2006 Archive – June-Dec

2006 Archive – Part 1 June through December – 140, 798 words total.

June 5, 2006

Time is flying by, of this I am very much aware. I had lots of reading to do this past weekend and I nearly finished it all. Nearly. I’m not terribly fond of that word at least when it comes to something I didn’t quite finish. I suppose I’d see the word ‘nearly’ in a more favorable light if it was used in reference to something such as, “the bullet nearly grazed her head.” I’ll rethink my lack of fondness for that word and ask if you can tell what kind of reading I’ve done this past weekend?

Crime reading, motive, opportunity, fictitious characters and the things they do that make readers believe it’s all too real. Cadaveric spasm, long bone X-rays, iodine fuming, Ninhydrin, toolmarks and fireclay – they are all things a fiction writer may want to become familiar with, unless she is writing something strictly dealing with rainbows, cute bunnies and tapioca pudding. Or maybe Clerks 2. I hear there isn’t any mystery in it just lots of laughs and tomfoolery.

We’ve got a couple of mostly sunny days coming up during which I hope we find the small nubs of tomatoes starting. We’ve got lots of flowers but the rain has kept any natural pollinators away. I just may have to get out the little paintbrush and play honey bee myself soon. The peas in their pods are starting to swell and the huge pot they are growing in has filled with roots making it necessary to water it every single day. I think we can chalk growing peas in pots a success. I just may have to start thinking of trying a cold weather crop come this fall. I still haven’t tried growing baby lettuce, something I’m convinced I could do as long as I can keep the slug population down. We’ve got hundreds of them, some big enough to know by name.

It was back onto the treadmill this morning after taking the last week off. In that week’s time, my facial jowls have become more noticeable as my metabolism continued to tell me I was ravenous and I ate everything in sight. Even now, after a full lunch, I feel the desire to find something else to eat. I have to get a handle on this before it becomes a full-blown habit. It’s summer. I hate feeling bloated during the summer months because I feel all that much warmer, nay, hot, sweaty and miserable. I’ve taken care of so many other things around me; it’s time to pay some attention to myself.

June 6, 2006

And on schedule, the moment I think I’ll get to pay attention to myself, a cat barfs on the leather sofa. Again and again and again. He is relegated anywhere else other than on that couch from this day forth during any hours that I can physically prevent him from climbing back up on, the one he’s basically ruined anyway with his snooty nose and his sharp back claws and the fur, God, the daily masses of fur fallout. I’m seriously revisiting the idea of buying a baby gate to try to keep him from even going downstairs. He’s very old, has arthritis and has a slow go of getting up and down the stairs anyway. You’d think he would just stay upstairs where the food, water and litter boxes are along with enough pet beds to drown an immigrant family of 23, but noooo. He likes to sleep downstairs on the back of leather couch and when he feels the need to barf, there is goes, splat, on the couch, down the couch, into the crevasses, and a bit over the side (but just a smidge because cleaning it up off the pergo floor would be too easy).

Last month I oiled and conditioned that couch and I did it in the hopes of making it easier to clean when necessary. It was immensely easier this morning but none of that matters now. The cat is going to have to find a new favorite spot. End of story.

Day 2 back on the treadmill. I really like it though another reason has made itself clear on why I never run: My feet are inept. I have good balance. I can climb rocks, understand about shifting weight and I can perch with the best of them. I have been called a mountain goat, something I’m good with considering I’ve never had the opportunity to get into actual real rock climbing. Like off the sides of sheer cliffs kind of climbing, but the little voice in me, the one that tells me flatly what I am capable of and what I’m definitely not capable of, tells me I could do it.

But running is a whole ‘nother animal. I’ve been toying with running a tenth of a mile here and there on the treadmill and my feet feel like they are someone else’s. Running a tenth of a mile for me feels like ten miles and it’s not just because of my weight, or my asthma (of which I rarely have an issue with anyway), but within just thirty seconds, my feet feel like big ol’ flaps, smacking awkwardly down on the treadmill belt here and there, regardless if they are in dedicated running shoes or not, never landing in exactly the same place no matter how hard I try. I envision someone jogging down a street and they’ve got rhythm, a beat of their feet as they breeze past. Most important of all, they don’t look like they’re thinking of running with style and purpose. They just are.

My feet have no rhythm for running. Not that I’ll give up trying. I’m just glad I can do it in the privacy of my own home where I won’t trip up or flail and thrash about in open view. Wouldn’t want to scare anyone. Believe me, it would.

And finally, has anyone been paying attention to the stock market lately? What a cluster fuck this has become. Today I had to make the decision to participate in the downfall of the U.S. economy by selling off most of my stock before I lost everything. I didn’t want to do it but I’ve been hanging on for a month taking hit after daily hit as a result. I have lost all but $100 of everything I gained since the end of February and I figured if I didn’t get out while I still had the original four thousand in there, I wouldn’t have four thousand to play with later on. I kept the Starbucks and Grey Wolf Mining but they can keep all the rest. Thanks to the asshat doing all the talking about the state of the economy, inflation worries are starting to really spike and people are scrambling to take all the profits they can and selling off stocks like nobody’s business. Only the very wealthy and the bears will make any money off times like these and I don’t have enough money to play bear. I fear our economy is in for a very dire period coming up.

June 7, 2006

As of today, it is considered a Class C felony to gamble online. That puts online gambling for any amount, small or large, in the same class as having child porn on a computer. This brings up an interesting dilemma for MsNoManagementSkills because, you see, her dad, an accountant by trade, has been playing daily with her money so she and DorkMaster can afford their day-to-day living.

Over a year ago I commented on a conversation I had with her before she was laid off from the Big-Ass Corporation wherein she told me her dad was pushing her to start online gambling in lieu of getting another job. But she didn’t and gave him the go ahead to play with whatever she might have in her savings and checkbook. The man allegedly played up to eleven hours a day every day, both at work and at home, and she said she just didn’t want to devote that much time to it.

But the real kicker is she is insisting her father move to another state so he can keep making her money! All this from an email I got late last night:

“I am sending everyone this link about the new law on online gambling that takes affect tomorrow. This is crap!! My dad plays every day and he’s not addicted! He’s making money that I need!! Without it food will be taken out of my kids mouths!! [Editor’s note: they are DorkMaster’s kids actually, not hers] Anyone caught gambling even if for just a penny will be fined and go to prison!! Time to move to Oregon! I’m pushing for my dad to move right away and I won’’t give up until he does!! What is our state coming to?!?!?”

Obviously, I am laughing with glee, jumping around giddy with thoughts that her world is crashing slowly but surely concerned for her well being but not enough to email her back. At least not yet. Maybe I’ll think on it a while and reply with some little moral support quip.

June 8, 2006

It was Monkey Car Club time last night (9 general meetings left) and as usual, it wasn’t without controversy. When we last left this drama in March, the club’s Vice President had resigned his office and he and his buddy Dick, the guy whose mission it is to crush the club, walked away to start another sports car club. Finally after several months without a VP, the Monkey Club president, Ms.Snooty finally realized the guy wasn’t kidding and put out the search for someone else to hold that office.

I mentioned someone who I felt would be a good fit, the guy was asked, and he accepted. Voting is set to take place at the end of June. It should be just that simple but not if the ex-VP has anything to say about it.

Yesterday, I received Ms.Snooty’s email reminder about the meeting last night and that someone accepted a nomination for VP. I should have known what would happen next. Within the hour, the ex-VP called here, bitching and moaning about how the club doesn’t have a right to fill that office, that by doing so the club will be violating it’s own bylaws, and that’s he’s tired of hearing crap talked about him behind his back. All this just in the voice mail message ‘cause there was no way I was going to pick that phone up.

But if I had, I would have felt compelled to lay into the guy, someone I don’t like in the least anyway because he goes out of his way to spread Dick’s horrible and hurtful untruths about people (and knowing full well that whether I talk to the guy or not means I’ve gotten rumors spread about myself as well). How dare you complain about the club filling your vacated office, I would have started off with. And no doubt he would have replied in a sour voice how he felt he was pushed from office. And I would have scoffed. Loudly. This guy couldn’t be pushed if an earthmover slammed into him at 60 mph. And I would have gone on and on and the bickering back and forth would have been worse than picking the nose of a dead man.

I am just as glad today that I didn’t pick up that phone as I was yesterday. But he did get to some other officers as was evident by the lack of people who showed up to the meeting. In fact, there wasn’t enough for a quorum had we needed to vote on something or other. It was sad actually. Eight members present including only myself, Ms.Snooty and Ms.Suckup as officers and five new and interested people in joining the club. And they had to sit there for all of fifteen minutes and watch an apathetic club of close to a hundred absent members try to conduct a anemic business meeting.

Afterward, seven of us drove to a restaurant some distance away and had dessert as was the original plan was to do so. Ms.Snooty and her perpetual sidekick, Ms.Suckup spent no time whatsoever getting half-sloshed with a bottle of Riesling that they complained about being not sweet like they prefer. One of the new people compounded matters by taking pity on the drunks and bought them a round of Zinfandel. I left shortly after that because I didn’t plan on sticking around to watch the carnage once they got behind the wheel.

Half an hour later, as I was sitting in stopped traffic on I-5 due to late night road construction where three lanes were merging down into one, alongside me zoomed Ms.Snooty and the other five club people. The last person in their line honked and slowed to allow me into their still-moving lane. And I merged and followed even as disgusted as I was myself for doing so. After another half hour of stop and go, the lane finally opened back up to three clear lanes and it was off to the races. I settled in right around the speed limit like a good little doobie, (I have my license renewal coming up next month and frankly, can’t afford the fine for speeding anymore) and immediately lost track of the other six sports cars’ taillights in the distance. While I did see a number of vehicles pulled over by Washington State’s finest on the way home, none of them were Monkey Club members, which I am convinced was just too bad.

June 10, 2006

Limpy the cat is doing fine. His family, The Howler Monkeys returned home from their vacation early this past week. Although we were asked to, we fed him twice a day and made sure he was still alive the next morning. It’s more than they do any day of the week.

He went missing a day and a half ago and optimistically, I hoped he was being taken to a groomer to get all his matted fur shaved off. Just to be on the safe side, I checked under all the bushes just to make sure he wasn’t lying somewhere injured or worse. But later today he ambled over from across the street, still looking matted and hot in his long fur, but in one piece. Limpy is fine.

I’ve really loaded myself up with reading and writing this summer, but somehow it doesn’t feel like work when reading in the backyard sitting next to the lower pool of the fountain under the warmish blue sky. Where’s the suffering, the misery, the bashing of one’s head and the gnashing of one’s teeth a writer usually experiences either when trying to find that one turn of a phrase that hasn’t been overused or when trying to get the gist of what some literary author is trying to say?
Not too many years ago, I scratched out a sizeable chunk of a story now affectionately referred to as ‘The Geek Book’. It was not well received but that’s not the point. I wrote it in a house that was falling down around us, in the 105 degree inside temperature heat thanks to a metal roof, a southwestern exposure, and no air conditioning or fans to move the air for that matter and without the support of a single person.
I told myself everyday that if I didn’t write that story which I convinced myself was secretly the next Great American Novel, I’d shortly find myself living in a box under a freeway overpass. I envisioned becoming one of those ‘homeless’ people standing at the I-205 exits or maybe over on the east side near Target and WinCo holding a sign that read:
‘Will Write
For Food’
Those thoughts have never left me and though I’m a little bit further (some would argue closer) to that overpass housing, I still feel the drive, the urge, the urgency to get it all down somewhere before it’s too late. Too late for what I don’t know. Maybe writing fiction will be outlawed some day soon? No, don’t think too hard on that thought. Just get it down before it’s too late.
So is it so bad to lounge in a green backyard with the sound of birds and splashing water nearby while reading and jotting down novel notes? Maybe. Depends on whether I expect butler service or not.
“Uh Jeeves? Another Mojito, please…”

June 12, 2006

It’s gray and sprinkly outside and I love it. No needing to water the peas or the tomato pot today. But maybe the weather is why I can’t seem to wake up today. My head feels a bit wonky, unfocused. Time to take some Cold Ease and Zicam just in case I might have picked up something over the weekend.

June 14, 2006

Does anyone remember its Flag Day today? I don’t think they teach that to kids anymore, but I remember it. OK, I’ll admit I remember today more for the fact that it was my first best friend’s birthday and she never let anyone forget it was also Flag Day, which in her eyes made her that much more special. So, do I hang out a flag on Flag Day? Not since our last one was stolen I don’t. Besides, I’m not too happy with George lately.

I haven’t caught a cold like I thought I might have but I’m very, very tired. I’ve been sleeping like absolute crap for the past week and it’s finally catching up with me. Doesn’t help that I’ve trained myself to read before I go to bed as a sleep aid and now that I’ve got half a dozen books to get through, all I want to do is sleep after a couple of pages no matter what time of day it is.

Thanks to JimBob and Mary Lou for trying to identify our Mystery Bird. It is a juvenile robin and I hope he continues to hang around, eating grapes and bathing in the fountain. I look for him everyday now.

A couple of weeks ago we had a couple of other visitors here that we haven’t seen in a good five years; a pair of Evening Grosbeaks. I really miss these birds and their shrill bird song. Their large beaks remind me of some tropical bird. I’m almost certain we never see these anymore because nearly all the trees have been cut down and our little neighborhood has become crowded with half a dozen other developments as they cram more and more people in.

June 15, 2006

By Wednesday, being as it’s the middle of the week, I generally know if I’m up for writing throughout the coming weekend. Wednesdays seem to me to be the perfect writing day, the jumping off spot. Monday is usually a re-group kind of day, a day to clear one’s head and figure out those sub plot threads that linger in the shadows. Tuesdays work well for making life and death decisions; who will stay in the story, who will go, who needs work and who will go out in a blaze of glory or not. Wednesday through Sunday is for getting down to the meat of the matter: The actual writing interspersed with plot twists, connecting the dots and whatnot.

I hit my stride on Wednesdays. Usually…

*whining mode on

..until this year. I allowed myself to be caught up in a car club and once a week, every week, Wednesdays to be exact, I have to sit through a meeting filled with kindergarteners who just happen to have sports cars and who have nothing better to do than to belittle, connive, and cook up Napoleonic plots to oust one another.

*whining mode off

And come the first Wednesday of November, I will officially no longer be a part of that group. What perfect timing, for I plan to write about those Napoleons this year for NaNo. Maybe giving up Wednesdays for an entire year wasn’t such a bad thing.

Question: Have you ever written a long piece on something that has directly affected your life?

