What in Hell Was I Thinking? We Adopted Another Dog

On the morning of Sunday, May 5, my husband and I were in Saugatuck, MI, having breakfast outside a charming little restaurant.  We were enjoying the last day of a splendid weekend spent with my favorite photography group, when a woman from the Allegan County Animal Shelter walked by with the most adorable little white dog.  The woman said it was a female Havanese mix, estimated to be about 10 – 12 months old.  And she was up for adoption.  I absolutely was not looking for a dog.  But, for me, it was love at first sight. 

My husband didn’t feel the same way.  But before we finished the three-hour drive home, he was on board.  In fact, he chose her name as he drove – “Hannah.”  Little did we know that he would soon put “Horrible” in front of that name!

On line, I read that Havanese are difficult to housebreak (an understatement).  Well, she had “accidents” in our house on a daily basis, and we’d been taking her out about every 90 minutes.  She seemed to want to just sit on the sidewalk or lie in the grass and look around.  Then she’d come in and poop.  I’d never been so frustrated with a dog.

And the little darling had separation anxiety like nothing I’d ever seen before.  During her second week with us, we left the house for about five hours.  When we came back, I was horrified to see our kitchen blinds chewed into pieces on three windows and bite marks on a few of the others.  We’d left her in the kitchen with three baby gates keeping her on the wood floor, but she knocked one of the gates down.  So we had also potty accidents in other rooms.  Since then, she’s always in her crate while we’re gone. 

She has other bad habits, as well.  She jumps really, really well.  Like from the floor to the kitchen table with one leap (and, no, she doesn’t have long legs).  She ate my sushi when I got up from the table to hug my son after a visit.  And the other day, she ate some moldy cheese that I put on the island counter, intending to throw out.   Yes, she’s gotten into lots of stuff in places where she never should’ve been.

Oh, and she loves to chew.  She got my reading glasses and did such a good job on them that I had to guess what some of the scattered pieces were from.  And while she was on the nightstand, she ate an entire container of my shea butter.  She also chewed the toes off a doll I bought for our granddaughter.  And imagine my horror when she chewed a disposable razor that she dug out of the trash (yes, she’s a garbage picker – we now have new waste baskets with lids).   I thought what I saw on the floor was a piece of foil.  But, no, it was the actual blade, all bent up and, somehow, without Hannah's blood on it. 

Hannah also runs away every chance she gets.  We can’t let anybody in the house until she’s been leashed, because she squeezes out the door like a little rat.  The last time I chased her, I thought I’d have a heart attack.  The only reason she stopped running was to sniff another dog’s poop.  That’s when I tackled her and almost fell into it.  She’s just plain rude in so many ways.  She breaks into rooms by body-slamming the doors.  Or she’ll slam into me, when I don’t let her off her leash to chase a squirrel.  The papers from the animal shelter said she was turned in by a police officer.  It figures - she was probably in jail, because she’s definitely a criminal.

So why is she still here?  Well, she’s the most loving and loveable dog I’ve ever had.  She bonded with me instantly, as if she knows I’m the one who saved her.  She follows me from room to room and even stays up into the wee hours with me.  And we’re making progress with her rude behavior.  We found an excellent trainer, Kat Stevens (KatStevensDogTraining.com), who has us using a clicker (it really works!) to make Hannah pay attention to commands.  This week, we’re working on door etiquette.  No more running out the door or jumping on visitors.  And we’re making progress with her potty behavior. Hopefully, we can “click” her into a perfect lady, like her sister, Maddie.  (And then we can call the carpet cleaners in, even though we’re doing an admirable cleaning job on our own.) 

The bottom line is we love Hannah too much to give up on her.  And when I make a commitment, it’s for good.  In the meantime, I’m using humor to get us through this rough patch.  (Hannah has a Twitter page – it’s:  twitter.com/HannahHavanese)  She’s a spirited and special pup, and from the moment I saw her, I felt like she was supposed to be with us.  So we’ll just keep clicking her rudeness away!

What in Hell Was I Thinking? We Adopted Another Dog

The Jaguar XJL - Better than Sex!

Maybe I shouldn’t listen to audio books in the car anymore. Because how could I have failed to notice the Jaguar XJL? Two days ago, I saw it for the first time, and it took my breath away. Just look at that back end, those taillights and the jaguar leaping across the trunk. I haven’t been this excited about a car in years! (Back in my early 20s, I lusted after the Jaguar XKE. But that was probably as much about the guy across the street who drove one, as it was about the car.)

Anyway, this magnificent machine is absolutely beautiful, and it has all the muscle I need in its 385 horsepower 5.0L V8. I think it looks best in black, but I like the dark blue, too. The interior is fantastic, with all kinds of extras. But it was the sleek exterior styling that made me wish I was a car thief. The only drawback, aside from the price, is the mileage – only 16 in the city and 23 on the highway. But that’s a small price to pay for something this smokin’ hot.

Alas, I’ll be driving it only in my dreams, because the XJL costs $80,000. I always swore that even if I became wealthy, I’d never pay that kind of money for a vehicle. But this car has made me realize just how narrow-minded I’ve been. Now I’m going to start looking for a job again. Age discrimination be damned – I’m coming out of retirement. I want an XJL!

Now you’ll have to excuse me while I take a cold shower!

Photo by: natetherobot©
Title: Jaguar XJ
http://www.flickr.com/photos/34888294@N02/4338872050/

The Jaguar XJL - Better than Sex!

Out of Time - Too Many Interests

April and May are my busiest months of the year. That’s because I try to get all the required Master Gardener volunteer and education hours completed during those months. (Yes, the woman who hates working outside in Michigan’s hot and steamy summer weather is a Master Gardener.) Then, for the rest of the year, I can pursue my other interests and volunteer assignments without concern over whether I’ll be re-certified by the county M.G. folks.

