

GRRRRRR.

I can't find a good book to download to the MP3 player, because every time I try to do such a thing, my computer at home gives me an error message.

And then, just for good measure, it restarts.

I blame Joshilyn Jackson. She seems as good as anyone to blame, so today I'm blaming her. Shame on you, Joshilyn!

I am now hungry. And "beezy" (as The Girl would say). I have no book. And I have a headache the size of Dixie, or my behind, whichever is bigger. Frankly, I'm betting on my behind. And to top things off, some yayhoo is running a CHAINSAW outside my window at the moment.

STAND BACK, MYRTLE!! SHE'S GONNA BLOW!!!!

Xanax and Anacin and a dark room are in my very near future. In that exact order.

And I may not come out until after the weekend is over.

I think it would be best for all concerned.

*only in my mind, Interpeeps. Only in my mind.

Dream A Little Dream

Pssst! Interpeeps, come closer. Oh c'mon y'all, get on over here. I'm not about to bite. I have a word of wisdom to impart.

Did you know there are THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS of authors out there?

And I'm not just talking blog authors here, Sweet Things. These ones write actual BOOKS. The kind that get SOLD. For MONEY.

They make up stories in their little pointed heads, Interpeeps, and they make those stories come to life. Word by stinkin' word, they build and wind and develop and twist and spit and polish a story together that's so fancy you wonder if their mamas shouldn't oughta come right out and slap them for being so smart.

(Or for using some of the language they do or the scenes they write, because REALLY? A-HEM.)

And here's the other deeeeeep daaaaaark secret I've never told anyone about all of that.

I wanna be in that club.

I have absolutely no stitch of an idea as to how to start, though, and even less talent. But wouldn't it be something to tell the grandkids about?

"Yesssirreeeeee, back in aught nine, 'ol Granny up an' writ herseff a honest-to-goodness page-turnin' BOOK. Made real good kindlin' up until we ran outa 'em...."

It's just an idea. It's been running through my head. Pretty soon it will get tired and stop, falling down for a long, uninterrupted snooze.

But for now - for now it's kind of nice to dream.

The Scarecrow Cometh

It is here.

The device which promises to rid me of squirrels of the rodent variety is hooked up and working, vigilantly keeping guard over my tomato plants. And not a minute too soon, I might add. The little rabbits/squirrels/wandering-tomato-plant-eaters have already been at it. One of my plants is now in TICU due to ferocious nibbling by an Unknown Perpetrator.

We set it up last night after the grandkids left. It was getting dark by then so we turned on the outside lights. We assembled the Scarecrow and hooked it up to the water hose, then took some time fine-tuning the motion detector as well as the three-second spray of water and how far it would go.

And I came away from said process looking similar to a drowned hippo in a blue t-shirt. Sexy as all get-out. Truly. The Boy didn't fare much better, but being 36 years and change younger than me and quite a bit more agile he managed to dodge the spray pretty well.

We've got it set to where it won't harm pedestrians (including the mailman), not that a little shower would bother them anyway on a hot day. It would probably just scare them into throwing the mail and having a minor heart attack on the driveway. No biggie.

The main thing is that it gives the loud and clear signal to the rabbits and squirrels: LEAVE THE TOMATO PLANTS BE!!!

Updates and film at 11.

We Now Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Humor For A Bit Of Life

Yesterday was my first Mother's Day without Mom. Ever.

I knew it wasn't going to be a piece of cake, this day. I knew it would bring out feelings and emotions. So I woke up and dove headlong into them, knowing I couldn't escape.

I got up, dressed, and went to the place Mom always took Sis and me for our birthday breakfast. I got what I always got before, only this time I took it with me. I couldn't help but stand in that line and remember all the good times we'd had there, our little family. All the times we laughed, all the silly looks we got from other patrons as we sat and ate our pastries and drank our coffee. It's no wonder the tears started up as I paid for my food.

From there I drove over to Mom's house and let myself in. I grabbed one of the quilts she had in the cedar chest and settled down on the couch to talk with her as I ate my breakfast. There was no gift for her this year, no card. I didn't give her the extra-special hug. Instead, I talked and cried myself out - something I haven't done for a while.

Time is healing this wound. Slowly, but it is healing.

I spent the rest of my time there reading and enjoying the solitude. It occurred to me that I may not have that luxury much longer. We'll be putting the house on the market soon.

We have asked a few of Mom's friends to handle the sale of her belongings. We'll help price things, but ultimately the sale will be in their hands. It's just too much for us to handle. We're meeting with them next Saturday.

There are a few more important dates to get through this year...a few firsts I don't look forward to. But God is starting to peek back in the window to show me He's still there and He cares.

And life, no matter how much you've been through, goes on.

The Printed Word Is A Dangerous Thing

I firmly believe I could happily survive the rest of my life in the wilderness all by myself if I had only the following:

1. Food, and a way to easily cook it
2. Water/Coffee/Milk for lattes
3. A computer with a good internet connection
4. A humble abode with maid service
5. Books. Lots and lots of really good books.

Case in point: Friday afternoon I checked out three books from the library by my place of employment. One was an audio book, so it doesn't really count. I started reading this one as I worked at my part-time job checking trailers at the movie theater.