June 16, 2006

Apparently, there is a cat contest of sorts going on over at MeowMixHouse.com. A Big-Brother like house of cats on display in New York and one of the cats is from a Pacific Northwest shelter. From Metafilter:
‘Ten contestants. Ten days. They all grew up in shelters – but one of them will claw his or her way to the top. It’s the Meow Mix House, where ten cats will view to become Meow Mix’s Feline Vice President of Research and Development. (And, win or lose, they will all be adopted by families.)…’

There’s voting (as many times as you’d like if you’d like) and webcams to show all the ‘action.’ I’ve been watching on and off for about a week and the people who are cleaning the litter boxes, rugs, and couches are more exciting, though there was that one evening when one of the white cats walked around with a toy ball in it’s mouth (I LOVE that!). If you get a chance, check it out. Oh, and this will be part of an Animal Planet series starting tonight.
I am currently flying through the book ‘Grammar Snobs Are Great Big Meanies’ by June Casagrande and it’s hilarious. It also uses good, modern day analogies to get grammar usage points across. You gotta love a grammar how-to book that uses words like ‘wankers,’ ‘butts,’ and ‘loosey-goosey’ as teaching tools along with whole chapters dedicated to using Slayer, The Simpsons, Star Trek (original series), and The O.C., and then has the balls to list Michael Moore and Teletubbies in the same sentence.
This book tells you that Strunk and White of ‘The Elements of Style’ grammar fame, sniffed a baby named Chloe; that the Prince of Darkness is miffed that some English words will not bow down to him; and that obviously, not all Pandas honeymoon at Niagara Falls but in fact, honeymoon in Maui.
On the more serious side, ‘Grammar Snobs…’ teaches how to cover up your participle dangler, why not to get all up in someone’s grill over commas like Lynne Truss does in “Eats, Shoots & Leaves”, and why the phrase ‘for whom the bell tolls’ may not be worth losing sleep over.
Mercifully, the chapters are short; mega-short. If you have a chance to thumb through this book, I highly recommend it. If you are already a grammar snob and live by the dryness of ‘Elements of Style’ I still recommend glancing through ‘Grammar Snobs Are Great Big Meanies.’ You might learn something and you just may enjoy it too.

June 18, 2006

I hate killing anything as some will attest. I’ve been known to rescue spiders in the middle of the night from walls and ceilings, earwigs from pet water bowls, and aphids from the jaws of ladybugs. Ok, I made that last one up but I did once perform surgery on a jasmine flower to free the stuck proboscis of a dying paper wasp. I’m serious when it comes to sparing lives and I hope it’ll all come back to me as good Karma someday. All of it, that is, except today’s tragedy.

It’s been raining a lot here in the Pacific Northwest; nothing new there; but it is June and it’s usually a whole lot drier by now. Recently, the rainy days have been interspersed with bright sunny weather and that spells algae for our back yard fountain. Once a week I’ve poured about a quarter cup of household bleach in it because that’s ok to do and because that usually takes care of any green stuff. It’s not like we raise fish in it or anything…

…and so because the fountain seemed to be growing extra green lately with all the sun/rain/sun/rain we’ve had, today I thought I’d pour in a cup of 30-second cleaner, the stuff that gets rid of moss, mold, and algae from vinyl house siding and decks. It’s good stuff, being basically bleach itself, and it doesn’t hurt the fountain pump or anything…

…but what did I spy not more than five seconds after I poured the cup of cleaner into the water? Two tadpoles! Tadpoles the size of my little fingernail! This will only sound remarkable if you knew that the water in our fountain runs very, very fast and churns the water. The lower pool itself strongly sucks water and anything living in the water down into some six feet of gravel and further still down into the powerful pump that is buried deep within. Nothing could live for very long in our fountain and then to mention the weekly bleach additions, well, let’s just say that while it looks inviting, it’s not really hospitable.

We do have frogs that live among the fountain boulders, four of them at last estimate per their different and distinct croaking calls to one another each night. And I’m certain they are consenting frogs at that knowing full well what can come of consensual frog activities. But seeing for the first time ever the results living, swimming, well, swimming briefly in that roiling, agitating froth of a bleached fountain, had me running for the hose and trying in vain to flush out some six hundred gallons of toxic tadpole water. I don’t know why I never saw the tadpoles before. I don’t know if there ever were any before. I wouldn’t know what they would have been eating to survive in that churning water but it obviously was something, something that is also probably gone tits-up and which may or may not have been a good thing in itself, especially if we’re talking mosquito larvae wherein as I wouldn’t have knowingly killed them myself, I would have happily invited tadpoles the size of Bassett Hounds to come in and wipe them from my little corner of the planet.

So I guess I’m a tadpole killer. The frogs, no doubt, hate me as will the frog gods soon enough. I’ll be labeled a murdering menace in the amphibian world and although much to WS’ delight, they will no longer lull me to sleep with their loud frog songs at night below our open bedroom window.

But then again, in a day or two, once the foamy bleach lather clears from the surface of the fountain’s lower pool, I’ll search for the tadpoles because as they say, “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.” Let’s hope the tadpoles made it through the bleaching after all but if they did, let’s hope they’re not pissed nor grown to the size of Bassett Hounds.

June 19, 2006

Well, it’s been one of those typical Mondays here. You know the kind where little goes right, things go wrong, tempers flare, and you just want to go back to bed.

Today:

- I confirmed I killed the tadpoles (see yesterday’s entry). Their white-gray half-legged half-tailed bodies are lifeless at the bottom of the lower pool.
- Our oven is on the fritz. After an hour and a half at 370 degrees, the buffalo meatloaf with assorted baked veggies, a WS favorite, should have filled the house with yummy smells. Instead, it was barely a quarter of the way cooked and the veggies were as raw as when I put the whole mess in.
- Tempers flared when we got into a discussion about the finish on WS’ car and what he should use on it. As a car show expert and a pretty good judge on what products do what, don’t even get me started on this one.
- How much cat barf can one person clean up in one day? You really don’t want to know.
- How many loads of laundry can one person stand to do in one day, considering only two people live here? Depends on how many things, cat blankets, towels, etc. the cats decide to barf on. The washer was started at 10:30 a.m. this morning with the first load. It’s now going on 7 p.m. and it’s still going. No, there wasn’t much lag time in between loads during the day either.
- Mr. Wall Street just informed us his wife is pregnant again. Their youngest just celebrated his first birthday last week. Ms. Wall Street told her husband her SUV Tahoe isn’t big enough for three kids, one dog, and the two of them. She’s demanding something bigger before giving birth this coming fall. Guess he won’t be going back to school anytime soon to get that law degree she feels he welshed on. She didn’t say anything about the house being too small but in fact, she will come to discover it doesn’t have enough room for three kids, one dog, or the two of them either. But I guess until she figures that out, their back yard will continue to look like a bright, primary color daycare play yard.

But I can’t look at it all negatively. WS won’t be bothered by additional frogs croaking at night, we’ve ordered pizza for dinner in the meantime, the house smells like clean laundry and some areas of the floor are cleaner than they have been in a while, I’ve decided it’ll be best not to talk to WS about car polish versus car wax, and yesterday I got rid of our old charcoal bar-b-que grill and broken hose reel in the neighborhood garage sale. And who knows? I may just have ice cream before I go to bed because I can. So there!

June 21, 2006

Throughout the beginning of this year I was having a lot of problems sleeping, not that that’s anything new; I’m an insomniac from way back. My main problem is staying asleep and there’s been lots of nights that I was out cold but the moment WS turned off the TV, I was wide awake and raring to go even after a short five minute snoze. Upon the occasion that I would then get up, I wouldn’t feel tired until 4, 5, maybe 6 a.m. And we all know what happens if you let that kind of schedule rule your life – you end up sleeping all day and staying up all night, you rarely see your loved ones, you don’t get any sunshine, and you become a mole. This is particularly bad if you have a day job outside the home.

So by March I found myself fairly regularly taking a half a Tylenol P.M. tablet every evening even though the thought of becoming addicted to sleep medication scares the crap out of me. And it did. And I was, so one day, or night rather, I just stopped taking them and had a few uncomfortable nights lying around until 4 a.m. trying to will myself to sleep but it did come eventually. Not never, but eventually.

Since then I’ve been sleeping great! Well, not really great. I been able to get to sleep and stay asleep every night but I fell back into that pattern where upon waking in the morning, I felt as if only ten minutes had passed from when I first went to bed. I wasn’t overly tired per say, but I felt like time had passed so quickly I hadn’t been able to enjoy the actual act of sleeping. Yeah, yeah, I know, sounds like I want my cake and to eat it too.

Last weekend, I strained my back a little doing yard work; nothing major, just a twinge here and there. I took WS’ advice about not letting pain get out of control and so before bed and only because I felt my back starting to seize up, I took a quarter of a Tylenol P.M. and slept like the dead. I was a bit stiff the following evening as well and so I repeated it: a quarter of a Tylenol P.M. and slept great. So great that I got up Monday morning, did a rousing workout, fed the animals, cleaned most of the house, did all that laundry, and didn’t whine too much about cleaning up cat barf (of course the day later deteriorated but that’s not the point). I felt great and I didn’t feel tired or sore in the least.

Then came Monday night…and I still didn’t feel tired. 2 a.m., 4 a.m., finally I went to bed a little after 6 a.m., and laid there once again trying to will myself to sleep. It would have been so easy to pop something just to help me drift off but then I’d have to repeat it tonight and maybe tomorrow night and probably the night after that as well.

I finally got back out of bed around 10 a.m. to fulfill a commitment I made. I was just going to have to suffer through a potential tiring day if for nothing else, to ensure I’d be truly ready for sleep, unaided sleep, at bedtime. And for the most part, that worked very well. Maybe too well.

I stayed in bed most of the day Tuesday reading and watching TV. I dragged myself out of bed while WS was making dinner (that leftover meatloaf from Monday that the oven didn’t like) and stayed up long enough to clean half the kitchen afterward. Then I headed back up to bed and nearly immediately fell asleep. That was around 9 p.m. I finally woke up at 9 this morning after a full twelve hours of sleep and then snoozed on and off for another two hours.

What’s up with this? Do I feel rested? Somewhat though I do feel that if I lay back down I could sleep another five or six hours. Am I depressed? Probably, I’m been depressed about one thing or another most of my life and any number of things could be affecting me now. Is it the weather? No, I don’t think so. And I don’t think I’m doing anything to exhaust myself. Maybe it’s just a culmination of things: Depression, over-active work ethic, age, and an inability to allow myself to truly relax. This is probably something I’m going to have to watch as I get older.

June 22, 2006

I slept well last night, through the night and without any sleep aid. It also wasn’t a ’10 minute’ night either. Those really bother me for some reason.

We’ve been having cat issues here at the Blogeois compound. No, I’m not going to say exactly what they are but I’m sure this one is somehow involved. Looks cute and innocent doesn’t he? Yeah, they just want you to think they’re innocent. It’s all part of their master plan.

Back in early May I posted a picture of three white ceramic pots I planted with succulents. I had envisioned them overflowing with their plumb, squishable succulent goodness and livening up a rather harsh cement environment. I got my wish and I now love this area. Well, I do need to brick in the trash can/yard debris area for easier can access and removal but for the most part I like it.

June 23, 2006

Have you ever had one of those times when you felt you were on everyone’s last nerve? I feel like I’m going through that right now. Avoidance, evasion, dodging, skirting, call it what you want, I’ve been getting a sinking sense every time I open my mouth or come into sight of people. What? You say you never have? You say that’s crazzzzzzzy talk?

Yeah, well, maybe that’s my point.

June 27, 2006

Don’t look now but it’s a little cooler today. We’ve been spending the scorching days holed up inside a dark house reading and golly by gosh was ‘Grammar Snobs Are Great Big Meanies’ was a hoot to read. Correct that, a double Hoot. And no, I definitely won’t be buying ‘Eats, Shoots & Leaves’ now. The Grammar Snobs author did a masterful job of making ‘Eats, Shoots & Leaves’ sound like downright dreadful reading, and why would I want to read that when I have . . .

Plot by Ansen Dibbel which continues to sit ignored but stodgily upright with a bunch of other How-To-Write books. Yeah, yeah, I know I probably need it . . . badly. I’ll get to it someday . . . someday when I’m not reading the historical biography about Lucrezia Borgia though it’s a bit on the dry side as well and nothing like . . .

Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk which looks fast and fast paced yet full of ‘Tyler said’ this and ‘Tyler said’ that every other sentence but I loved the movie and I loved the references to the Reader’s Digest book’s like ‘I am Joe’s Prostate.’ How can anyone not like that? I am Joe’s Bowel and I think that if I had just a little time to spend in the bathroom, I could read ‘Fight Club’ in one sitting.

June 28, 2006

Hot. Who wants to write anything when one’s fingers feel like they are dripping off one’s hands? But today we’re being treated to cooler temperatures. Twenty degrees cooler. I actually gardened this morning and got those last three perennials planted and watered in.

The peas are on their last legs. We harvested about two cups worth and steamed them gently. What a treat! There are about a dozen tiny pods left that will more than likely find their ways into a chicken stir fry something by the weekend and the tangled mass of plant will go into the yard debris bin. Another great pot-grown veggie experiment goes under the success column and the question comes up on whether to find something to plant in the pot for the rest of the summer or not. I’m thinking adding some soil amendment (because peas are heavy feeders) and find something else for the summer veggie season, but what? We already have tomatoes growing; that’s a given, we don’t really have the season length, enough heat, or exposure to plant peppers or corn. Maybe it’s not too late to find a bush squash of some kind. I’ll look the next time I head out for a shopping trip.

I’ll also have to look around to see if there is anything currently growing in the ground that I’d prefer to have growing in a pot. You know, something that tends to take over or crowd out something else but not something I’d want to get completely rid of. I’ve got an Iceberg rose I probably should do that with. While I’m not fond of growing roses, I do like them and Iceberg is my favorite. My current Iceberg rose is covered with black spot, as is typical because I’ve never, ever been able to get rid of it, and it blocks the sunlight from a few things that I’d prefer to have growing better. Hmm, I think I just made up my mind. Ix-nay on the summer veggie growing. As soon as the pea pot is picked clean, the Iceberg rose will be transplanted into it. Let’s think good thoughts on it’s move and on my renewed efforts to rid it of black spot.

June 29, 2006

Two days of Mexican food and I still need more spice in my system. I’m craving it like mad! It’s got to be the hot weather we had earlier in the week that just screamed SALSA to me.

I’ve got a big birthday coming up next month, the big 50 and I am so looking forward to it! Really! No one believes me when I say I am but I’ve looked forward to getting old my entire life and finally, I’m getting there. Suppose I ought to check into AARP stuff soon.

I don’t have anything really planned for the big day so far which is on a Saturday this year though I originally wanted to rent a limo for the evening and go out to dinner across town but it seems to me if I was to go to all the expense of getting a limo, I should be doing something more than just using it to go out to dinner. Go shopping? Naw, I don’t go shopping too often and I really can’t afford it anyway (not that I can afford a limo either to be honest). Drive around downtown Portland? Naw, how boring would that be to tell the driver to make another lap down Burnside? Yawn.

Still, I’d like to do something but what? I haven’t an idea. 50 only comes around once and I’ve looked forward to this birthday nearly my entire life. Got any suggestions?