Well, that often leads to conflicts, like this one. Yesterday, I showed up at a gardening center to report for my 1:00 – 5:00 volunteer shift. I didn’t see the Master Gardener info table in its usual place, but it was raining, and I figured it had been moved inside. So I went in search of the owner to see where I was supposed to be. When she saw me, she laughed and told me that I’d shown up on the wrong weekend!

But I knew I had an assignment for yesterday, so I drove home to check my planner (thankfully, it wasn’t far). And I saw that I was supposed to be at a local hardware store’s garden center instead, and that I was now 20 minutes late. So I flew to the hardware store. As I was driving, it occurred to me that I’d recently committed to volunteering at a farmer’s market the same weekend that I’m supposed to be at the other garden center. Plus, because it’s my husband’s birthday that day, we were supposed to go out to dinner that evening.

So, because I don’t back out of commitments, I’ll be showing up at the farmer’s market at 8:00 a.m. and working ‘til noon. Then I’ll head over to the garden center for the afternoon shift. And we’ll go out for dinner another evening. It’s a good thing that the Mr. is easy going about stuff like this. He’s already proven that, since we never did celebrate his birthday last year. It kept getting put off, until it became silly to continue rescheduling it. Yes, everyone close to me suffers during April and May.

Photo by Sandy Laurence©
Title: Boyne Garden

Out of Time - Too Many Interests

Repotting an Orchid in a Hurry

I used to love growing orchids, watching them come back into bloom season after season, in spite of being under-watered and under-fertilized. That’s right – I’m not a good orchid mom. My 36 plants are under lights in the basement, and sometimes I can almost hear them screaming out for water. I feel guilty about the half-assed care they get during the winter. All summer long, they’re out on the deck, getting watered pretty much every day and fertilized now and then. And until a few years ago, I used to be diligent about their care while in the basement. But I lost my enthusiasm a few summers ago, when the plants came back into the house in October with an entomologist’s dream assortment of bugs.

First, of course, there were tons of spiders of all types and sizes (and I don’t like spiders). I even brought a few huge orb weavers in. Then the phalaenopsis orchids were full of mealy bugs, which I can’t stand, because they’re very difficult to get rid of without strong chemicals. Next came the aphids on about half of the orchids (not on the phals). And this year, we have a new problem – scale insects. And they do like the phalaenopsis.

Well, the other night, I decided to water the orchids. It had been over a week since I’d watered them. One pot was so incredibly heavy every time I carried it to the sink for water that I dreaded picking it up. I knew that the pot itself was too deep and too thick, which made it heavy. But I also suspected that the orchid bark had long ago broken down into rich compost. (Yes, it had been years since I’d repotted that plant. I already told you I’m an orchid abuser!)

Anyway, I couldn’t take its suffering any longer, so I decided – at 1:30 AM to repot that orchid before watering the rest of them. I was tired, and I just wanted to get the orchid out of the pot to see what was going on. And what a mess it was. The roots were just sitting on top of old orchid bark that had almost completely broken down. I had to either use most of my supply of new bark to fill that big pot or find something to take up space in the bottom of it.

Since I’d bought orchids that had those styrofoam packing “popcorns” at the bottom of the pots, I figured I’d take some out of the boxes I’d received in the mail and use them to fill up that too-deep pot. And I thought I was SO clever! I covered the popcorns with orchid bark, buried the roots and watered the plant. To my amazement, when I lifted the pot out of the sink, there was all this white goo floating around the drain. For an instant, I was puzzled . . . and disgusted at the sight of it. But within seconds, I realized that I’d used those environmentally-friendly popcorn things, and they disintegrate when wet.

So now my plant is slowly sinking in the pot, as the white slime slips out the bottom, into the saucer. And I have to repot the damned thing again, only the right way this time. Anyone want some buggy orchids?

Repotting an Orchid in a Hurry

I Finally Have a Kindle!

I’ve wanted a Kindle since the day they came out. And when Amazon lowered the price to $139, I decided to get one as a consolation gift to myself, after selling our weekend place in northern Michigan. My plan was to buy the Kindle after we closed on the sale of the house. And since we were just weeks away from closing, I was excitedly anticipating my purchase. So I went to Amazon.com to compare the $139 model to the one for $189, which my son had told me was the one he preferred. He said something about WiFi not being the best option for downloading new material while away from home. That’s because I’d have to depend on somebody nearby having a public network that I could use. He told me to get the more expensive 3G model, but I planned on going with the cheaper one. I’d just download from home.

Well, a few days later, my husband brought an Amazon.com box into the house with the mail. I hadn’t been expecting anything, so I figured it was a backorder or something I’d forgotten about. But when I opened the box, I saw another box inside, with “Kindle” printed on it. I slammed the box shut as if I’d seen a ghost and quickly set it aside. My husband asked what was wrong, and I mumbled something about not remembering that I’d ordered that item.

Now this had me concerned. I’d been forgetting names of people when I ran into them in public and momentarily losing a word I wanted to use, but this was different. How could I not know that I’d placed an online order? And what’s next – making phone calls and not remembering? Forgetting where I’m going, or, worse yet, how to get home? I started thinking it was time to see a neurologist. It had to be a brain tumor! In the meantime, I didn’t touch the box again for a few days, intending to return it, in the event the sale of the house fell through.

Then, as I was worrying about my mental health, my son called to ask if I’d received a package from Amazon. It turns out that he’d gotten a promotion at work and decided to buy me the more expensive Kindle as a gift! I was SO surprised and so very touched by his generosity. But I was also uncomfortable about accepting something that cost $189 from my son, even though he could easily afford it. You see, my father pounded it into his children’s heads that we shouldn’t expect or accept anything from anyone. As children, my siblings and I used to try to return the small amounts of money that our grandparents gave us on special occasions. And even though, as an adult, I realize just how ridiculous that was, I still have difficulty accepting gifts, especially substantial ones like this.