Now, this is no small little paperback dimestore novel here, Interpeeps. This is a Book with a capital B. It contains 464 pages, and each and every one of them kept me interested.

So much so that I ended up staying up until 4:30 a.m. reading. As Hubster came downstairs at 3:30 a.m. to go to work, he just looked at me and shook his head. He's lived with me long enough to know how I get when I have something in print in my hand. Only when the letters started swimming and the black floaty thingies got so bad I could barely see did I put the book down and go to bed.

I finished it at 4 p.m. yesterday, after spending the morning at Mom's. And after I got up from the nap I had to take (see above), I started this one.

And finished it at 6 p.m. this evening.

Is there some sort of 12-step program for book-a-holics? Because Interpeeps? My eyes are SORE.

This is one reason I listen to books on my MP3 player. I can put it down. I can walk away from it - not worry about it. I can go to sleep with someone reading to me, then catch up where I left off the next day. I can do other things besides sit and turn pages for hours on end. I can almost have a life.

Instead of this. This is an addiction.

Never Wear Sweatpants On An 80-Degree Day

The air conditioning here at work is on the fritz.

Oh, we knew it way back last fall. But since we are a not-for-profit type of organization, we just didn't have the money to put into fixing something we didn't need until it got hot again.

Guess what? It got hot again.

The temps on the upper floors of the building were around 85 degrees yesterday. It's about 80 in my office now.

Being the type that watches the weather forecast like a HAWK, I took the time to query Mr. Weatherman himself, Hubster, as to what the temps were likely to be today before I left home for the office.

"I think it's supposed to be pretty cool," says he.

So I, in my infinite wisdom, donned fleece pants (it's Casual Day) and a short-sleeved shirt.

"Ha!" thought I, "I am prepared for the temps whatever they may be!"

Unless the temps decide to boil up into the Bowels of Hell territory, as they have today. Oh, the upper half is doing fairly well. But the lower half is suffering from extreme steam heat.

Now, lower-half steam on a skinny person is bad enough, but on me, Tilly The Two-Ton Teamster, it's downright UGLY. And I can't close the doors to my office and strip down to unmentionables, because...EEEEWWWWWWW. And the bathroom is as hot as my office.

So here's my solution: I'm going home. And I'm sending my people home as well. It's almost quitting time anyway. We'll all be back Monday with sundresses and mint juleps and plenty of baby powder and Ban deodorant.

Although, come to think of it, the sundresses might look better on the two maintenance guys than the rest of us combined.

I may or may not have mentioned it about 53 times in the last few posts, but MOMMA DON'T DO HOT.

In Which I Make A Fool Out Of Myself Yet Again But This Time With A Total Stranger

So from the last entry into Ye Olde Blogge, you have surmised that I like to read. Or be read to, mostly.

One of the books I have most recently read/listened to is Between, Georgia, written by an author named Joshilyn Jackson. Not only did she write this book, but she also read the unabridged version of the MP3 to which I listened.

It was a HOOT. It was one of those books that you want to keep reading because it's so good that you can't put it down, but you put it down because you want it to last because it's so good. And with her voicing all of the characters, well, it made it even that much better. If you get a chance, it's a read you won't want to miss.

I googled Ms. Jackson and found that not only does she have a website, but (be still my heart) SHE BLOGS!

Well, Interpeeps, I made it my business to start reading said blog from the very beginning. Why? Because there's no better way to get to know someone and catch up on what's been happening and how they are on a day-to-day basis.

Besides that, I'm nosy.

So I'm all the way through 2004 entries, when I get a notifier on Google Reader that she has just written her 1000th post! And she's thanking all the commenters and the people who read, even the person who just started reading her archives this past week and emailed her to tell her.

It wasn't me. But it could've been.

I was just too stinkin' "I can't write to a real AUTHOR and blather on about how much I adored their book or anything because they'd think I was too stupid for words... blahblahblah..." Besides, I'm fat. And old.

So I wrote to her. And I sent it to her. And then I read what I'd sent. AFTER I sent it. And the humiliation? It was great and mighty and powerful. So great and mighty and powerful that I will not even reprint what I sent to her in the form of a "Gee, I really like your work! Please, please, please like me! I'm funny! I'm not a geek! And you can like me, too!"

And then I dropped into the dank, dark recesses of my soul, never to be seen by mortals again because I was too embarrassed for words. And I couldn't even kick my own behind because my knee won't bend that far because I'm too fat. And old.

Now THAT'S sad.

So I wrote to her again and apologized for the first email. Then I covered myself up with rotted leaves and swamp mud and went to live in the black cave of my mortification and shame.

I'll just sit here and wallow. Y'all carry on.

Blame It On Nora Roberts

I am an avid reader.

Not so much an actual "reader" anymore, but more of an avid listener. My eyes tire easily, have lots of floaty thingies, blur a lot, etc. Due to my extreme age the eyeballs, just like everything else, ain't what they used to be.

Because of this I employ the use of an MP3 player to listen to audio books. I always try to get unabridged versions because I want to hear what the author wrote, not what the editors chopped up. And it's even better if the author reads the book because then you can get the real feel of the characters and what the author was thinking as he/she wrote.