June 30, 2006

News from the ‘hood:

The Howler Monkeys have once again taken off on vacation leaving their neglected and declawed cat Limpy to fend for himself. Again, we have taken to feeding him outside our front door. Last week when our temperatures were over a hundred degrees, I think he was suffering from the heat and stumbling around more so than usual. I wet him down but that was all I could do for him. His deeply matted fur is just awful and again, I really don’t like these people.

Next door at The Dimmers, Mrs. Dimmer and the Dimmer children left last week to go out of town on vacation with Mrs. Dimmer’s father. Mr. Dimmer remains at home. He is once again without a job (number 11 in the past year if I remember correctly). Yesterday morning as I was out back watering the tomato, he was standing out on his back porch yelling into a cell phone, “I’m sorry [Dimmer child’s name] but Grandpa wouldn’t let me come on vacation with you.”

Okay then.

For the past three days, Mr. Wall Street next door has slowly, painfully slowly, walked up and down the sidewalk in front of our house looking, no, staring into our living room from the screen door while carrying his year old child and the 4-year old in tow. Back and forth, back and forth he walks. Usually after half a dozen passes, he wanders back home and that’s the end of it. Last night the behavior was extended to ten passes, each time with a sorrowful look up into our house.

One can only imagine he may be looking for some adult human interaction, something perhaps that isn’t all about babies, Mrs. Wall Street’s favorite, and possibly only, topic of choice anymore since she’s newly expecting again. Unfortunately, we just don’t’ have anything in common with them as should be apparent by looking in through the doorway. There are no kids’ toys scattered about, no brightly colored Fischer-Price playhouses set up in the living room, no building block decals stuck on our windows. We want to be good, nice neighbors but we draw the line at inviting children inside our home and that’s just the way we are. If he wants to talk and he decides it’s us he wants to talk to, he’ll just have to come up to the door sans kids. At that point, we’ll invite him in, give him a stiff drink, and pelt him with all kinds of questions starting with why they bought a house that advertised having a fire pit when they wasted little time getting rid of it. And what are their plans for that ugly roll of silver chain link fence lying alongside their house (even though I’m certain of what it’s for).

Additionally, The Wall Streets apparently were asked to take care of The Howler Monkey’s house while they are off on another vacation. Since The Howler Monkey’s have been gone, The Wall Streets have allowed most of their front lawn to die and they lost their trashcans in the usual Monday/Trash Day wind. But that’s nothing. Last night, The Howler Monkey’s SUV went missing. While it is possible that one of The Howler Monkeys came back and took it (I know they’re closest friends and relatives live in North Dakota so it’s likely it wasn’t anyone else) what makes it odd is that their front door is plastered with fliers and mailers that we all received over the last few days, before the SUV disappeared. Why would The Howler Monkey’s come back to get their SUV and leave fliers on their door as well as several UPS and DHL delivered boxes sitting on their front door step? It’s a mystery I guess.

Another neighbor on our street has told us their entire front and back yard will be ripped up and professionally landscaped in the coming month. The plans include terracing the sloping front yard and building two pergolas in the back along with a big pond. I can’t wait to watch the progress because I love the process of landscaping so much. The only problem I see is that her husband always poo-poo-ed the idea preferring not to spend any money on the house and it’s odd that he’s all for it now. She is still recovering from major surgery from last year and has lost a tremendous amount of weight since then. I’ll leave this story at that and let you imagine why her husband may have recently changed his tune.

Up and down the street last night, people started setting off fireworks. Huge mortar blasts have been rocking the development periodically since mid-June but this latest round has our pets hiding behind toilets and peeing the floors in terror. I don’t recall it being this bad in previous years but apparently this is what happens when the economy is good enough for families to afford to buy explosives. God but do I ever hate the Fourth of July. What I wouldn’t give for a week of solid rain.

July 2, 2006

I am reading Fight Club and inside, I’m weeping at the shear beauty and tightness of each sentence. WS would say agree it’s tight writing but that’s because of the voice that being used. There are lots of sentence fragments. Clips and snippets of the cleanest speech ever written. Yet I remember years of education and ‘friends’ telling me such a writing style, years before Fight Club was written, wasn’t acceptable. It wasn’t understandable; it was jumbled sentences without structure thrown together willy-nilly, kind of like bad poetry written after a night of consuming beer and goldfish. The live, swimming kind. So, is it the style of writing in Fight Club which allowed it to get published and makes it a fun read? Or was it the concepts written about in it that got it noticed? I am smitten but then again, I knew I would be.

Some of the ideas written in Fight Club are interesting. For example, the character talks about coming home angry from work and yet has a condo to clean or his car to detail as those are therapeutic things to do. I can relate to that. Then the character says that after he dies, all that will be left is a very clean condo and a very nice car as though that is twisted thinking. Is he questioning his point of existing or that what he does in life is pointless? It makes me think but probably not in the way the author intended. I am romanced by the words. In a perfect world, I am nearly convinced I could never write anything as clean and tight as what is in Fight Club. It is poetry with all its repetitions and clever turns of phrases. It smacks hard of reality, cruel, hard reality and a refreshing look at how silly everything else in the world can be. The character says he doesn’t want to die without scars. Don’t we all have scars? Didn’t he have emotional scars before he started purposefully acquiring physical ones?

Yet I won’t give up writing, my writing as silly and wordy and immature as some of my work sounds to me now. It’s a style just as the writing in Fight Club is a style. It’s easy to copy someone else. The challenge is to write what is your own style. A real challenge is not to copy the Fight Club style but to learn from it and use it to make your own better. I chose to give myself a short break from reading another writing Hot-To book and I’ve found myself reading another writing How-To book. I’m learning.

July 4, 2006

Happy Blow Stuff Up day, also known as Blow Shit Up For Jesus day if you pay attention to who benefits from most of the sales of the fireworks stands in our area. Funny how I used to think it was just the Indians, the First People, who raked in the dough from fireworks. Not here I guess though you can drive just a bit out of town to still support them if you want to. And stop at one of their casinos too. I’ve yet to do that with anything more than seven dollars in my pocket and that’s probably a good thing.
Well, happy 4th. If only the explosions were limited to this one day alone I’d probably like it more. But we’ve been listening to it since mid-June and will continue to listen to it until September. I kid you not. There is one place I like watching the fireworks though, other than our back yard and then only when I want to – Mouse Fireworks a Java-based personal fireworks site. Yeah, it needs Java. Can’t find one that doesn’t just yet. *sigh*
Update: It’s 9:30 p.m. and dusk is sliding into dark. The street outside sounds much like I imagine the Gaza strip sounds like right now. The sound is huge; huge as in it hurts your ears kind of huge. The flash bomb fireworks made of magnesium sears your eyes and fills the air with so much smoke and so, it’s best not to go out there. Unless you’re one of the crazies who just had to blow a 6.5 percent monthly home mortgage payment on tubes and trays of gunpowder to try to out-blast your neighbor who did the same in trying to look like a manly man whose not afraid to handle consumer explosives with enough power to blow off his nuts in front of his wife and young children. It’s all very silly and the night is still young.
The sprinklers have been run, twice, every night now for five days. Two days ago I hosed down the dry, cedar fences just in case. As I stand at the front screen door I see red-hot drizzle rain down in our lawn and on our driveway. I didn’t hose down the roof. Do you think any of the neighbors will pound on our door if our house starts on fire? It’s doubtful; very doubtful. The far off explosions sound like someone pounding on the side of the house. Will we know the difference should it come to that? All sense of reason and responsibility leaves these people’s minds on this day, on this weekend. I had to shut off the alarm on my car ‘safely’ parked inside our garage. The insurance is paid up. Should it come to that…
I watch as an ex-sane neighbor, one who boasted about bringing home ‘special’ fireworks from the military base, tosses a pack of lady fingers, black cats, under his daughter’s boyfriend’s car parked in front of our house, and laughs. No one’s grabbing a hose or a bucket of water. The daughter and her boyfriend sit across the street, their smiling, white teeth gleam in the rockets red glare.
We shut the blinds on our skylights to try to close out the blinding light, the flashes brighter than sun flares, without any success. There was a time just a short while ago when people celebrated for five or ten minutes then went back inside to watch the big firework shows on TV. Now all they want to do is hold a big show of their own for hours. Someone out back is firing a gun now into the night sky. The sound of firework explosions and gunfire is similar but not quite the same. I grew up in Phoenix. I know the difference. It’s going to be a long night.
This is America and this is the stupid thing Americans do every year believing it’s their God-given right to make as much noise as is humanly possible with explosives made in China at the expense of and in the face of anyone who doesn’t think it’s cool to pepper the land with flaming confetti. I hate this but I’ll live. Our pets hate this but for all their yowling like they are dying and for all the puke and liquid poop they’ll reward us with after this is all over, they’ll live too. I hope Limpy has found a safe place. I haven’t seen him since four this afternoon when everything outside started in earnest.
But I swear, if another bottle rocket comes slamming into our front window, I’m going to go ballistic myself. I swear I’m not old but this is madness. Film at eleven.

July 6, 2006

Just about the time I was going to post a July 4th aftermath entry yesterday, Mr. Wall Street and Mr. Howler Monkey, both home from vacations decided to celebrate that elusive holiday, July 5th, and set off several hours of fireworks . . . all in front of our house. So, not only did we have to go through the thundering noise and terrified pets on Tuesday night, not that Tuesday night was much different from what went on Monday, Sunday, Saturday, and Friday night, we had to go through it all again last night. And I’m half expecting the show will begin again tonight even though technically, shooting off fireworks after 11 p.m. last night is considered illegal and subject to fines. Yeah, we know how that goes . . .

Wednesday morning I woke up to firecracker crap all over our lawn and the street out front was peppered in white, red, and purple paper confetti. Numerous melted plastic tubes and half-charred cardboard bits were scattered everywhere including in our pond. Our roof is littered with spent bottle rockets and flying bees (but I’m not going up there to get those – no ladder anyway). I stormed outside to look at the carnage and yelled to no one in particular, “ISN’T ANYONE GOING TO CLEAN UP THIS CRAP?” WS was mortified I’m sure but for the love of patriotism, by all means go ahead and celebrate our country, but don’t bury it in firework leftovers!

I picked up everything I could and then hosed down the driveway and sidewalk. I even hosed half the street and there was a lovely solid line of fireworks leftovers running down the middle of the road. A good seven hours later and only after being forced to by his father, the boy across the street, the main culprit in most of the mess, brought out a gas-powered leaf blower and blew the trash into a pile which he later picked up.

So you can imagine my fury when Mr. Wall Street and Mr. Howler Monkey trashed the street all over again . . . and didn’t clean up their messes. There are still piles of used fireworks sitting in the gutter in front of their houses and the street is still peppered with debris. Well, it was clean for a little while. But if things go off again tonight, I think both WS and I will be out there playing the bad guys and letting them know that six nights of fireworks is enough.

July 7, 2006

Enough about the fireworks already. Only one huge explosion last night after which the night gently slipped over to one of blissful quiet for the first time in a week filled with hours of war-zone sounds. Even the birds are back today as were the raccoons last night. Even Limpy seems grateful for the silence.

Speaking of birds, we’ve been visited nearly every day, several times a day actually, by a lovely pair of Cedar Waxwings. These are one of my favorite birds and I’m thrilled to see them back for the third July in a row. They have been bathing numerous times a day in the fountain out back and not too easy to get a photo of. Well, not a good photo at least. But this past Monday, we took a drive up to Woodinville northeast of Seattle and wouldn’t you know it? Dozens of Cedar Waxwings were scooping up bugs in fields left and right. Some of them were downright posing for the camera!

Later, we ran across a place that had a resident peacock and talk about posing. Peacocks know all about that. Turn to the right, fluff those feathers, now look at the camera, work it! I was hoping to find a white peacock but if there was one there, we didn’t see it. Another time maybe.

July 8, 2006

I’ll never understand people but sometimes, it’s sure is fun trying to. Take our neighbors for example:

Mr. Dimmer spent the day teaching his young screaming Dimmers how to make water balloons. He ‘taught’ them by throwing one in his wife’s face . . . hard. I was out watering the tomato and saw him sneak around the side of his house and up behind his wife who had been talking on the phone. Next thing you know, Pow! She ran squealing and crying into the house and he loudly shouted, “Bull’s Eye! Right in the kisser!” The young screaming Dimmers danced about his legs in glee and no one went in to see if Mrs. Dimmer was okay.

On the slightly other side of the scale, I reported last week how Mr. Wall Street kept woefully walking back and forth in front of our house, seemingly wanting to come up to the door to talk. Last night we heard that was exactly what he was doing and he had a darn good excuse too.

His wife, newly pregnant again, has invited up countless California friends, all females that undoubtedly are the very models used in the Abercrombie & Fitch catalogs, to stay with them during what very well could be her entire pregnancy. Now, not only is the street out front littered with Mr. Wall Street’s fourth of July leftovers, but lined with SUVs, Mini Vans, and assorted sport Subaru’s with California license plates. And the drivers really don’t like it when someone hoses down their driveway or sidewalk or let’s their sprinkler run into the gutters where all these cars are parked. We got a fairly dirty look last night when water from our hose moistened one of the Subaru tires and later, The Dry Cleaners across the street got the same look when they ran their sprinkler too long.

Anyway, Mrs. Wall Street has demanded that her husband sell her Tahoe SUV and buy a Yukon XL, but only a bright red one with dual captain’s chairs and an open center aisle for their four-year old to wander up and down in while she’s driving. I didn’t bring up the fact that it was illegal to let their child do so. WS hates it when I casually mention stuff like that. So last weekend, Mr. Wall Street found the exact Yukon XL his wife wanted on Craigslist down in L.A. and naturally, she demanded he fly down and drive it back that very day. I guess by now it’s not terribly surprising that he did so. Now he’s complaining about still having the Tahoe for sale with no takers yet. It could be because he’s got a California phone number plastered all over it but I didn’t’ say anything about that either. I wouldn’t think people would want to make a long distance phone call just to inquire how much a seller wanted for a 2002 Chevy Tahoe with lots of miles and BabyCheese™ all over the upholstery.

Knowing it was going to be hot today (and it was at 93 degrees F.) we watered the back yard and overheard Mrs. Wall Street lay into her husband about ‘training him to handle more kids’ in front of all her visiting California model friends. There was lots of laughter at his expense as he rushed here and there getting drinks for everyone like a servant. And then, whenever one of the visiting models’ toddlers fell down or bumped themselves (and they all seemed to have toddlers with them with, you guessed it, Abercrombie & Fitch baby tees on) Mrs. Wall Street yelled for her husband to attend to the kid saying yet again, ‘Remember your training! See if so-and-so is okay!” More laughter.