But, happily, I’m handling it. And I absolutely love my Kindle! Even more important, though, is my relief at realizing that I’m not losing my mind. At least, not yet!

Photo by Sandy Laurence ©

I Finally Have a Kindle!

Crime Doesn't Pay - Stealing Wild Flowers

A former employer owns a large piece of wooded land that lies adjacent to its facility. The acreage is completely wild, with a river running through it and all kinds of animals and beautiful wild flowers. Fortunately for the employees, the Company had three walking paths made through the area, so that we could get some exercise and fresh air on lunch hours. I absolutely loved those woods, because once I hit the gravel, the tension from work just evaporated. On nice days, there were lots of people walking, running or eating lunch on the benches that were placed in scenic areas. And for a couple of years, I walked those paths two or three times a week through spring, summer and fall.

Part of the attraction for me was the abundance of beautiful shade-loving wild flowers, including Jack-in-the-pulpit, Mayapple, Tiger Lily, Trillium, Trout Lily, Lily-of-the-Valley and more. Oh, how I wanted some of those flowers in my yard. Unfortunately, in Michigan, it’s illegal to dig up wild flowers. But, I’m ashamed to say, I packed a brown lunch bag with a trowel and a Ziplock bag with a wet paper towel inside it to keep the roots happy. And my walking partner and I hit the woods, looking like we were going to have lunch out there.

When we got to the various areas where we wanted to dig up flowers, we’d listen for other walkers, as I dug up what I wanted. Every few minutes, I’d have to stop, hurry over to the bench and act like I was getting ready to pull a sandwich out of my lunch bag. When the coast was clear again, I’d resume my covert operation. I rationalized that I was just moving them to another wooded area, as our yard backs up to woods that separate our sub from the one north of us. And I knew that I’d take excellent care of those plants. So what harm would come from my crime?

That evening, after work, I lovingly planted those wild flowers in my yard, in the shade just beyond the trees at the edge of the woods. And by the next morning, most of the Trillium flowers had been chopped off by sharp little teeth. I don’t know for sure if it was the deer or the groundhog family that we suspected lived under our deck. By the next day, the rest of the Trillium flowers were gone, as well as some of the other transplants. All that remain today, more than 10 years later, are the Lilies of the Valley.

Forget about turning me in – I’m sure the statute of limitations on wild flower theft has run out. And I learned my lesson. I’ll never do it again. But I think I’ll sneak back into those woods again this spring, because I’d like to see that spectacular wild flower show just one more time.

Photo by: yuki_september©
Title: Lily of the valley
http://www.flickr.com/photos/yuki_sept/4580512369/

Crime Doesn't Pay - Stealing Wild Flowers

Babysitting a King Charles Cavalier Puppy

This past weekend, I had the pleasure of babysitting a friend’s King Charles Cavalier puppy. Lilli’s absolutely adorable, and I was SO excited to have her here. Her mom dropped her off on Thursday evening and would be picking her up sometime on Sunday. I’d initially planned to do some writing and to start decorating the house for Christmas, thinking my husband would be there to help with Lilli. But he ending up going out of town on business until Saturday evening, so I was on my own.

Let me start by saying that no writing took place, and I didn’t do any Christmas decorating, either. Somehow, I’d forgotten what it’s like to have a puppy around. She got into everything. And she put it all into her mouth. I must have pulled at least five forbidden items from her mouth, including a paperclip and part of a golf shoe cleat. I don’t even know how a golf shoe cleat came to be in the house.

By the end of the day, after Lilli had been here only six hours, I was wiped out and decided to go to sleep early. Her mom had told me that Lilli slept with her and that she loves to cuddle. Well, Lilli ended up sleeping on my pillow, wrapped around the top of my head. I kept moving her, but she kept coming back. I ended up getting less than three hours of sleep that first night. And I had a stiff neck from the way I had to stay crunched up, so that she wouldn’t be pushed into the headboard.

On Friday and Saturday, it was impossible to do anything, because she wanted to be picked up, or she wanted me to throw toys to her. If I was moving from room to room, she was literally under my feet. Thank God for our dog, Maddie, who played with Lilli much of the time. The only time I got her to rest was when I watched television for an hour. She was content to lie on the sofa next to me and sleep. Otherwise, she was in constant motion.

And she was funny as hell! She barked at her reflection in the fireplace glass. In our little office, she spotted some Beanie Babies on the floor, and she barked and charged at them, until she finally figured out that they weren’t alive. I laughed a LOT last weekend! She challenged my Amazon parrot to a fight by barking incessantly every time she saw him. I had to watch them, because he climbed down his cage and was hanging off the stand, trying to reach her. Like I said, I couldn’t take my eyes off her for even a minute.

And probably because she was in a new environment, she had accidents. I mean she really had accidents. By Saturday evening, she’d peed in five different rooms and had also pooped five times in four rooms. And I was taking her outside at least every two hours! But then, a few hours after my husband came home from his business trip, Lilli outdid herself.

I was folding towels in the bedroom, and I had Lilli sitting on the bed, so that I could keep an eye on her. As I looked up from my laundry task, I saw Lilli squat. Realizing that she was about to pee, I said, “Lilli, NO!” Well, that scared her, so she started squirming to get away from me, peeing as she moved. I ended up having to wash the sheets, mattress pad, a down blanket, a fleece blanket and a pillow. I couldn’t believe what had just happened.

We were finally able to go to bed at 3:00 a.m. All my husband said was, “I thought she was housebroken.” Hopefully, it’ll be years before he finds out that Lilli also chewed the molding on the bottom of an antique desk. (I colored it with one of those furniture fixing pens.)

I love Lilli, and her mom’s a good friend, but I think I’m going to hold off on babysitting her until she’s at least a year old. For one thing, we’re getting new carpeting soon – need I say more? And I’d rather wait ‘til Lilli gets past that high-maintenance puppy stage, so I can really enjoy her.