And I do enjoy me a good story.

(Remind me to tell you about stalking Joshilyn Jackson. I'm so ashamed.)

On the rare Some Most nights you'll find me cooking supper listening to a good book while the rest of the family watches television. I have been known to get irate if I'm trying to listen to a book and a certain male child walks in every three minutes to ask where the nail clippers, mayonnaise and hair gel are, in that order. I'd even get upset if they were in a different order.

Go figure.

Because not only do I have to pause the book, but I have to then look at the errant child with my "What is it NOW?" look, sigh heavily, then actually say "What is it NOW?" to obtain a query to which the man-child should already know the answer, having lived these almost sixteen years in the same house.

You'd think he'd learn.

However.

I made the mistake of downloading a Nora Roberts book to my MP3 player. Not that I don't enjoy a good Nora every now and then, but this particular copy had a certain addlepated piece of software in the first part that wouldn't allow me to play it. As a matter of fact, it froze up my MP3 player completely. All I could do was turn it off and back on again, only to try to play it again with the same results.

I thought the book was damaged in the initial download, so I deleted it from my computer and MP3 player, downloaded it again, transferred the file to the MP3 player and tried to play Part 1. Same problem. So I turned it off.

I had to go somewhere, so I stuck the MP3 player's earphones in my ears, got in the car, and turned it on as I left.

But the player, it didn't play. It just turned on and looked at me.

I turned it off and on again.

No dice.

I determined it must be the Nora Roberts book again, so I calmed myself and told myself I'd just delete it when I got home and everything would be just fine. The player would work just like it did before this Unfortunate Incident. All would be well.

But that didn't stop me from turning it on and off every 7.3 seconds all the way home.

It was a 33 minute drive.

It's a wonder the poor thing didn't just die from overuse of the on/off button alone.

However, once I got it home and performed the voodoo ritual to remove Nora from its innards, all was well again in MP3land.

And we all breathed a collective sigh of relief and had hashbrowns and sausage for dinner, which I made while listening to Anita Shreve instead.

Sorry Nora. You had your chance.

Lurve Is A Very 'Spensive Thang

Interpeeps, in case I haven't mentioned it before, let me tell you now.

The Boy is in LURVE.

It's been four months, seven hours, forty-two minutes, thirteen seconds of heart-pounding bliss for him so far. He is needed. He is the male animal in a real RELATIONSHIP with an honest-to-goodness female-type person that worships the ground upon which he walks.

That is, when they aren't fighting.

And today is her birthday. So for her birthday my prince of a son decided he was going to get her the most spectacular, stupendous, wondermous gift he could think to get her...a 10 mp digital camera.

This little piece of finery set him back over $100. One hundred dollars of hard-earned yard mowing money. He even placed his own desires on hold to buy this for her, because Interpeeps?

THAT IS WHAT THE BOY IS ALL ABOUT WHEN HE IS IN LOVE.

No questions asked. No season pass to Worlds of Fun for him - not yet. No new X-Box 360 - that's put on hold.

I'm thinking about breaking into "When A Man Loves A Woman" here, but I'll spare you.

As his father and I joked to each other, we'll be lucky to get one of those little dogs with the bobbing heads for our birthdays. We just don't rate anymore.

And I guess that's how it should be.

The Thrill of the Hunt

When Springtime rolls around the gardening bug hits. I can't help it. I was raised by Depression-era country-grown parents to put tomato plants, cucumbers, green beans, peas, carrots, radishes, lettuce and a variety of other vegetables into the ground as soon as the weather allowed.

Unfortunately, as soon as the weather gets hot, I have also been genetically programmed to abandon such plants to the Forces of Nature That Be while taking my flaccid, overweight body into the cool realms of the air-conditioned house for the remainder of the season.

Momma don't do hot.

And so, for this and many other reasons, this year my "garden" consists of four lonely tomato plants I have deposited into the front flower bed. If I had a flower bed in the back yard I would put them there, but (1) I don't, and (2) since I rarely go into the back yard (see "Momma don't do hot" above) (3) the poor plants would like as not perish from neglect and/or have the fruit torn from their fleshy vines by varmints without anyone giving a flying fig.

As I have planted them in the front bed for All To See, I most certainly DO give a flying fig about their well-being and future growth. However, being as I've done this before and realized nary a single tomato from even the healthiest of vines, new tactics will be used this year.

You see, my sworn enemies, the Squirrel Fiends, have decided that all of my tomatoes are grown not for my edification and nutrition purposes, but for THEIRS. To try to convince them otherwise I have employed the use of peppermint oil on sticks stuck into the ground along with other useless methods of deterrence. All proved much less than effective.

This year, however, I may have hit upon the solution. There are tentative squeals of joy in my announcement, somewhat akin to your typical thirteen-year-old girl.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I announce The Scarecrow!



I had a credit on my Amazon account leftover from Christmas, so I used it to purchase this device. I'm hoping it works as well as the 289 people who praised it said it did. If so, we may actually have some tomatoes this year.

And I may actually branch out to the back yard next year.