Later, when it appeared that Mr. Wall Street was temporarily out on parole, he walked over and told us the Yukon XL story and let us know that his wife’s sister from L. A. had moved in along with her kids and that half of the visiting California vehicles were from her friends who might stay as well. He talked in short, clipped sentences the way people start to sound when they’ve hung around toddlers too long and he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. I think the next time he’s wandering around out front looking so forlorn, we’re going to invite him in, not so much because he needs to talk to adults more often but because he really needs to talk to adults more often and it’s apparent his wife isn’t one of those.

July 10, 2006

We survived the weekend which was hotter than was forecast (mid-90’s). Saturday we watched TV’s ‘Intervention’ until 3 in the afternoon and then cleaned the house. Is there an intervention for people addicted to the show ‘Intervention?’ Maybe there should be.

Sunday we met with the Secret Writing Cult to help critique another writer’s work. Then it was back home to get WS ready for yet another required trip to San Diego. After reviewing the family budget over the past couple of weeks, we determined that it just isn’t in the cards for me to go along on any of his business trips this year. Not only would there be the round trip ticket expense but we’d have to pay to board The Queen because she has to be hand fed twice a day due to her lack of all but one tooth which also gives her the nickname “Hole Punch” and that in itself should explain why she be boarded – so she doesn’t eat The Boy one hole punch at a time in our absence.

Then there would be the expense of the house/pet sitter. Our usual sitter is easily as old as The Queen and should the two get into a disagreement on when feeding time is, I am certain the sitter would lose. Don’t need any extra expenses in an ER visit or lawsuit.

Then there would be the whole issue of worrying about the house with the neighbors who still insist on firing off fireworks and/or who are just plain idiots. Case in point today – Mr. Dimmer is throwing water balloons, with force mind you, at young kids passing by on bikes. Naturally, the kids think it’s funny. The woman whose car got hit was not amused in the least but you think that would stop him? Hardly. In fact, the two young screaming Dimmers have also taken up that cause. The good thing is they have even worse aim. Or is it better aim?

So I’m here inside snuggling with all the pets, enjoying a much cooler day, and keeping expenses down. When we went over the budget, we sadly discovered an ugly discrepancy in a switched over credit card bill that is proving messy to correct. We ended up dipping into the last of our severance money from a year and a half ago to help matters out and now we need to make up that loss so we’ll have enough in January to put the maximum amount into our yearly Roth IRAs. Since I’m turning 50 this year, my IRA contribution can be more which excites me to no end especially considering I never held a job that had IRAs or 401Ks or any kind of retirement program and that means, personally, I have nothing to retire on. WS has a little money squirreled away for the two of us and yeah, I know all about Washington State being a community property state and all but I always wished I myself could have contributed something to the pile. As it is, I can only contribute by keeping costs in check as much as possible. I’m pretty proud of being a hard clamper when the outgoing money flow needs to be clamped off. I just figure hey, you gotta do what you gotta do to survive. Going out to eat? Ha! We don’t need that. Buying pointless stuff we don’t need for a house that is already full of stuff? Don’t need that either! Taking a flight to San Diego for a couple of days just because WS has to go? Nope, don’t sign us up. Maybe next year.

July 11, 2006

I had wonderful plans for all the things I could get done around here with WS out of town and none of them have worked out. Okay, I did clean out our bedroom closet but there is so much stuff in there and nothing that can be thrown out, basically it came down to vacuuming out seven years of dust bunnies, discovering one of the two weight scales is dead (I only wished I hadn’t step foot on the other one!) and rearranging the laundry basket to the opposite side of the closet. Not anywhere near what I originally had in mind.

I also toyed with the idea of digging up and rearranging several plants outside that really do need to be moved but I just don’t have the energy. It would be a day-long project. I was also thrown by seeing that the potted peas have put on a second flush of pea pods. Big, juicy, fat pea pods and so we’ll get a second crop in a week or so. The problem is that I needed the pot they are growing in today for something else that starts off the chain of plants that need to be relocated. Without being able to move the first plant, the rest can’t be moved.

I realize that sounds silly. It’s complicated.

So, because I spent yesterday feeling tied to the computer and mostly irritated at the inability to chat online with WS like we planned to do to keep from having to pay for a long distance phone call because he’s down in San Diego (sitting through grueling meetings but going out to eat at fabulous restaurants [my BIG vice that we’ve chosen to quit - Grr!]), I decided to fast instead and spent most of the day nodding off through hunger pains.

I should be writing but nothing is coming to me other than my usual daily whining. I think I’m in a rut. A big, fat mental rut. Fasting can clear out ruts, right?

July 12, 2006

WS came back into town late last night and to save on a cab ride home, I picked him up mere minutes after he walked out of the Portland Airport doors Yippee for not having to pay for parking either. I should have dwelled on that part but because I was very hungry, I suggested we stop at a local Red Robin restaurant for a late dinner. Strong suggested it I did. $37 dollars later, my stomach was happy and naturally, today I feel guilty. I think it’ll be a while before I do that again. It’s just not worth it especially since that $37 will have to come out of Saturday’s grocery money.

Things are very tight right now, as they usually are during the middle of summer for us. We generally have higher utility bills, high gasoline bills, and a higher desire to get out of the house to go do something. That something usually costs money. I was hoping the costs would be lower this year with me not doing car shows and the entry fees that entails but we weren’t paying attention to the budget as well as we should have and now, we’re paying for that. Things will be squeaky tight until the end of September but the good thing is, by the end of September, we ought to be doing just fine again. The bad thing is, if we don’t stick with counting every single last penny literally until then, our reprieve will be pushed further out and the year will end on a rather ugly note.

My fasting went well last Monday and I extended it until mid-afternoon yesterday. After last night’s turkey burger, steak fries, and cheese sticks (something I really don’t like but I was HUNGRY) I’ve decided to fast again today. I told WS about that decision last night before bed and had to stop him this morning when he started to rattle off what he had before heading off to work. I didn’t want or need to hear it. One thing I discovered after Monday’s fast was that I didn’t sleep as hot as I usually do, meaning I didn’t spend the entire night throwing on and off the covers in bed. Last night after eating two hours before bed, I spent the night tossing and turning and sweating enough to drown a cow. You can come up with your own conclusions around that one. I know I have including a downright silly but true one: Less body mass equals less sweat but if you put two people in a 100 degree room, one weighing in at 600 pounds and one weighing only 100 pounds, would the 100 pound person sweat less when we’re all supposed to have the same number of pores and sweat the same according to a Discovery Channel medical show I watched last week?

July 13, 2006

At the end of last week, WS and I went driving a bit north of our location to check out a rumor I heard that the dinky town of Yacolt, Washington had colonies of wild parrots, or green monk parakeets to be exact. A Portland newscast did a story on the birds last spring when utility men were going to take down the huge nests the birds build on top of telephone transformers. The story went on to say that most of the townspeople were unhappy about the removal of the nests because they love the wild birds. But it all ended well because within an hour of tearing down the nests, the birds were rebuilding them bigger than ever.

Now think about it for a minute. These are parakeets. How big of a nest could they possibly build? I googled Yacolt’s quaint, rural streets until I found the intersection of N. Hubbard and E. Twin Falls and as WS as my lookout, we headed out. I wanted to see these ‘big’ nests myself. Forty minutes later, he spotted the first nest, a relatively small one at that being approximately two feet by three feet wide with a hole for the birds to enter and exit. Apparently, they do live in colonies and apparently, they love this area and no other.

As we looked further up the street, we could see another nest and another and another still. A bit further up is the biggest of all measuring five by four feet. Something that big you’d figure birds would be flying around and still building it but for the hour we hung around, we didn’t see a single green parakeet. Lots of crows and blue jays but not a single green bird. Maybe it was siesta time and they were all asleep. Maybe they were all out at the one local bar. Who knows where those birds were that day but I would have loved to have gotten a photo of them. Still, the nests are pretty amazing looking themselves. If you live anywhere in the Pacific Northwest and you like birds, it’s really worth visiting Yacolt and taking a look. . .up.

July 16, 2006

I’ve been quiet over the past few days because I’ve been spending a serious amount of time getting my head in the right financial place. And I’ve decided to share some of that with you. Once or twice a month I’ll go over the figures and tell you what we’ve spent for better or worse and where our finances sit at that moment. I’m looking at it as a secondary way to keep us on track by sharing with the world how for one couple, the importance of not blowing money as if it were going out of style finally means something.

First, the facts:

We have three credit cards with current balances on them. This is down from six cards we had last year. Last year, all those cards were maxed out because we were stupid and blindly chose to live WAY beyond our means, and even though we had three jobs between us at the time, we were spending money on new junk while barely being able to keep up paying for the old junk not to mention the house mortgages, car loans, and utilities. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

We’ve been in tight financial spots before and we know better. Each time we dig ourselves out, we learn a little, and looking back, it wouldn’t be too unreasonable to question whether the little learned was really anything at all. But during this current lean spell we’ve already learned a lot more than we had any time previously and are doubly committed to get out of debt and stay out. Of course, only time will tell and that’s where this place comes in.

The three credit cards we now have carry a combined balance of $22,500 and the interest rate on all three is 9%; not a bad rate when you consider most people are paying upwards of 30%. Still, we’re trying to negotiate a lower rate for all, including the CitiBank card of which those people just will not budge on. Recently, I learned that credit cards companies do often discriminate toward women and if the card is in her name, they aren’t terribly inclined to lower the interest rate even when asked to do so by the card holder. That’s the position I’m in with that card so it’s the second one to get paid off and then I’m closing it. Those people just piss me off anyway. I don’t need them and that stress.

The first card and the lowest balance at $1600 is slated for pay off in early September whereas any balance it will carry after that point will be paid off in full at the end of every month. This is the card we use as a debit card to pay our utilities and buy our groceries with. We got into a little trouble with this card earlier in the year because we switched from a regular debit card to one of those that pay the holder back in airline miles. Tricky little thing that kind of reasoning carries in that it makes you ‘feel good’ knowing that for every dollar you spend, you get something back from it, therefore, you tend to spend a LOT. The same thing works for those cards that pays you back a percentage in cash. You only get something back if you use it and that’s exactly what those credit card companies want you to do. (Another thing for us to ponder is if we really think we’d actually use the airline miles. We never go anywhere. Why would we start now and with what money?)

The last card is the one with the highest balance at $15K. From my understanding of what happened there was we switched a high-amount, high interest card balance to a lower interest rate balance but halfway through the deal, the billing address was changed and they didn’t credit our payment in time. (This is a ploy we have found that credit card and mortgage companies often use so your payments will purposely be received late and they can then make more money off you by charging you late fees.) Up went our rate to something higher than it was originally on top of a fat late fee and in retaliation, WS then switched the balance to yet another low interest rate card where it sits at 9%. This was the card we used for home and car repairs, and most stupidly for a time, for anything our little hearts desired including going out to eat two, three, sometimes four or more times a week. That’s my weakness and it has been shut down 100% as of last Tuesday night. (Who needs the guilt or the restaurant fat?)

We’ve always overpaid our minimum balances, even if only by five dollars. In fat times, we often pay close to one hundred dollars over the minimum balance but it’s a lean time we’re in now so everything has been scaled back. In lieu of buying groceries last month, we chose to eat every last thing in our freezer and pantry and we still have a good three weeks of food left. We’ve also always ‘stocked up’ on things like laundry and dishwasher soap, pet food, toilet paper, soup, bread, rice and dried beans, etc. so we haven’t come close to running out of any of that yet. In addition, and only if we need to, we’ve got three large plastic boxes filled with emergency kit food and supplies – enough to live comfortably for a month or not quite as comfortably for up to three months.

This weekend was our first challenge since deciding in early July to take our financial life back. We needed some groceries and cat litter but we chose to forego using the credit card and use $100 cash from our emergency kit fund. I wanted to shop today but yesterday WS remembered that we had a couple of $10 off coupons from a local grocery store that expired on the 15th. With two hours left in the shopping day, we made up a list and with calculator in hand, hit the food aisles late last night.

It’s weird at first; jotting down prices, comparison shopping, weighing out vegetables and bulk pasta, after not doing so for seven years. There was a time not too long ago when we had less than $100 to live off of for an entire month, for months at a time. Poor Man’s Soup and Top Ramen noodles was a staple in our lives night after night. We still tend to eat like we did back then meaning we often only eat one or two meals a day. No three squares for us. Last night at the store it all came back pretty easily. Our goal was to get only what we knew we could live off of until August 1st, either alone or to supplement something we already had at home. Come August 1st, we’ll do it again, August 15th again, and yet again on September 1st. And at the end of this time, the balance on that normally used credit card will be paid off in full. One down, two more to go and no one starved to death in the meantime.

The next two cards won’t be easy though. First, we’re down to only WS’ job. I’d have a tough time at nearly 50 years old finding a job without a college education or any real skills to speak of that wouldn’t end up costing us more for me to work than I’d be bringing home (work clothing or uniform, gas, lunches, etc.). That leaves cutting back on everything here – electricity and petrol use, food consumption, water, satellite TV, etc. just so we can pay our bills and keep anything from going past-due. That literally leaves us with approximately $50 left a month after everything’s been paid. The good thing is that already takes into account grocery expenses which after September 1st will be $400 a month. This was drastically cut back from $450 twice a month. No one needs that much food especially since it’s only WS and I here.

We were motivated last night as we shopped carefully and were very well rewarded at the cashier. WS’ remembering about the coupons paid off big time in that a cart half full of food, plenty for the next two and a half weeks, came out to just over $90 but after coupons, the total was $69.69. That’s $30 left over! Our first victory!

July 17, 2006

Things on tap for today:

Do price comparisons at local cheap grocery store.
Inventory kitchen pantry including all those mystery boxes way, way, way in the very back.
Laundry.
Vacuuming.
Reexamine what material things we have here that makes us feel special – This ought to be easy because I can’t walk more than four feet in any direction without running into some nifty trinket.
Make up menu for this week – another easy chore because we purposefully bought things to round out what we had based on a previous menu. Plus, I’ll be fasting Tuesday and Thursday of this week. I just feel better when I do this. Tonight’s dinner is Buffalo burgers. The added bonus here is that we will be using the last of the bread products in our freezer, a HUGE accomplishment because WS tends to buy a LOT of bread things most of which end up in the freezer forgotten. For years.
Water outside. It’ll be 105 degrees F. here by the end of the week. Sounds like hermit weather to us.
Write something, anything, even if it’s only two sentences. My brain is completely blocked for some reason, but hey! I’m sleeping like a baby again.

July 19, 2006

We’ve had a rough couple of days here with our Internet connection going in and out. Comcast is having problems and our router, the fourth in a couple of years is acting sporadic at best. Not at all a good time to have to look into buying another one of those, especially since this one was just replaced a few months ago.

Last Monday night, we checked out a local cheap food supermarket and with the exception of four items not carried, we’ll probably start shopping there for most of our grocery needs. We jotted down the prices of everything we usually purchase and only two items were wildly priced over what we current pay at our usual haunt. We’ll probably save upwards of $20 per trip and that is a very, very good thing.