Photo by Dedi Sharabi
Title: Bojan
http://www.flickr.com/photos/dedish/4177023692/in/photostream/

Babysitting a King Charles Cavalier Puppy

We Might Be Sharing Our Home With Fleas

The other day, our dog was sitting on the sofa with me, as I watched the news, and she started biting at her belly. I noticed, but didn’t think anything of it . . . until, that is, she did it for the third time. I immediately started looking for fleas through the sparse whitish fur on her stomach, even though I didn’t expect to find anything. After all, she’s been on Frontline since spring.

In the 2-1/2 years that we’ve had Maddie, she’s never had fleas. And that’s saying a lot, considering that she goes into the tall weeds along the back of our lot several times a day to chase her Frisbee. (Hey, I never said I’m any good at throwing a Frisbee.) Before that, we had a Bichon, who never had fleas in 13 years, and my son’s Cockapoo got fleas only once. But we didn’t have Frontline back then.

Well, to my horror, I saw two fleas on our dog that night. I still can't believe that I was actually able to catch one with my fingers. But as I tried to squish it, the little vampire jumped out of my grip and onto the family room carpet. Convinced that it was a female who by then was giving birth to hundreds of babies beneath my feet, I shrieked for my husband. When I told him that Maddie had fleas, he didn’t say anything. I knew instantly, by the look on his face, that he had decided to skip her October Frontline application.

Sometimes I think he’d do almost anything to save a few dollars, and it makes me crazy. He said he didn’t realize that October is probably the worst month for fleas, since they’re looking for a warm-blooded host to take them through the winter. Fortunately for him, the flea bath he gave Maddie actually worked. Yesterday, the groomer found only one dead flea on her.

Life is never boring with this man. But I think when we downsize out of this house, I’m suggesting a duplex or adjoining condo units!

We Might Be Sharing Our Home With Fleas

The Universe Teaches a Lesson at Costco!

Just got back from what was to be a quick trip to Costco for gas. While in the gas line, I decided I’d run into the store and surprise my husband with a shrimp cocktail before dinner. Of course, I found other wonderful things, as usual. There was my third 3-pack of reading glasses (they’re in almost every room, in my purse, in my pottery and jewelry class tool boxes and in the car). Then there was the large hard-cover version of “The Runaway Bunny” for our granddaughter and a couple of audio books for all the time I spend driving.

And then, as I walked toward the check-outs at the front of the store, I passed the aisle that I’ve been avoiding for weeks now, the home of the Shearer potato chips. Now between the two of us, I’m not the chipaholic – my husband is. In fact, Shearer’s are the only chips I like. I crave pasta, chocolate and Diet Coke, not necessarily in that order. But I like a handful of chips once in a while. My husband, on the other hand, loves chips and has a much tougher time resisting them. But because we’re trying to eliminate unhealthy stuff from our diets, we decided the Shearers would no longer be welcome in our home. And I’ve successfully resisted that aisle on my last four Costco trips.

But today, I wanted to simply visit them. So imagine my shock and horror when I went down the Shearer aisle, and they weren’t there. I thought, “This is definitely a message from the Universe.” Devastated, I went to the self check-out and, after paying for everything, I asked an employee if they’d moved the Shearer chips. (Take that, Universe!) Well, she checked the system and told me they weren’t “carrying them right now,” and that she didn’t know when they’d be back. This was sounding more like a divorce than a separation, and I was getting worried.

So, as I walked toward the exit, I stopped at the desk to ask them why they’d stop carrying such a popular product. This time, when the woman checked the system, it showed that they had over 300 bags in stock and 400 on order. A quick call to someone in the stock area resulted in a promise to bring some chips to the floor. I was asked to have a seat, because “It’ll take a few minutes.” And that’s what I did, berating myself nonstop for actually planning to buy the chips, while feeling triumphant at the same time.

Well, I waited and waited. After about 20 minutes had passed, I checked and saw that the chips still weren’t out. So I asked another assistant how much longer it would take. She made a call and was told that they’d been “dropped and stocked.” So I went back there just as a guy was taking them off a pallet. Finally, I had the chips I never intended to buy! And the Universe had thought it was so clever – HA!

Flash forward about 20 minutes to when I got home. I opened one of the bags and took a few chips, as did my husband. We both kind of looked at each other and tried a few more. Then I asked, “Do these taste any different to you?” He agreed that they did. While they never tasted very salty, now they tasted like they needed salt. And the flavor just wasn’t as rich. In fact, after two or three chips, I didn’t want any more. And neither did the chip maniac.

How could this be?! What did the brain trusts at Shearer do? I noticed something on the bag that may or may not have been there before – I don’t remember. (I’m obviously grasping at straws.) It said “0 grams trans fat.” Maybe they eliminated trans fats and replaced them with other, more boring fats. I don’t know. What I do know is that we’re cured. We’re giving these away and won’t be tempted again. How ridiculous of me to think I could win that one! Hey, Universe, could you maybe do the same with my addiction to pasta?

The Universe Teaches a Lesson at Costco!

Oakland University Needs Me!

Very early this morning, I applied for three positions at Oakland University. I’ve been told that they get up to 1,000 applications per job posting. That tidbit of information was so discouraging that I almost decided to forget about ever working at O.U. But I keep trying. I just know that if I can get an interview, I’ll have a decent shot at being hired. Do you get the impression that I’d really like to work there? Allow me to explain.

My past work experience included a little of everything. I worked in retail at 16, banking at 18 and as a legal secretary at 19. Then, when I was 22 and had just over a year’s worth of college, I was hired by an auto company. Because I hadn’t yet completed a degree, I was lucky to get the job, even though I probably would have chosen a position in Human Resources or Procurement, rather than Treasury. As it turned out, though, I spent several years working with auto dealers and suppliers, which I thoroughly enjoyed.

As time passed, I earned both my undergrad in finance and an MBA from Wayne State University. (I will be forever grateful to the Company for my education.) I worked my way through at least nine different positions in my department and ended up spending my last years with the automaker in finance. I found the jobs in finance to be less enjoyable and fulfilling than those I held in Treasury. So I knew that my second career would not involve quarterly accounting closes!

I want something that will benefit from my experience and my strengths. I figure if the job uses what I have to offer, I’ll feel good about the contribution I make. And Oakland U. might just be the perfect place for me. It has the interpersonal contacts (students and staff) that I enjoy. All three of the jobs in which I’m interested involve writing, which I love. And it’s a dynamic environment in which I could build upon my education and computer skills.

But why would Oakland University want me? Because I’m conscientious and diligent, and I work my butt off. Also, I’m dedicated and take my work seriously. I learn quickly, enjoy solving problems and can work harmoniously with pretty much anyone. And if I got in at O.U., I might just be their happiest employee. Now that would be a real asset.

Come on, O.U., just give me an interview – that’s all I ask!

Oakland University Needs Me!

Close Friends Are My Extended Family

Last week, I spent a day in Ohio with friends that I call “the two Sues.” Sue #2 drove with me to the summer home of Sue #1, both of whom have been friends of mine for over 30 years. We worked in the same crazy department at an auto company, and we share a ton of memories, good and bad.

We went to a quaint little restaurant, Zinc, in Sandusky (http://www.zincbrasserie.net/ - if you’re ever in Sandusky, you simply must try this place). Our meals were excellent. I had a Cuban Panini, because I saw one on Oprah and have wanted to try it ever since. The Sues had fish tacos (still can’t get my mind around fish on a taco, but maybe I’ll try it one day.) Then we headed back to the house for a fantastic dessert and an opportunity to catch up on events in our kids’ lives (much more exciting than mine, at this point).

And it just happens that I’m seeing friends Thursday, Friday (twice) and Sunday. Plus, my husband and I will be attending a Ramadan feast on Saturday at the home of Indian friends. This is an unusually friend-filled week, and I love it.

For me, close friends are family. I can be completely open with them, without fear of being judged. If I ask for their honest opinions, that’s what I’ll get. And we can disagree on just about anything, without any negative aftertaste. And when I’m with them, I feel emotionally nourished and just plain high on life, a real endorphin hit.

Don’t get me wrong – family can be fantastic, too, and I love holidays and get-togethers. But sometimes the baggage outweighs the joy, if you know what I mean. And that just doesn’t happen with close friends. After all, we chose each other!

So here’s to my good friends, my extended family - you help me get over all the bumps in the dirt roads of life!

Close Friends Are My Extended Family

Freaky Story Time at the Nursing Home

A friend of mine visits her mother at a nursing home every day. While she’s on a brief vacation, I’m checking in on her mom for her, and yesterday was my first visit. Because of my volunteer work, I’ve been on countless nursing home visits, so I feel like I’ve pretty much seen it all, as nursing home visits go. This was just one of the more charming - and alarming - ones.

When I took my friend’s mom, Virginia, into the dining room for a chat, another very sweet woman joined us. (And before long, a gentleman pulled up a chair, too, but he didn’t say much.) Virginia turned out to be a woman of few words. She experiences some confusion and doesn’t always find the right words to express herself. The other woman, though, speaks very well and seemed to have much to say.

She told me that she’s a widow who had no children, and her only brother lives in California. She said she rarely gets visitors and talked about how much she misses her husband. Then she shared that she’d been married twice, the first time when she was very young. Up to this point, I thought this dear lady was in the nursing home for physical reasons only, because she seemed very sharp mentally.

Then she began telling me this long story about how she left her first husband in Virginia, because his mother and sister didn’t want him marrying a “damned Yankee”. And when he offered to drive her back to Michigan, she said she refused his offer and walked back home, singing the whole way. (She said she loves to sing.) That’s when I started to question her lucidity.

But then she told me she’d walked around the world, starting in China and on into Russia, where the Czar had her on the throne next to him and asked her to sing for him. And I knew that this elegant woman definitely had dementia. I did enjoy her beautiful and animated story that went on for about 20 minutes and which would make a lovely children’s book. (Hmmm, now there’s a thought.)

The alarming part of my visit was when the story-telling woman told me that she was 95 years told (as it turns out, she’s 85). I responded that she looked 20 years younger than that and that her skin was beautiful, which it is. She then told me that I looked young and that I have no wrinkles. I assured her that I do have some, and that’s when Virginia chimed in. She said, “Your wrinkles will be gone when you’re 63. And so will you.” Well, that was a first. I kept smiling and asked, “What do you mean, Virgnia?” She said, “You’re gonna die when you’re 63.”

Now I have to admit that I got a little chill when she said that. And I reminded myself that she’d uttered some gibberish earlier, so she probably didn’t realize what she was saying. Or did she? I can’t wait ‘til my friend comes home from her trip, so that I can ask her if her mom is a psychic! In the meantime, I’m going there again today, and you can bet that I’ll be listening to her every word. And who knows - maybe I’ll even make better use of the years I have left!

Freaky Story Time at the Nursing Home

Dinner Out With the Women of the ‘Hood

Just over a week ago, one of my neighbors sent an email to several of the women in our subdivision about getting together to see “Eat, Pray, Love” and having dinner afterward. I knew I would be seeing it with a group of my friends last Friday, but I decided that I’d go again, because I loved the book and figured I’d miss stuff the first time through the movie. Plus, the company would be good, and I’d get to meet one of our new neighbors.

Unfortunately, I’ve had a miserable cold and am still coughing too much to spend any amount of time in a theater. So I told them I’d meet them for dinner after the show. One of them took my cell phone number and said she'd call me when they got out of the theater to let me know where they were going for dinner. (She said it would probably be at one of two restaurants in the same shopping complex as the theater.)