For me, I’ve got a Monkey Car Club meeting tonight, this making only 8 more to go in my secretarial position, and I’m hoping the threat of our upcoming heat wave won’t have already driven anyone over the edge like it has The Howler Monkeys and The Dimmers here in our neighborhood.

A couple of days ago, as we were heading out to the cheap grocery store, Mr. and Mrs. Howler Monkey were having some sort of confrontation out on the sidewalk. She was refusing his entrance to their house and was pushing him this way and that at his every turn. We could hear shouting initially, but that ended the moment we hit the button on the garage door opener. It was all just push and shove after that. I don’t know what was going on exactly, but half the neighborhood knows they were no longer talking after their last vacation together. It’s been very quiet over there ever since Monday night.

Not so quiet over at The Dimmers however. Last night, I heard some kind of yelling coming from over there; repetitive yelling, something being said over and over again. I had to go out to put seed in the bird feeder anyway and water the tomato and that’s when I heard it.

“WWW SUCK MY COCK DOT COM! WWW SUCK MY COCK DOT COM! WWW SUCK MY COCK DOT COM!”

Over and over again, at least twenty times Mr. Dimmer yelled it out his windows and doors, all of which were wide open to catch any breeze that might happen by. I was out at the feeder when I heard his neighbor on the other side slam shut their windows. Another neighbor behind him yelled “SHUT UP!” and slammed a door. But he just kept yelling it for a few minutes longer.

I filled the feeder and watered the tomato and by that time, Mr. Dimmer was silent and standing out on his back porch steps. I purposely didn’t make eye contact but he was looking my way and taking a defiant-looking stance. I acted as though I hadn’t heard a thing, or maybe the look on my face said I had already heard way too much from that house anyway. I could hear Little Girl Dimmer screaming and crying inside which always means someone said something nasty to her or didn’t let her get her way with something. As I returned inside I could hear Mrs. Dimmer’s loud high-pitched voice saying something but I couldn’t make out a word. But it did seem to quiet things down over there for the rest of the evening.

We’re expecting temperatures well over the 100 degree mark beginning Friday and lasting through the weekend. They say we’ll be coming up on the record setting 107 degrees on Saturday. We’ll be hiding out inside because we hate the heat and trying to stay cool. Please think direct any good thoughts you have toward Limpy, the long haired, matted fur, and ignored Howler Monkey cat that has to endure the hot temps outside. He’s going to need it this weekend.

July 20, 2006

I’ve finally felt the “ouch” last night of not doing car shows anymore. The Monkey Car Club is putting on a big show this coming weekend but I’m not participating. Heck, I’m not even going there for support and it’s not because it’s going to be 105 degrees, higher than that sitting in a black asphalt parking lot for eight hours. It’s the Monkey Car Club, and it’s money I don’t have and it’s people I don’t like – the reasons are many.

Still, membership of the club has dropped like a rock over the past three months (just like Dick wanted it to) and most of the new people are running the upcoming car show. As would be expected NO ONE knows what they are doing and they aren’t taking anything seriously. I can see what they are missing and have actually offered a tip here and there, mostly ignored tips but I’ve tried. I’m not going to muscle my way in on the various car show committees because I’ve learned my lesson, that being when I do that, I get ‘volunteered’ for something I want nothing to do with. They are thankless jobs and ripe for blame.

Still, it hurts a bit. Didn’t help when a few of the newbies questioned my car show knowledge or winning history and why shouldn’t they question it? They are new! They have no idea who this middle-aged, fat woman is or why she is yammering on about how to judge cars or set up registration or the importance of keeping a tight fist on the entry fee money. I go to most of the meetings and all of the Board meetings in WS’ car so no one knows what my car looks like or even that I have a sports car. I’m lumped in that class of silly, ignored women who are simply humoring their men, the ones who have the cars, by attending meetings that they obviously can’t bother to show up to. Grr…

There are lots of car shows coming up, a free one here and there, but I’ve already spread the news far and wide that my car is retired from shows for a few years, maybe longer. I can’t afford the entry fees or the polish or even the time anymore yet with three meetings a month and countless phone calls in between I’ve started to feel the loss of that period in my life because it’s being thrust in my face all the time.

Last night I felt the need to explain to a new member, (a woman who I feel has been trying to become friends with me though I don’t know a thing about her other than she smokes like a chimney and I spend most of my time around her coughing and wheezing,) about how I retired my car after three hard years of car shows where I was entered in a show every Saturday and every Sunday, sometimes even two a day, all summer long and it got to be too much – a lie really but only because I knew she wouldn’t understand. She’s married to a retired millionaire who flaunts his money and his latest Mexican face lift like some people flaunt the importance of their cell phones in traffic. She, who doesn’t even do car shows, poked fun at me for ‘saving’ my car from driving it as if all cars, especially expensive ones, are things to be driven into the ground and tossed aside in preparation for a new one. I can’t afford to think like that, not back then when I did show mine, and definitely not now.

I smiled and told her I’m waiting for the next model year to come out, which ought to be at least seven years down the road, before I bring mine out again. By then, most of the ones of my model will be driven into the ground and look it. Mine won’t and that thought makes me happy – happier than if I was able to dive back into that whole shindig now again. She said I was saving my car for the next person down the road and I guess that might be true to some degree. But if I play it right, I’ll get more for it when I do than anything she’s got. No one understands.

After last night’s meeting I was feeling a bit low but I have to admit, everything is going according to plan – Monkey Club members are actually starting to dislike me! Consistently, I beat-cheeks getting out of there immediately after the meetings end, I don’t stand around and socialize, I don’t join them for cruises after the meetings, I don’t go to car shows with the group, and I don’t participate or volunteer to do anything for the club. I’m their secretary for this year and if I keep playing my cards right, come November, no one will even think to nominate or elect me to anything, no one will vote me Member of the Year, and no one will miss me when I stop attending. I’ll finally be free from these whining, immature, petty children and free to write about everything I saw instead.

I like that.

July 21, 2006

Its 11 a.m. and already 91 degrees F. outside. Makes us want to crawl into a box and shut out the world. We here in the Pacific Northwest will be hitting 104 by 4 p.m. if the local weather people’s promise holds true. It’ll be the rinse-and-repeat routine tomorrow and perhaps Sunday too. It’s been a long time, almost 17 years to the day since I was in heat like this and I still don’t like it. Fortunately though, I’ve got air conditioning this time around, thanks to WS.

I decided to bring Limpy inside during the daylight hours for the next few days since he did so poorly during the last heat wave while his owners were off on vacation. That would be the people who couldn’t care less if he lived or died I’m certain. So he’s closed up downstairs in the cool bathroom with a litter box, food and water, and a soft blanket, and is keeping our pets entertained on the other side of the door. One less worry.

Yesterday I noticed a couple of things flowering out back that should have finished blooming sometime last April. There’s always a straggler. This year the Star Magnolia put out two final flowers and an early spring azalea popped a couple out as well. Since the heat was coming, I decided to take a few garden photos of other things as well before everything dried up.

July 24, 2006

Another 100 degree day. I’m as tired of listening to the local weather people promise cooler weather ahead as I am listening to the Crisis in Lebanon reports. Does this make me a bad U.S. citizen? Probably. Do I care? It’s too hot to care.

Last week, as part of a cheap entertainment arrangement, we drove to Moulton Falls, a pretty, inexpensive, yet crime-ridden spot about 30 miles north of us. Crime-ridden as in parked car break-ins, most of which are owned by stupid people who do everything but put up signs that read “Cash, credit cards, and cell phone on seat. Help yourself!” It’s not far from the parking lot to the falls but there’s lots of water going over the rocks and it’s hard to hear anything above the roar. A few years ago, a husband pushed his wife to what he wished to be her death some 30 feet below but she lived instead of drowning and said with the sound of the water, she never heard him coming up behind her. I could imagine that scene as I played the mountain goat scrambling over the water-smooth rocks to the various drop offs to take photos.

July 25, 2006

We’re still hanging in there with the strict budget thing although I’m starting to stress out a bit around lunch time every day. Do we have enough food to last until the first of the month? If I eat this now, will we wish we had it for dinner later? That sort of thing. We’ll be fine but that won’t keep me from worrying anyway.

Yesterday, Mrs. Dimmer made her yearly secret mad dash for vacation with her father in his 160 foot motor home which this year was towing a 30 foot trailer loaded down with kayaks. Every summer, Mrs. Dimmer coordinates with her father a time when Mr. Dimmer won’t be home (which isn’t often since he’s not working again) and once he’s gone, the motor home monstrosity roars up and parks a little way down the street (where it almost fits) and waits for Mrs. Dimmer to literally run down the street after it carrying her suitcase and pillow. Once aboard, her father runs back to the house to gather anything else she might want to take. Once aboard, she won’t come back out.

She won’t return to the house once she’s left. I think it’s because she’s afraid of her husband whether he’s home or not. I think she doesn’t want to take her chances that he’ll drive up while she’s gathering her things and so her father does it for her. This time, the things she decided her father needed to retrieve for her were her children and their bicycles. At one hurried point, Mrs. Dimmer’s father returned the daughter’s bicycle to the garage but moments later, he rushed back for it and the motor home and trailer sped off.

Later in the evening, after Mr. Dimmer came home to a quiet, empty house, he wandered around the backyard a bit and destroyed a small, children-sized tent that he had set up for his kids to sleep in. It’s been miserably hot here for the last 11 days and The Dimmers don’t have air conditioning. Sleeping outside in a tent has got to be better than sleeping in an oven of a house, but without kids there, the point seemed a little moot. Later still, around midnight, he took to watering his yard by hand and made enough noise to wake most of the neighbors in doing so. At least he wasn’t singing this time. In the coming week and with an empty house, I suspect that’s going to come later.

We started today off with thick clouds overhead but it wasn’t enough to cool anything down. The night temperature didn’t drop much and it was muggy. By 10:30 a.m. the clouds have all burned off and we’re off to yet another hot day. Perfect for staying indoors yet again and writing.

July 26, 2006

I seem to be having a pre-birthday depression thing of sorts and I think I’m entitled. No, it’s not that I’ll be 50 this year; I’ve been looking forward to that. I think it’s the combination of the penny pinching and looking back over the first seven months of this year and realizing that I’m not having fun at all. I’ve gotten myself squeezed into too many tight spots that positively suck – the Monkey Car Club, being secretary to the Monkey Car Club, reading too many How-To Write books that have me questioning my ability, too much house cleaning, not enough sleep, problems with pets, not enough enjoyment time, etc. What I really think I need is a vacation. A long vacation. It’ll have to be a mental one though ‘cause there’s that whole penny pinching thing going on.

We’re seeing the long term promise of better times ahead with all this financial clamping down going on now. My internal battle is getting the better of me emotionally with wanting so badly to do something for myself to celebrate reaching 50 like I’ve promised myself since I turned 29 yet not wanting to derail our future money situation. But it doesn’t stop there. WS turns 40 in less than a month. While he’s one who never saw the point in birthday celebrations, I wanted to do something for him . . . but again, there’s that hardcore budget thing happening. Hence the mental struggle.

Last night, as WS and I were looking over the budget, WS was telling me about how the future looks a bit brighter come mid-September. I thought it looked just as dull as a worn, flattened penny but realized that was just my depression talking. WS was saying how this and that monthly bill payment ought to be a tad lower than we projected which will save us a few pennies here and there and usually, things like that excite me (yes, I’m weird that way). But when he got to the gasoline part and said he was hoping to be able to stick to the small amount we had budgeted, I had to stop paying attention. I didn’t want to hear anymore. I’ve been searching my brain for inexpensive, VERY inexpensive things to do this coming Saturday and I thought maybe driving somewhere might be the ticket. It’s not to be though. I’ll need to come up with something else, some other idea but the problem is, I’m completely out of ideas.

So here’s my birthday schedule so far. I’ll be looking for all the low budget excitement I can.

Get up around 9 a.m. (I ought to get some joy out of that – some people have to get up much earlier!)
Brush my teeth and be happy that I had my teeth cleaning appointment the day before. Admire that movie star smile in the mirror.
Get out the tiara because, damn it, it’ll be my birthday and I’m wearing it ALL day.
Drink tea and eat oatmeal while gazing out at the beautiful fountain in our backyard. Try not to get down on myself for anything. I mean, c’mon, I live in a beautiful place! What am I complaining about?
Take joy in the possibility that it’ll rain Saturday. There isn’t much more that will give me endless joy than to have it rain on my birthday, especially after having the long, dry, hot spell we’ve been suffering with.
Play a computer game or two. Killing virtual civilizations and destroying all their menial buildings ought to help with the day.
Write a sentence or two. Try to get all the words arranged right.
Take a nap. Heaven, I tell you, heaven is a nap during the day.
Decide if dinner will be of the frozen kind or the liquid kind. In leaning toward the fluid variety, I’ve taken out the only bottle of true champagne we own. Mimosas all around!
Read a bit. Got a How-To writing book I need to finish though I might dig out something more palatable.
Look online to see if Pamela Anderson and Kid Rock got married like they said they would. Everyone knows the best short term marriages start on July 29th. Just as Prince Charles.
Watch a favorite movie. I’m thinking Amadeus. It’s been a while.
Play another game.
Get to bed early, and don’t forget to pack away the tiara for another year.

July 27, 2006

Another bit of emotional turmoil I’m experiencing lately, to go with my whining bit from yesterday, is a little anxiety over the stupidest thing ever. Even I can see how silly this is but you think that makes it any easier? Hardly.

You see, I love hot, spicy food. Can’t.Get.Enough. on most any day of the week. I’ll eat it for breakfast whenever given the chance and just before bed too since I’m one of those odd ones in that it doesn’t seem to bother my sleep nor my stomach. If a person is 70% water, I have got to be 65% hot sauce of some kind. Don’t get me wrong though; I like hot sauce sure, but it’s got to be flavorful hot sauce, not hot sauce for the sake of just being hot. Not hot sauce with the sole intent of injuring someone’s mouth and digestive system for life. I am somewhat a hot sauce connoisseur. Or a hot sauce snob if you will.

A few decades ago with the help of a roommate’s extended family, I discovered El Pato Mexican Tomato Sauce. It’s easy to find in most local grocery stores in the Mexican food section. It’s a small yellow can with a Mallard duck on it. Early on, it garnered the name ‘Duck Sauce’ in the household, a name that stands to this day. And to some, it is a little on the hot side. To me, it is sustenance.

I practically lived off the stuff during the time I was on my own and had $14 a week to live off of. Years later, I had a different roommate who hated even the sight of the can and refused to try it. I figured ‘Good for me’ because that meant ‘More for me.’ I kept unopened cans under my bed so the roommate wouldn’t find them in the pantry and throw them out. And when I brought them as a kind of dowry into our marriage, WS accepted them without question.