So I sat in the theater parking lot from 9:10 (the show gets out at 9:20) until almost 9:45. I didn't see any of them walking out, but there are 30 theaters there, so I could easily have missed them. I finally called the husband of the woman who was supposed to call me and asked for her cell number. No answer. So I called the husband of the other woman I know and got her cell number. When I reached her, she said she was driving her friend home, because they decided not to go to dinner. And she didn't know where the others were going.

So I drove to the parking lot of one of the restaurants and was going to go in and look for the one neighbor that I’d recognize. Just then the first woman called me to say that most of the others had to work in the morning, so they all decided to go home, rather than stop for dinner.

There I sat in the lonely parking lot. I had put on my makeup at 7:00 p.m. just for this outing, and had labored over deciding what to wear, trying on different shoes and pieces of jewelry. Then I rushed out the door, forgetting my cell phone, and had to go back home for it, since it was the only way I’d know where to meet them. And it was all for nothing. Plus, by that time (10:00), I was starving.

After I laughed my ass off at all the fuss over nothing, I made the best of it. I called my husband and asked what he’d like from PF Chang’s, and we had great carry-outs! (So glad they’re open ‘til 11:00 on week nights!) It ended up being a fine evening, after all.

Dinner Out With the Women of the ‘Hood

The Nut Job I Met on a Garden Walk

A couple of years ago, I went with a friend on a garden walk in and around Romeo, Michigan. Even though I’m a Master Gardener, I don’t usually go on garden walks, because it’s too damned hot for me to be outside. (Most of my gardening is growing orchids under lights in my basement, because I hate the heat.) But it wasn’t very hot that day, there weren’t many gardens on the list and the company was good.

Everything was fine until we came to the last house. We were greeted by a sweet old couple and their dog. They chatted and were very friendly, while pointing out various interesting plants in their front yard. When we got to the back of the house, I was perplexed by the small animal live traps littering the yard. So I asked the man what he was trying to catch, imagining it was rats, or something equally disgusting. Well, I couldn’t believe my ears when he said the traps were for squirrels. I figured he was relocating them, but I couldn’t imagine why. After all, I feed three kinds of squirrels in my yard and love having them.

He explained that the huge trees in the yard were walnut trees and that the squirrels were stealing his walnuts. So I asked where he takes the squirrels, and he said, “To the kitchen.” Then a feeling of horror washed over me, as he went on to explain that he cooks the squirrels and feeds them to his dog. He smiled and said something about the dog being really healthy.

I was sickened. This was a suburban neighborhood, not a freaking farm in the wilderness. Aren’t squirrels protected from nut jobs like him?! And the two of them looked so sweet and innocent – who’d have figured they were serial killers? Haven’t gone on a garden walk since! : )

Note: According to the DNR, if you have a crop and an animal is destroying it, the animal can be considered a “nuisance” and be destroyed. Even in the city. I think that’s insane.

Photo by turtlemom4bacon
Title: Project 366 2008 - March 13, 2008 - My first squirrel photo
http://www.flickr.com/photos/turtlemom_nancy/2331816654/

The Nut Job I Met on a Garden Walk

I Have to Curb My "Creative Parking"

Recently, I went to a local lab for some blood work. Parking is in a structure, and empty spots close to the entrance are usually in short supply. And if you allow just enough time to get to the appointment, like I do, you need a spot close to the door. So, if I don’t see a parking spot as I drive up the ramp, I end up parking in an area that’s not designated as such.

No, it’s nowhere near a handicapped spot – I’d never park there! It’s just an out-of-the-way mini lane that happens to be conveniently empty almost every time I’m there. So I make sure I have my purse and magazines, or whatever else I think I’ll need, in my hands, and I pull in very quickly. Then, if no other cars or people are right there, I get out in a hurry and walk briskly to the door. If there are cars or people going past me, I stay very still until they’re gone, and then I leave my car. Well, that’s what I did the other day. It’s like a little game that I enjoy winning.

When I leave the lab, I stand at the entrance to the garage, as if I’m waiting for someone. And then, when the cars and people clear out, I scurry like a rat to my car, get in, start the engine and pull out as quickly as I can. If a guard passes before I can get out of my spot, I’ll sit there with my flashers on, as if I’m picking someone up. Have I got this down, or what?

Well, this time, I was hot and dying of thirst. So as I drove down the ramp, I grabbed the Diet Coke that had been in my purse while I walked the length of the hospital to the garage and unscrewed the cap. And – you guessed it - because of the jostling it took on my walk, it exploded as I unscrewed it. Before I could get the cap back on, the spray was everywhere. It was on the radio knobs, heat controls, dashboard, steering wheel, console, clock, windshield, ceiling and carpeting. And it was all over my pants. I couldn’t run the errands I’d planned for on the way home, and I was miserably uncomfortable in those pants.

It hit me immediately that the Universe was telling me it had had enough of my parking lot etiquette breaches. Okay, I got the message!

I Have to Curb My "Creative Parking"

My To-Do List

I’m a list-maker. I not only need lists – I love them. You see, I vacillate between being organized and in complete disarray. So lists are essential. Hell, my lists have lists. My Franklin Planner is always in my car while I run errands, so that I can get that little endorphin rush as I check off each item. It’s my version of crack cocaine.

So imagine how pleased I was after taking at least an hour late one night (actually at 3:00 a.m.) to come up with everything I needed to do the next day. I made an amazing list of errands to run, phone calls to make and various tasks to complete. It was a work of art.

I had to go to the post office, the produce market, my pottery class to pick up a finished piece, the bank, the Apple store, the mall to return something, and on and on. I was determined to do everything on that list that day, which never happens. I usually end up moving items to the next day in my planner and making a new list to carry in my purse. But not this time – it was all getting done that day.

My first stop was the post office to mail some bills and birthday cards. Not surprisingly, the bills and cards slid to the floor of the car when I turned into the post office lot. So I had to pull into a parking space and gather all the envelopes. But within seconds, they were all in the mail, and I was ready to tackle the next items on the list.

The only problem was I couldn’t find the list. It must have fallen between the seats, and once that happens, I have to get out of the car and look under the seats. So I did that, but the list wasn’t there. I knew I’d taken it into the car, because I’d looked at it a few minutes earlier.

I soon figured out that my amazing list had been mixed in with the envelopes I’d mailed and was now in the bowels of that big blue box, never to be seen again. It was the best list I’d ever made, and it was gone. As my son used to say, “Sucks to be you, Mom.” Yep, it does.

My To-Do List

Thursday, June 3 - An Unbelievably Insane Day

It’s been almost an hour since I got home from my nightmare day, and my head’s still throbbing. I had three must-do things for today: have a TB test read, take my three birds in for wing and nail trims and pick up my niece’s birthday gift. And at some point, I knew I had to meet my husband to change cars, so that he could get my wheels balanced at the tire store for a second time (a crazy story that I won’t even go into).

The day started badly when the lawn crew showed up a day later, and about three hours earlier, than usual. Apparently, all the rain we’ve had put them behind schedule. Because of the horribly loud mower, followed 10 minutes later by the hateful sound of their weed whackers, I ended up getting only four hours of sleep . . . again.

I did stuff around the house ‘til 2:30 and then started scurrying to get the birds’ travel cages ready and load them into the car. The plan was to get the birds in and out quickly and then get my TB test checked, which had to be done by 4:00.

Because of construction and rush-hour traffic, I didn’t get to the pet store until 3:20. (So much for having the TB test read.) The owner was helping a new customer, explaining how the store’s discount card works, and there was another customer ahead of me, so I ended up waiting until 4:00. By that time, my hair was damp with sweat from the temperature in the store, and I was worn out dying to get out of there.

While the birds were being trimmed (at least another 20 – 25 minutes), I walked around the store in a state of near heat exhaustion, checking out the parrots and looking around. Some interesting cage-top playscapes that were placed on a ledge overlooking the parrot “day care” area caught my eye.

They were brightly-colored acrylic, with little toys hanging from them. I was curious about the price, which was on the lower front side of one, but I didn’t have my glasses on, and the light was poor. So I tilted it ever so slightly to help me see the numbers and was horrified to find that the top wasn’t glued down to the base!

The unattached pieces toppled from the ledge to the tops of the cages below, and several broken pieces were scattered over the floor. It was at that moment that I realized I was buying that damned playscape, for which I had no need. The store owner, who was in a back room with his assistant and my birds, didn’t know what had happened. So, of course, I told him.

He found all the pieces and put the thing back together as much as he could, while I apologized profusely. He was not happy, and I was really upset that I had to spend $66 because of carelessness. It was my fault, but I’m disappointed that he didn’t sell it to me at his cost, since he would’ve been whole on the deal, and he had at least two more available to sell. I’d been doing business with him since he bought the place years ago, and it would’ve made good business sense to charge me only cost. But he made me pay full retail, and I won’t be going there again, for anything.

When I left the pet store, I called my husband and told him to meet me at the tire store. As I drove, I mentally berated myself for wasting time that morning and making it impossible to get everything done. And I drove right past the tire store exit. No big deal, you say? Well, having to go back in the direction of rush-hour traffic kept my husband waiting an extra 20 minutes. Another screw-up.

Finally, I was on my way home from the tire store, when, after dealing with unbearable traffic yet again, I saw a huge snapping turtle in the street. It was in the middle of my lane on a street that runs along a large wetlands area. It was just sitting there looking around. I suspected that it might have had a close encounter with a car, because one leg was tucked inside its shell, and the turtle just didn’t look right.

Naturally, I stopped my car, backed it up near the turtle and put on my emergency flashers. I had to move that turtle. But how? One dumb ass drove by and hollered out the window “Kill it” and “Run it over.” I wanted to run him over. I tried to nudge the turtle back toward the curb with my shoe, but he wouldn’t move. I had to pick him up. Remembering that a friend of mine almost lost her thumb to gangrene when a turtle scratched her, I got a bag from my husband’s Jeep. I used it to protect my fingers from the turtle’s nails while I grabbed the back of its shell.

Well, the turtle was so upset at being picked up that it started wriggling like crazy, and I ended up losing my grip. I dropped the poor thing, and it landed on its shell. Thankfully, I was leaning toward the ground and not standing upright when I dropped it. It was able to right itself, and it peed right there on the spot. Thinking it was going to die, tears welled up in my eyes.

Then that ungrateful beast opened his jaws and was inching toward me - he was going to bite me! (Notice how, when it became threatening, it became a “he”?) I ended up getting him to the curb, and then I left, worrying all evening that he was probably dying. I can’t stand it when an animal suffers, even if it is an ingrate.

I wanted to tell my husband what had happened, but my iPhone was gone. I’d left it in my car, which was probably on a hoist while some mechanic was playing with my phone. And I couldn’t even let my husband know to look for it before he left the tire store. I was frantic. Luckily, I got home in time to call him before he left, and he confirmed that my phone was still in the car. What a relief – I didn’t have to call the police to put the store in lock-down until my phone was recovered.

It was at that point that I realized I hadn’t picked up my niece’s birthday gift and that now I’d have to do that and get my TB test read tomorrow. So I’m in for another loony day, because I’ll be leaving town for the weekend and have a ton of things to do before I go. I’m afraid to think of what else might go wrong.