WS has come to love Duck Sauce too. He’s developed quite the hot palate himself over the years thankfully, and at a dedicated Mexican food dinner at home, we can easily use an entire can of the stuff in one sitting. So it shouldn’t be any surprise that when we grocery shop, we often buy several cans at once. I think we once bought half a case of the stuff and it was gone within a month or two. Once we found a triple-sized can of the stuff and it was gone within the week. Needless to say, I love Duck Sauce. Love it, love it, love it. It’s become quite the comfort food for me, replacing anything that might have been a comfort food in my past including French fries which if you don’t mind all the trans fat grease, are excellent dipped in Duck Sauce in place of ketchup, and PayDay candy bars of which I haven’t had since 1992 (too dangerous!). I might be going out on a limb here but I don’t recommend dipping candy bars in Duck Sauce. Some things are just too sacred.

It’s been months since I had French fries and I haven’t missed them terribly much. Not quite to the ‘take it or leave it’ stage but they are getting there. I couldn’t live without Duck Sauce though and believe me, I’ve tried. Didn’t work. It’s possible someone back in Phoenix still carries the scars from my No-Duck-Sauce period. And all those traffic tickets I had? Yeah, most of them were gotten during that time period too. I was out of control then. Let’s just say it might be in everyone’s best interest that I keep consuming the stuff.

So you might be able to understand my feeling of anxiety at the sight of the very last can of Duck Sauce in the pantry. During our self-imposed financial cutback we’ve made great strides in using up loads of long-forgotten packaged food we had in there – Minute Rice, which is good with Duck Sauce dribbled over it, Instant Mashed Potatoes, which is good with a pat of butter and Duck Sauce dribbled over it, cans of white beans, which as you can imagine, good with Duck Sauce dribbled over them, and crackers, which . . . well heck, say it with me: Are good dipped in Duck Sauce.

In fact, given enough stress in one’s life and the habit some people have in seeking out comfort food when presented with stress, is it any wonder I don’t go a single day without finding something I could dribble Duck Sauce over? I didn’t think so.

Last night, we had soft tacos and finally used up the rest of that six-month old, five-dozen package of corn tortillas. It was one of our tightly budgeted pre-scheduled meals and we opened the final can of Duck Sauce. I could open the cupboard, take out a can, and open it with my eyes closed, I’ve done it so often. Afterward, there was a smidge left and for lunch today, I finished it off. Actually, I supplemented the last of it with a few questionably old Taco Bell Fire Sauce packets we had from last February or so. It wasn’t bad, but even those are gone now. And we can’t grocery shop until next Tuesday at the earliest. I suspect by the weekend I will have gazed longingly at the near-empty Tabasco Sauce bottle even though it’s not the same. And probably consumed that too.

Be still, my fluttering heart. Duck Sauce is on the horizon and then, once again, all will be well.

July 29, 2006

Yes! The day has arrived at last! I am 50 today!

*much joy and dancing about, all of which will go over everyone’s head especially those who think a day over 22 is ancient.

And yes, I am wearing my tiara.

You see, I’ve been looking forward to age 50 most of my life. Even as far back as a child, I could never see reaching this age. After all, I wasn’t supposed to and if my parents had anything to do with it, I wouldn’t. I’ve mentioned here before, probably way too many times, how my parents never let a day go by without telling me and my younger siblings that we weren’t wanted, none of us, me in particular because I was the oldest and the one that ‘started it all.’ They often told us and our neighbors that the reason they had so many kids was because they didn’t expect them all to survive.

Well, that’s part of why I am so happy to be 50 today. I’m a survivor. I am one tough bird!

As of today, I am also the first member of my family, both immediate and extended, in two generations to reach 50 years old. That’s what taking just a little bit of care of one’s self can do for you. That’s also one of the reasons my family didn’t want to have anything to do with me – I always believed in taking a little bit of care of myself. Watched most of what I ate, didn’t used to overdo anything, still have little to no alcohol and absolutely NO drugs ever! As a result, I was labeled odd, strange, queer, square, and later in life, difficult. Ha! I’m showing them now!

Also, today is official AARP day for me and if I decide to do so, I can join AARP (at the rate of $12.50 a year, $29.50 for three years) and get discounts on stuff I’m more than likely to never use! Hey, where’s the discount on the important stuff, like Wendy’s French Fries? I didn’t get to be this age so I could start saving money on adult diapers!

It looks like WS is taking me to the zoo today so I can photograph the animals. The temperature promises to be a cool, cloudy and breezy 75 degrees, perfect for the two of us . . . and about a million baby strollers. Later, we’re going to splurge by spending $10 of next month’s grocery money by stopping by the new Rose’s Café here in town and sharing a piece of cake. They have tall cakes there and one piece works well for two people. Too bad WS is as tall as two people. Well, maybe he can have the slice. I’m thinking of their Mac & Cheese.

What? It’s my birthday! Mac & Cheese can be a birthday treat!

Have a good one!

P.S. After posting yesterday about my addiction love of Duck Sauce, someone nameless sent me an email asking where they can send cans of the stuff. Send your unloved, non-opened cans of Duck Sauce to:

Blogeois
P.O. Box 87835
Vancouver, WA 98687-7835

Thank you!

July 31, 2006

The weekend was a ball, Saturday in particular. I woke to a Macadamia Pancake breakfast served in bed with pineapple juice on the side and Happy Birthday clip art printed out and taped up all over the house. WS worked like a dog the night before cleaning here and there so there would be little to do in the morning. After breakfast, we took off for the zoo where I filled up over 2 gigs worth of photos (which you know is silly because I’m lucky if 10 photos actually turn out). Going to the zoo is somewhat sad anymore because the animals are obviously horribly bored (most of them have pacing routines they do for hours on end in their cages) and people left and right were downright snappish with each other.

Even so, it didn’t ruin my day. The weather was mercifully cool and comfortable. We walked what felt like five miles around the place until late afternoon and then came home and rested for a couple of hours. With me wearing my tiara, around 8 p.m., we took my shiny car out for one of its twice-monthly drives and stopped at Rose’s Café for a slice of cake (half price on your birthday and they don’t sing embarrassing birthday songs to you) and Mac & Cheese (which was fabulous, btw). A respected and much liked writer friend and her husband came and she gave me the Robert McKee book “Story” as a gift, a book every writer on the planet should read (check out the reviews!). I already like it more than any other How-To book I’ve read to date. Thank you again, KZ and R! Conversation with them is always thought provoking and motivational and I felt out-and-out special.

August 1, 2006

It’s the first of the month. Let’s see how well or not we did financially over the past month. There’s some good news and some not-so-good news.

On the way home from the zoo Saturday afternoon, we decided to stop at the grocery store. The original intent was that WS felt he needed to get me a birthday card. I relented. We were desperately in need of cat litter which was just not going to wait until August 1st without dire consequences. We have already had to confine one pet, The Queen, into her own room now on a permanent basis due to her age and failing bladder control and we could not expect her to use an empty litter pan. Literally empty as in devoid of any litter at all. This has put a bit of an overuse strain on the community litter pan out in the other part of the house but nothing that couldn’t be fixed with any litter at all.

After doing the price comparison test last week at WinCo, the cheaper grocery store in town, we knew there were several items we wouldn’t be able to get, either because WinCo doesn’t carry them or they are vastly more expensive, like cat litter (Why? We don’t understand this.), so we decided to stop at Fred Meyer, our old grocery store, instead. We picked up four huge things of cat litter and several items we knew we wouldn’t find at WinCo. This was both a good and a bad thing as we didn’t have the cash and had to put the purchases on a credit card.

On the way out of Fred Meyer, we saw the sign advertising their annual Buffalo meat sale starting Sunday, the next day. We came home and tried to figure out how we could stock up on Buffalo, the only meat we eat since giving up beef almost three years ago (giving up chicken is just around the corner for me too). We had one pound of ground Buffalo in the freezer left from the last sale months before. But try as we may, we just couldn’t find a way to buy any without putting it on a credit card as well. Now we understand how people can get into trouble. A purchase here, a purchase there followed by a financial catastrophe of some kind and you’re deep in a hole and digging your way ever-deeper.

After a lot of discussion, we went ahead and bought $200 worth of Buffalo with the plan of stretching most of it out until the end of the year. Going vegetarian is looking better and better all the time if for no other reason than because it really is less expensive for the most part. And WS really is trying to embrace a no-meat lifestyle, but it isn’t easy. I don’t think he will ever go completely vegetarian.

So, in order to pay for the weekend, we had to withdraw money from our meager savings account. We’re under $6000 left now from the layoff a year and a half ago and we still needed groceries. Back to WinCo it was and we decided, since we were going to use $100 cash from our emergency kit fund, why wait until the 1st to do it. Why not go now?

Shopping at WinCo on the first of the month is a rather unpleasant experience. The store is packed and most of the shoppers are either loud, rude, drunk, or smell bad and in some cases, all four. Its social security check time, welfare check time, food stamp time and most of those recipients shop at WinCo. Wal-Mart is just a few miles up the road and may have even cheaper prices but it’s possible some of these people have been banned from shopping there for one reason or another. It’s not hard to imagine that. There is security at Wal-Mart. There’s no security at WinCo, neither inside or out and that’s doubly obvious on the 1st of the month.

Shopping at WinCo last Sunday wasn’t fun. There were quite a few snarky shoppers here and there. There were lots of crying children; a couple of them outright screaming as if they were being pinched or smacked, hard. Most of the shoppers have haunted looks to their faces and no one really looks at one another. It’s as if everyone knows why people are shopping there, because the prices are low and none of us can afford anything more. A sense of heavy, smothering desperation hangs thick in the air and I almost broke down twice but nothing can be done at this point. We brought this upon ourselves. We need to buck up and we’ll get through it.

After the shopping comes check-out. They are always crowded with long lines. The cashier only rings up the sales; the shoppers do their own bagging and it’s easy to see who is a seasoned WinCo shopper and who isn’t. Women try to bag a month’s worth of canned, food-stamp purchases while juggling numerous offspring, some of whom shoplift items from racks of candy purposely placed at the head of each line. Scruffy-looking young men are trapped just trying to pay for their Milwaukie’s Best and get the Hell out of there. Old couples with deer-in-the-headlights looks shuffle ahead with their sad, paltry items, too few for such big shopping carts, trying to squeeze enough food for them and a cat out of their pathetic social security check.

If you don’t get your items out of the cart and up onto the conveyor belt fast enough, people will let you know of their displeasure one way or the other. This has not changed a bit since we used to shop at WinCo years before. And if you loiter in getting your items bagged and off the belt, the cashier will join in on the displeasurement by making you an example. That’s where the survivor mentality kicked in for me and I snapped at WS twice for wanting to take the time to organize the thirty cat food cans into individual flavors. This isn’t Fred Meyer where the cashiers there appreciate that kind of activity…and the customers allow you time to do it. This is a grocery store combat zone and either you’ll adopt the methodology quick or you’ll be ground to a pulp under its ever-churning wheels.

We had enough food left in the house for four or five more dinners, not counting the month’s worth of food still stored in our emergency kit (which we are not touching unless we HAVE to). Our WinCo grocery total on Sunday came to $102.83 and we were lucky that I had a five-dollar bill in my purse to go with the five $20 bills. Most of the way home and long into Monday, I kept thinking of all the stuff we should have picked up but then I remember we were already over the $100 limit. There was nothing we could have put back in order to get something of more importance. We had stuck to our lean list and absolutely nothing on it was frivolous.

So where does this leave us as of today, August 1st, 2006?
Birthday zoo trip – $22.00
1st trip to Fred Meyer – $133.14 for cat litter, a birthday card, and a few food items
Rose’s Café – $40.00 for birthday dinner
2nd trip to Fred Meyer – $194.48 for 5 months worth of buffalo
———————————————–
A total of $389.62 added to the Alaska credit card.

$7207.31 still owed to American Express
$14,377.91 still owed to VISA

The good thing is the Alaska credit card was slated to be paid in full on August 4th. The bad thing is we only have enough to pay for the amount, $1595.00 that would have paid for it in full before our expensive weekend. In order to have that card paid in full anyway, we’ll pull $389.62 out of our $6000 savings account, leaving us with $5610.38 left to our names.

This coming Friday I’m having my first physical since the removal of Emil and Hubert nearly two years ago. I didn’t plan this and didn’t want to go; my doctor ordered it though in order for me to keep receiving my asthma medication. My co-payment is $15.00 and that is money that will have to come out of the $100 that is slated for the August 15th grocery trip, leaving only $85 now. Everything and anything that comes up between now and September 15th will have to come out of grocery money and with only $100 every two and half weeks, that is money that has to go as far as we can stretch it. Once again, we see how people can get themselves into serious financial trouble if they give in just for one moment.

August 3, 2006

Boy, oh boy! I’ve been witness to a good amount of drama over the last 24 hours and how odd that a weatherman I was listening to just yesterday was whining about how boring and dull things have been lately. I’m sure he was referring to the weather but I remember agreeing with him at the time.

I got an odd phone call yesterday morning from the President of the Monkey Car Club, Ms. Snooty, who asked that I show up an hour early to the general club meeting last night for an emergency Monkey Board meeting prior. Since she is perpetually late, I knew this really meant she’d show up a half an hour late which is what happened. Her phone message was very cryptic I thought but once she mentioned new officer nominations would start tonight, I figured I knew where she was going with it. And so I crafted a short polite declining speech just in case anyone tried to pigeon-hole me back into being club Secretary again.

By the end of the afternoon, I was convinced that I was flattering myself by thinking anyone would nominate me for anything. I purposely haven’t been participating in anything club-wise since last March and that’s usually enough to stay off the radar screen.

The Monkey Board meeting, held in another part of the building, ran long, of course, because Ms. Snooty’s tardiness and because once she gets to talking, hardly anything will shut her up. Meanwhile, the rest of the Monkey Members were waiting in another room wondering if there was going to be a meeting at all since none of the Board members were there. But we finally got through the Board meeting with only a minor amount of crabbiness and daggers of hate thrown at each other and the general meeting commenced with the usual amount of snippiness, bellyaching, and complaining.

Ms. Snooty opened the floor to nominations and right off the bat I was nominated for the office of Head Monkey President for next year. Sure, it came from a Monkey Member who hadn’t attended a meeting since last March but still, I felt both a rush of relief and a stab of terror. I got out my little speech and “respectfully and regrettably declined.”

Ms. Snooty opened the floor to the nomination of Vice President and no one nominated anyone. The same went for Treasurer, Historian, Newsletter Editor, Publicist, Activities Chairperson, and a few other offices. I was again nominated for Secretary and again I “respectfully and regrettably declined.” When it was over, out of eleven Monkey positions, no one accepted a single nomination.

At one point, a current Board member stood up and said after their term was over come November, they were leaving the club to join the group that was started by Dick, the ex-member who vowed to destroy the Monkey Club because he wasn’t elected as President last year. At that announcement, every other Board member, save Ms. Snooty and myself, nodded in agreement. I still don’t understand why no one else sees what a ‘Napoleon’ Dick really is. And yet people flock to him like bees to honey. But whatever the reason, it’s painfully clear the Monkey Club is in danger of folding after 33 years of existence, as if the severely declining Monkey Membership wasn’t already an indication of this. Last year at this time, there were 150+ members. There are 28 today.

Before I left the meeting, several people approached me wanting to know why I didn’t want to become Head Monkey. I had my reasons ready and was surprised that no one challenged them. Later, the old Monkey President, one of the ones who caused so much strife this year and last, was overhead saying he’d run the club again if no one came forward. I doubt anyone will oppose him. None of the Monkeys care anymore.

Just as the meeting was wrapping up, someone rushed into the room and asked who belonged to a particular red sports car out in the parking lot. Apparently, a kid backed into it and took off. A group of bikers saw the incident and tried to stop the kid and were nearly run down. While they were able to get the license plate number and description of the kid and the car, they all left before the sheriff showed up because they all had alcohol on their breaths and knew there’d be trouble. The owners of the red sports car, new Monkey Members, were devastated. They had owned the car for three months and this had been the first time they had driven it to a meeting. Oddly enough, earlier in the meeting, they won the raffles and the money pot and were celebrating their win of a whopping $13.

Things were pretty quiet back at home. I read a bit before going to bed and reflected how ironic it was that out of the blue I had been nominated for president of a once-prestigious car club when back in high school I repeatedly lost elections for every office I applied for; once to a girl who recently moved to the United States from Poland and who didn’t even speak English.

By 1 a.m. I was still tossing and turning and unable to sleep. I took half of a Tylenol PM and comforted myself with the thought that if I needed to, I’d take a nap later in the day. Just as I was drifting off and listening to a cat meow at the bedroom door, at 1:39 a.m. precisely, the bed started shaking and kept going for a good 10 seconds. The house creaked and things rattled. A 3.8 earthquake located about 20 miles from us shook the area. Looking around this morning, I see only one crack around a beam in the garage and it’s nothing bad. A little flexible spackle and paint and we’re as good as new. My first big-ish earthquake and though I know I should be concerned, it was a little exciting initially.

This morning, Dick’s closest friend called wanting to know every minute detail of what happened at the meeting last night. It was horribly unfortunate that I picked up the phone as I was expecting a confirmation call from someone else about something else entirely. I didn’t say much, choosing to listen to the rambling and babbling as he tried to stir up something, claiming rumors were flying regarding how the car clubs in the area hate each other so. I suspect he heard I was one of two who didn’t agree to join Dick’s club last night and he felt he needed to play salesman. I don’t understand why people are having such a hard time accepting me walking away from car clubs. Misery loves company I suppose.

August 4, 2006

From Phyllis’ blog and Mary Lou’s email last week:

Things you may not have known about me (and maybe didn’t want to either!)

Four jobs I have held:
Baker
Butcher (apprentice)
Plant party saleswoman
Computer tech support

WS:
Burger and bun toaster at Burger King
Electronics clerk
Admin
Security Helpdesk

Four movies I could watch over and over:
Excalibur
You’ve got mail
Amadeus
Out of Africa

WS:
O Brother Where Art Thou
Most Pixar movies
Gone in Sixty Seconds
Raiders of the Lost Ark

Four places I have lived:
Ohio
3 cities in Arizona
Washington State
Nowhere else

WS:
Phoenix
Vancouver (USA)
Anaheim
Modesto

Four TV shows I love to watch:
Any video crack show on Discovery Channel, History Channel or Biography Channel
City Confidential
Intervention
Local area newscast

WS:
Law & Order (original series)
Survivor

Four places I have been on vacation:
Arkansas, though I wouldn’t consider it ‘vacation’
Greer, Arizona
Yellowstone Park
L.A.

WS:
Olympic Peninsula
Vancouver (B.C.)
L.A.
Kitsap Peninsula

Websites I visit daily:
Cute Overload
Latest Pacific NW Earthquakes
Various blogs including my own
Presurfer

WS:
CNN
Blogeois.com
Finance.Yahoo.com
Live Journal

Four favorite foods:
French fries (with Duck Sauce!)
Potato chips
Pizza
Salad

WS:
Thai
Mexican
Italian
Japanese

Four places I’d like to be right now:
Greer, Arizona
Willcox House in Seabeck, Washington
On the coast
Sound asleep right here

WS:
Sitting home where I’m at right now
On a cool, rocky coast
Snowed in at the Alps
Willcox House in Seabeck, Washington in autumn

Four friends who might put this on their blogs:
Danelle
Zed
Mary Lou
You!

August 5, 2006

Someone I know is dying and there is nothing I can do about it.

Last year someone I know went to Europe to have life-saving surgery done because that kind of procedure is completely unknown and unsupported here in the states. The surgery was as successful as it could be given the number of small internal organ tumors removed (220 total) and the patient enjoyed a quiet winter and spring recovering back in the states. This spring they went back to fulfilling their dreams of attending school and being rehired at their old job.

A month ago the tumors returned. A MRI scan was recommended but the major health industry in this area didn’t agree with the idea and so, only did a partial scan. Weeks later, when the pain became unbearable, a full scan was done. The spine and previously unaffected organs are being eaten away. Had a full scan been done initially, perhaps treatment could have been haggled over sooner. A group of surgeons in Seattle have experience with this kind of catastrophic issue and have offered help. Unfortunately, the surgeon group does not belong to the local health industry and that industry is denying help by refusing the pay the costs. They say that kind of surgery, while unsupported now, ‘may’ be supported sometime in the future. This person doesn’t have a long future and has contacted a lawyer, their congressmen, and anyone who will listen. It is a last effort to prolong a life that hasn’t been lived very long.

When I first found out about the situation, I stopped by to visit but was turned away by their children. The kids were strictly raised, went without much for most of their lives, and were taught to keep to themselves. When the youngest turned 11 a couple of years ago, something changed. The breadwinner of the family became less of an asshole and perhaps for the first time ever, noticed a family surrounded them. Within the year, the family was introduced to cell phones, computers, and bicycles for the kids; an SUV for the oldest. On rare occasions, the family started talking to outsiders. It was then that we became friends. We saw them in town often and they waved back when we passed them on the street.

A year later, they stopped by and asked that we keep an eye on their place while they went to Europe for surgery. Their kids would be staying home and a sister-in-law who worked two full-time jobs would be staying with them. They told me where their cats usually slept and they gave me a key and asked that if we happened by and saw their house on fire or something and no one was home, I would try to rescue their pets. Yes, I’d be stupid enough to enter a burning building to rescue cats that have never laid eyes on me. And somehow I think they know that.

While they were gone, I talked to one of their teenagers once when they demanded to know whose cat was spending time in our yard. Yes, demanded. It wasn’t a good conversation. A few weeks later, I noticed the youngest appeared locked out of their house after school; the oldest having just drove off to parts unknown. I called over and invited the child inside as it was raining and chilly and they were sleeveless but they stared back at me as if I were a child molester and ran down the street to another home.

When the friend returned home from Europe, I waited nearly a week before I went over to give them back their key and to ask if everything went well. A teen answered the door, took back the key, and refused to give an update. They refused to even give their parents word that I had enquired about them. I walked away feeling confused and I didn’t go back.

In the last week I heard of the new medical crisis and the lawsuit. Their new landscaping project that was in the early stages of construction has again been put on hold. The teens are spending lots of time away from home and the family boat was sold. And they aren’t talking to anyone anymore. Knocks on doors go unanswered. The phone rings for hours out an open upstairs window.

There’s the ‘feeling helpless to help someone’ feeling and then there’s the ‘feeling helpless because people don’t want help’ feeling. I’m guilty of both.

August 6, 2006

Pizza Wars

Something new is happening in our area of town, something subtle but right under people’s noses and for the most part, I’ll bet no one has noticed it even though some of those very same people are partly responsible. I know what you’re thinking, “What is B blattering about this time? Trash on the streets? Dry cleaning in her yard? Screaming children? What?”

No, I’m talking about something serious this time. I’m talking about…

Pizza wars.

Yep, pizza wars in our area have begun. We used to be a small town, a one pizza joint kind of town with several outlets. The ‘30-minutes or less’ call and deliver kind of pizza back when the cops used to look the other way when a delivery vehicle sped by. Oh sure, there were other pizza places around before: The ancient Pizza Hut era 1973, an ex-Sizzler building turned into a hot, high-school pizza date spot, a Russian pizza joint that tried, tried, and tried yet again before it was torched for the insurance money. It’s a bead shop now I think. And the traditional strip mall joint that someone assured me has been there since 1969. No, I’m talking about the new pizza places: Buck’s, Bellagio’s, Garlic Jim’s, and Papa John’s who are competing with the not-quite-so-new places.

And the only reason I noticed, really, was something I saw the other day while riding around town. It was at an innocent intersection and we were all waiting at a light, a pimped Bellagio delivery Honda sitting next to us and across the street sat an equally pimped Garlic Jim delivery Acura. Both young drivers had the appropriately logo-ed company baseball hats and uniform shirts on. Both had one hand on the top of their steering wheels and both looked as though they weren’t acknowledging they had tacky, rubber mounted signs suctioned to their roofs. They ignored the presence of the other.

But when another delivery vehicle slowly drove through the intersection did I see the seriousness of the matter. The other two drivers perked up, actually scooted up in their seats (so they could see over the steering wheel for once instead of through it), and glared at the usurper, an older Buck’s Pizza driver in an old, badly battered Ford Taurus. One could practically read the younger minds: “Hey! What’s he doing in my pizza territory?” Eyes followed the slow Taurus through the intersection. Was the Buck’s driver lost? Or was he taking his time getting back to the shop? Who knows? The Garlic Jim’s driver raised a hand, no wait! It was a one-finger salute directed at the Taurus!

When the light turned green, the Garlic Jim driver changed lanes and turned to follow the Buck’s driver. Seconds later, the Bellagio driver beside us rapidly did the same and I couldn’t help but laugh a little at the sight of three different pizza delivery drivers, one behind the other slowly driving down a residential street. For someone in that neighborhood, a dream dinner might have looked as if it came true.

But one has to wonder why the other drivers made the decision to follow the Buck’s driver. Were they buddies? Were they going to help? Were they going to persuade the Buck’s customers to order from them instead or were they going to meet up, tip back a root beer together, and swap name tags? Or are they sworn enemies because they’re rivals? Is a turf war building? Were they going to rough up the Buck’s driver? Certainly they weren’t going to check out his beat-up ride.

With the finger salute and the drivers’ actions, are competing pizza battles starting to take place? And if so, what tactics will the new companies take to gain customers who may be loyal to another? Surely gone are the simple days of thinking that just because someone builds a better pizza, people will come. New strategies must be found and embraced along with the new kinds of young delivery drivers with their pimped and blinged ricer cars. Can new pizza business graffiti be far behind, cropping up here and there, especially around the areas where the delivery areas cross and overlap. Maybe a red triangle and a capital B or GJ in the middle that means “Our Delivery Turf. Stay Out or Else!” Perhaps it wasn’t a one finger salute after all. Maybe it was a pizza delivery gang sign and it means “Yo! Love your pizza, man.”

August 7, 2006

I ask that anyone reading here please pop over to Mary Lou’s to offer her a kind word or two. Her indoor cat got out last week and Mary Lou is sick with worry (as is several of her loyal readers). Still no sign of the little grey sweetheart who she’s had since kittenhood.

I was feeling a bit under the weather over the weekend. I think most of it was brought on by lack of sleep brought on by worry over my doctor’s appointment last Friday and the ridiculous amount of wheat I’ve been consuming lately which bothers the hot flash situation. Until we get out of this financial crunch, I can’t do much about the wheat intake (it’s cheap!) short of stopping eating, but I can say that my doctor’s appointment went better than I thought it would. Okay, technically, my doctor, who is shaped like a pear with seriously wide hips, wants me to lose weight (like I haven’t been wishing that myself since I was 9 years old), is surprised that since the hysterectomy almost two years ago I go day to day feeling ravenousness all the time (apparently for most women, the opposite happens), and excitedly signed me up for my first enema and colon cancer screening set for late September. Oh the joys of turning 50. Who knew it would include a butt-snake?

In other news from around, Mrs. Dimmer and kids are home from vacation. Funny how they came home while Mr. Dimmer was away just the same as how they left a couple of weeks ago. So odd.

Limpy, the Howler Monkey’s ignored cat is still hanging in there. The weather has favored him and his horribly matted fur lately by not making things overly hot for him. Still, he’s got to be uncomfortable. I try to brush parts of him daily and routinely remove bark chips, dead slugs, and a mix of other things that have glued themselves to his fur. I still can’t believe Mrs. Howler Monkey hasn’t taken notice of how bad his condition looks. Bad pet owner!

An acquaintance in the neighborhood that had a bout with cancer last year has had a serious relapse that should have been caught back in January in one of their monthly scans by the local health industry but for whatever reason, wasn’t. Lawyers have now been brought in. There are teenage children to think of and the youngest was just diagnosed with a similar, smaller scale situation. The oldest has been rebelling in public, most likely due to the stress, and the middle teen is so protective of their parent, they won’t let anyone in to visit, which creates a clash with the other parent who, understandably, walks around in a daze. This is a very private family who seldom speaks to neighbors so any outburst seen or overheard from any of them is extraordinarily rare. Extreme privacy can sometimes make outsiders feel helpless and all anyone can do is watch at this point.

Ms. SportsOrNothing who used to live next door stopped by out of the blue last week and asked how things were going with the new neighbors, The Wall Streets. I told her they wasted little time removing one of the selling features of the house, the fire pit, and I think she got angry. She had built the thing after all, and though it was made from recycled cement and other materials, it wasn’t terribly attractive or safe for a family with several small children. “Why’d they buy the house for then?” She asked and I told her I wondered the same thing. Over the weekend, Mr. Wall Street stained the deck a bright redwood color that really doesn’t look good at all. Don’t get me wrong, I like redwood stain. Just not over darkened cedar. I wonder if he plans on matching the cedar fence to it and if so, someone’s going to have to tell him about the C,C,& R’s that prohibit such a thing, even though it was SportsOrNothing who should have left him a copy of the regulations when they bought the place.

August 8, 2006

I’ve been taking extra time each day to take in and enjoy my surroundings. Back a year and a half ago when I last worked a paying job, my world was filled with a “hurry up and buy something new” mentality, never stopping to take more than a few minutes to appreciate the latest home decorating purchase before I was off to the races to buy something else. What a consumer I was! The U.S. economy had to love me. And yeah, I could blame that mentality on growing up with nothing, on losing all possessions twice to failed relationships, or to something equally as responsible, but I’d like to think that those are just excuses, which are different from reasons, and the fact is simply I like buying things and that’s not a good reason at all.