Thursday, June 3 - An Unbelievably Insane Day

I Once Worked for Anna From "V"

Have you seen the new sci fi TV drama “V”, about an alien invasion? Although that’s not my usual TV fare, I got hooked on it the first night. Well, there was something about Anna, the leader of the Vs, which stands for “Visitors”, that seemed so familiar. Then it hit me – I once worked for her clone.

Like Anna, this woman came across as friendly, sincere and upbeat. Everyone thought she was great . . . until they got to know her. She was ruthless. Make a mistake, and you were crucified. Turn your back, and her talons came out, ready to rip you apart. In the first few days of working for her, I watched in horror as she brutally tore into one of my analysts for making an error. And it was someone with whom she’d been overly friendly only a few weeks earlier.

Another of her endearing traits was that lies slid off her tongue like honey. She once smiled and told me how hard she’d fought for the raise that I’d just gotten, when I knew for a fact that she’d fought against it. If I hadn’t known the truth, I’d never have suspected, because she lied so effortlessly. It’s as if she had no conscience.

She also expected everyone to do “face time” like she did, staying hours after other areas left for the day. In fact, a subordinate who’d been working lots of overtime (unpaid, of course) asked if she could leave at 5:00 one day, because it was her only child’s first birthday, and there was to be a small party. Our little “Anna” looked the employee in the eye and told her there was work to do, adding “Your daughter will have another birthday next year.”

So I always suspected she wasn’t human. She’d never married and had no kids, pets or even a house plant. Nothing alive was given space in her house. She was kind of secretive about her past, and now maybe I know why. I’ll bet she’s an alien reptile, like Anna. I’ll bet she had kids once, ‘til she became enraged and ate them.

I Once Worked for Anna From "V"

No Lesson Learned, But No Harm Done

My last post was about how we’re having windows replaced. And the expected fumes caused me to plan on leaving town with my birds and dog for a few days, while my husband stayed here to work. But because I have a bad case of bronchitis and didn’t want to bother taking the rolling zoo on a 3-1/2 hour drive, I wanted the window installation to be postponed ‘til next week.

I was sure my husband would argue that everything had to proceed as planned, mostly because he hates asking anyone to accommodate his wife. It’s as if he thinks it’s unmanly to cave in to a woman’s needs. (Okay, maybe I’m being a little harsh here.) Anyway, I was pleasantly surprised at how he handled the situation, even though he ended up not asking the installers to reschedule.

He seemed sympathetic and said he’d talk to the window company about our options. I was touched by his concern. But after he spoke with them, he told me that it’s a two-day job and that he’d asked them to do the windows farthest away from the bird cages first. That way, I could stay home an extra day and rest up for the trip tomorrow. He’s always been a creative problem solver.

So he didn’t get to learn the intended lesson on being human this time. And, in fact, there are no fumes from the stain on the windows already installed, and the required caulk will be only on the outside. So I don’t actually have to get the birds out of the house at all. That was another pleasant surprise, especially since I don’t feel that much better than yesterday and would prefer to skip that drive, along with packing and unpacking the car. Plus, I didn’t want to have to miss my pottery and jewelry classes.

He got off easy on this one. But there’ll be another “teaching” opportunity before long. He still needs to learn to put my needs at least even with his.

No Lesson Learned, But No Harm Done

A Lesson in Being Human

I am about to give my husband a lesson in being human. At the risk of sounding like a bitch, I must tell you that he doesn’t think or behave like anyone I would marry today. Don’t get me wrong – I love him, and he loves me. But he was raised by a she-devil who was best known in her final years for being hateful and vindictive. And I won’t even go into her behavior while still raising her five children, all of whom warned me about her. Unfortunately, they all built walls around their emotions in response to Mommy Dearest.

Tomorrow I’m supposed to go away for a few days with my parrots, parakeet and dog, while several new windows are installed in our house. They’re newly-stained, and the fumes could either make the animals ill or, in the case of the birds, even kill them. Ordinarily, I’d take a bunch of paperwork and drive to northern Michigan for an R & R and visits to my two brothers and their families. No problem.

Unfortunately, this time, I am sick. Really sick. I picked up what started out Saturday as the nastiest cold I’ve had in years and has now, according to the doctor, become bronchitis. My chest hurts so badly from coughing that it feels like it’s going to explode. I’m feverish, although the fever isn’t high. My throat is killing me, and it’s difficult to swallow. And I have absolutely no energy. But mainly, when I’m feeling my worst throughout the night and into the early morning, like now, when the coughing woke me up, my heart sometimes races, and it seems difficult to breathe. I rarely get this sick, and it’s more than a little disconcerting.

Do I want to go someplace where a 24-hour drugstore, if it exists, is probably at least an hour away? Where I don’t know of a good doctor? And where I feel like if I become sicker, I’ll die alone, and my body won’t be found for days? No, of course not – the dog needs to be let out, and the birds need to be fed. But when I tell my husband that I’d like him to reschedule tomorrow’s installation, he’s going to squeal like a stuck pig.

To him, I’m strong and independent and have no needs that I myself can’t meet. So he has a history of not even considering what’s best for me, always confident that I’ll get through whatever obstacle course he sets up. And the last thing he ever wants to do is have to ask another man to accommodate my needs. He’ll protest that they have a work schedule and can’t change it. He’ll tell me I’ll be fine and to stop being such a worrier. He’d rather do anything than ask the window company to come back next week, while I recover from this scourge (admittedly probably self-inflicted, due to my lack of sleep).

In these situations, I’ve begun using a close friend’s husband as my guide. This man is the kindest, most considerate and most generous guy I know. So when I get pissed off about my husband’s sometimes selfish ways, I ask myself, “What would Allan do?” And in this case, he wouldn’t even think about continuing with the installation, if it required sending his sick wife away. It’s just not in his DNA.

It’ll be interesting to see just how much my beloved protests and how guilty he tries to make me feel. This time, though, I’m not buying it. I’ll let you know how this goes down.

A Lesson in Being Human