It’s been a while since I bought anything extraneous, a month or so, and longer than that for anything for our home. Though some might suggest the purchase of a kitchen dining table (don’t tempt me with money I don’t have), the truth is we don’t need anything more here. Our house is overflowing with an eclectic mix of stylish objects, most bought to create and evoke a certain ambiance in each room, and then, for the most part, promptly forgotten. Shame on me.

Last night I was struck with an overwhelming sense of gratitude for everything in my life – friendships, love, talent (though some may or may not agree with that), objects, and a calm inner feeling (dare I say peace?) that has taken me 50 years, two marriages, countless crappy jobs, estrangement from my family, and numerous bouts with debt to discover within. Today is the first day I haven’t felt depression over our financial situation in a month. Today is the first day I’ve been able to think of or see something we don’t have and not try to goad myself into wanting to break out a credit card. Today is the first day I’ve looked back over the past month of struggling and patted myself on the back for doing fairly well. And although we’ve hit a few bumps in the road I think things are looking up. The next few months will tell but I think everything’s going to turn out well.

August 9, 2006

We woke to cloudy skies this morning, the first in many, many weeks. Could rain be on the forecast? Could be if you listen to one local broadcast, just clouds if you listen to the others. I’m not going to hold my breath I ran the sprinklers this morning.

A few weeks ago we had a couple of raccoons visit out front late one night. They looked to be of raccoon teenager age and they were slurping down the water from Limpy’s water bowl. The two unusual things about them were that they were on our front porch where raccoons seldom venture, and one of them did not have a tail. At all.

Last night, the moon was full and it was fairly bright outside. Just after 10 p.m. and as we were trying to get to sleep, I kept hearing something that sounded like small rocks being tapped together out our upper bedroom window. I got up to peek down at our fountain and there were three small raccoons milling about in the fountain rocks. They had found the grapes that had sat out there for over a week – they were more like raisins at that point – and were digging for more before traipsing through the fountain, getting their paws wet. All three were smaller than the teenagers that had visited a month ago and all had their tails. There was no adult raccoon with them but they seemed to know what to do.

This morning I found a big green tomato had been pulled or perhaps had fallen off the tomato bush and the skimpy remainder of the blueberries are gone. Good for them! Part of the reason we grow blueberries and huckleberries is to share with whomever wanders or flies by.

I would have loved to have seen the raccoon babies, as I am calling them, up close (though only through a window – they are still wild animals) and I hope they visit again. Fresh grapes are already out and waiting.

August 10, 2006

This morning has been fun and I’m not just talking about the latest averted terrorist plot that now prevents people from carrying toothpaste on a plane. This morning our main computer system bit the big one taking with it journals, novels, photos, and god only knows what else that we haven’t even thought of yet. Kind of like realizing that you can’t take gel deodorant or eye drops onboard anymore.

While this invites some around here to tear their hair out (might want to get used to not being so dependent on that hair gel), I’ve chosen to view it as just another great reason to be 50 years old or over. You see, I remember what the world was like before computers, back when pencil and paper were all the rage. Back before people lost days of their lives surfing the Internet, before families fell apart because they chose to play individual games instead of talking to one another. Back when books, the hard kind with paper pages, and reading were entertainment. When getting out to either to putz around in the garden or to talk to a neighbor was the way to view the world instead of hours spent bouncing from one web site to another while, really, technically, you weren’t going anywhere.

Of course, I’m here now having written and found a way to get my message out so don’t think I’m going to spend the entire day with my nose in a book. Backups are good and offsite storage is good too sometimes. I predict the events of today are going to create a whole new industry for all those things that people can’t take with them anymore yet still need at their destination (and I’m not talking about just stopping in to stock up at a corner Minute Mart or airport sundries shop). Some now-banned items will be re-formulated into something acceptable and within a year, that will be the norm, problem solved. There’s already an industry for recovering and keeping things people lose. It’s up to us to back things up or find another way around the problem.

August 11, 2006

After more than half a day’s work, WS got our computers up and running again. I’ve come to love it when he says fixing a computer problem on this level will only take an hour or two and it actually takes a half a day or longer. That used to really piss me off but I expect it now. It provides some ‘Me’ time which is usually quiet time unless the computers are really being a bitch and then the air is filled with colorful language and lots of tabletop pounding. But no foul language today and all is back to normal.

When I woke up this morning, I looked up out the skylight as I usually do to see what the weather looks like, and looked directly at a bird’s butt. Someone, a falcon or small hawk I believe, was sitting on the edge of the skylight and then took off, probably after someone. That’s a view one doesn’t see every day.

Later this afternoon, as WS was finishing up the computer stuff, I spotted an unusual bird out at the feeders. A nearly white Goldfinch! He was beautiful but very skitter-ish. I couldn’t get a closer photo of him but I’ll be looking for his return in the coming hours and days.

August 12, 2006

Lots of stuff going on today, none the least is waking up with allergy problems (runny nose, partially swollen eye) and more pet problems. I tried to sleep in this morning at bit because it’s the weekend, it’s been a while since I have slept in, and we are going to a party this afternoon/evening. But apparently all Hell broke loose early on that WS had to deal with. Pets not getting along, cat barf, knocked over water bowls was just the beginning. When I came downstairs around 9:30, I discovered someone had peed all over the couch.

Let me tell you about this couch. It’s a loveseat actually, made from pleather (fake leather) and I hate it. Always have, from the first moment it was delivered to our house. We wanted a leather couch some four or five years ago after going several years without a stick of furniture in our living room. Furniture was just never a priority to us. We worked very long hours, both here and away from home. Who had time to sit around enjoying anything? We didn’t and that is not an exaggeration.

After the 100th visitor to our place made the pointed comment about not having any furniture, we went to Wickes and bought a leather couch. It wasn’t terribly expensive, not what a real finely crafted leather couch would have cost but I liked the European design. Unfortunately, WS didn’t fit on it in the least. In fact, he sitting on it looked akin to Andre the Giant sitting on a child’s toy chair. So we called Wickes and they said we could exchange it. It was only after they took the couch back that we discovered it had come with a broken leg that badly gouged our laminate floor. But WS was glad have it gone and a new, larger, more-WS-sized couch was on its way. Floors can be fixed.

The new couch was . . . poofy with huge rolled arms that take up many feet of sitting area in my opinion. The attached bottom cushions always slid out partway and there never was any real seat support. Its one of those kinds of couches that once you sat in it, it was hard to get out of. I always felt like a speck sitting in it. But I will say it fit WS’ size great.

But not anymore. Late tonight, it goes on our local Craigslist under the Free category and hopefully, someone will haul it away tomorrow. Early. Without any hassle or haggle over the price.

We did clean it very well this morning, and used white vinegar as a final wipe. The pet urine was confined to the top of a pleather seat and a few of those Pier 1 pillows I was so proud of. I really loved those pillows but they all might have to go with it as well. A heavy dose of sniffing with my sensitive nose assured me no urine got down in the upholstered part of the couch but none of that matters to me. If no one takes it off Craigslist, I’ll call Salvation Army. There will be no stay of execution. The governor isn’t going to come through with a phone call. That thing is out of here.

August 14, 2006

Well the party was fun with lots of great characters to walk away with . . . er, from. We survived standing around the campfire where everyone is required to hold an ugly plastic lobster and sing or tell a tale. (You had to be there.) It was well after midnight before we got to bed because we were preparing the couch for it final send off early Sunday morning.

At 5:25 a.m. Sunday morning, the couch was listed on the local ad site, and I received numerous emails asking about it and when, exactly, it would be out front of our place.

The ad read like this: “Our cats like our leather couch more than we do, so until they get jobs, we are giving away their couch. Solid frame, chestnut brown color, fairly good condition. 3 years old. Numerous, colorful leather pillows included. No rips, no tears, cat scratches are numerous but not terribly noticeable. Smells like cat.

Couch will be sitting in driveway Sunday, August 13th at 6 a.m. You haul. Please don’t dump the couch up the road in the field and please help us teach our cats a lesson!”

Photo of the condemned and address were provided. All that was left was to see how long it took to have it follow someone else home.

At ten ‘til 6, it was being loaded into the back of a truck and without as much as a glance back, off it went. I later received an email from the new owner who said her dogs loved the smells and it was better than any couch she had ever owned. I’ll take that as a good deal all around. The living room looks positively sparse but that’s a good thing right now. It fits our budget.

Today, WS is feeling a bit under the weather and is working from home. My eyes, particularly my left one, are still swollen from dust allergies (I’m convinced it’s that and nothing else). We cleaned, vacuumed, mopped, scrubbed, made multiple loaves of bread, cooked, fried, baked, did laundry, changed sheets, clipped shrubs, watered, hosed out the fountain, and generally spent yesterday exhausting ourselves. Today is a good day to take it easy.

August 15, 2006

I sleep on my left side with my half my face smashed into a down pillow. Usually, I’m partway falling off the mattress as well. Since our bed sits a good three and a half feet off the floor, this is probably a dangerous practice but I’m comfortable with it. It’s just how I sleep. Never one to be afraid of Under-The-Bed-Monsters, I’ve got one leg or at least a whole foot hanging off into nothingness for most of the night, uncovered, begging to be yanked and munched on. An oscillating fan is located on my side of the room in order to either keep me from exploding into a fire ball during the night or to fan the flames should that happen anyway. It sits in front of the only window in the upstairs room and on cool nights, the window is left open. It’s a serene comfortable room with the sound of splashing water drifting up from the fountain. There’s nothing to complain about there.

Last Friday, we changed the bed sheets and I insisted on using a set that I had packed into an oversized RubberMaid box a few weeks before that we use to store old clothes and even older sheet sets in. Looking back, it’s likely there was a lot of dust on those old things and naturally, I didn’t wash the sheets I wanted to use before we put them on the bed.

I woke up Saturday morning with the left side of my face swollen, the eye partway shut. I figured I had slept hard, even though I was pretty sure I hadn’t, and had slept with my face crammed even harder than usual into my pillow. Or that I had slept with my eye partially open or with my eyelashes somehow bent into my eye. Or maybe something had blown in from the window, through the fan, and onto my face. It looked bad and felt even worse but I washed my eye out and kept splashing cold water on it most of the morning and early afternoon. Before going to the party, I dabbed some puffy eye reducer around both eyes which didn’t do much of anything for the first time ever to my disappointment.

Sunday, I wondered if the sheets were dusty and so I changed them as well as washed the duvet cover but I woke up Monday morning puffier than the day before. I spent an hour in the early afternoon lying with an ice pack on my eyes which only helped marginally. The skin around my left eye feels itchy and has a slight burning sensation to it. Then I remembered that all last week I had been using an anti-acne face scrub (yes, I still get zits at 50) and I wondered if I had become allergic to that, or that I had gotten some too close to my eyes. The skin under one is overly dry and flakey today and we women know how tender and sensitive under eye skin is. I haven’t used the face scrub since last Friday evening but maybe it was enough to set things over the edge. I haven’t used any makeup at all (not that I use much) since Saturday afternoon and I don’t see that changing in the coming days.

I don’t yet know what’s going on but I can think of one good thing to come out of it. The Monkey Club meeting is tomorrow night and I just might have to use this as an excuse not to attend. Other Monkey officers have been absent from meetings left and right for silly reasons such as “I had to take my grand daughter to her weekly piano recital” and “I wanted to watch the baseball game instead” and “I got to talking on the phone and completely lost track of time” (For three hours??) Only Ms. Snooty and I have been present to every single one to date. With only eight meetings left in my term out of the thirty-seven total, I think I deserve a break. I know my left eye does.

August 16, 2006

On the financial squeeze front, we’re down to our last few items in the cupboard. A couple cans of chicken noodle soup, four cans of tuna, two cans of pineapple chunks, three cans of sardines (I like them), a bottle of mustard, salsa, red pepper spread, and lingonberry jam, five packets of Miso soup, one of Mrs. Grass chicken soup, one can of Duck Sauce, a can of coconut milk and a can of cranberry sauce – both with 2004 expiration dates – and about five pounds of assorted varieties of dried rice. Up in the top cupboard there are about half a dozen popcorn balls left, two kinds of pancake mix and a drizzle of pancake syrup left, approximately fifty Splenda packets, about a quarter cup of vegetable oil, and a box of tempura breading mix. Grocery shopping is slated for Friday with our lowest amount of cash available yet – $85 which has to last us until the 1st of September. We’ve been comparing prices and jotting them down all along knowing that we’d have this one tight shopping trip before things started to ease up a bit. WS has a list ready to go and is confident we’ll make it alright. I’m kind of excited to see how well we can do and how much further we can stretch what we have on hand currently.

On the negative side, two of our light switches broke last week, one for the master bathroom and the one in the master bedroom closet. Back when this house was built and back when we were working three jobs between us and raking in the dough, WS had Lutron dimmers installed in every room. Those suckers go for $30 a piece and when they break, they can’t be fixed. We took one apart last night and I think they are designed to break easily because the pressure point is a teensy, tiny, thin piece of plastic that just begs to be snapped in half if a gnat were to make a hard landing on it. At thirty bucks a pop, I would expect more. Color me disappointed. We were lucky we had one extra out in the garage but it’ll be months before we’ll be able to afford to replace the other one.

I’ve been having a hard time not thinking about thick, sloppy pizzas this week. I can’t remember when we last had one; probably only a month or two ago but it seems like ages. Last week, it was salads I was fixated on. I haven’t gone this long without eating lettuce my entire adult life. The week before that it was El Pato Mexican sauce. Luckily, we were able to include a few cans of that in our last grocery trip.

Yesterday, I remembered we had some Benadryl spray in our bathroom cupboard and I’ve been dabbing some of that on the skin around my eyes every now and then since. It stings a bit but the swelling is going down a bit. I took a Benadryl capsule the night before last and while it did help me sleep, it didn’t do a thing for my eyes but caused my chest to hurt and feel heavy instead. Damn that asthma anyway. Still no clue as to what might have caused this in the first place but I’m being cautious with everything. I’ve got a strong desire to repaint our kitchen, a summer project that I don’t want to ignore much longer, but until my eyes clear up, I suppose it would be rather stupid to expose myself to paint fumes right now.

I’m definitely not going to the Monkey Car Club meeting tonight. We’re trying to get back into a routine we started a couple of weeks ago, and that was going so well before we took a few days off and it all fell apart. The routine was that WS got up at 6 a.m. to tend the pets, then he wrote for two hours (writing not surfing, right, WS?), then he was off to work and we’d go to bed between 9 and 10 with lights off not a minute later than 11 p.m. No TV in bed, just reading or writing.

That routine was great while it lasted and WS was very creative with his writing. Before you say that’s what happens when a person goes through sleep deprivation, I say whatever works. He’s got a good start on a short story that he’s considering submitting to a contest that pays a little; but only time will tell and in the meantime, I’m getting us back on track.

August 17, 2006

We’ve enjoyed a couple of cloudy cool days here (but no rain) and now it’s back to the long, hot days of summer. The daylilies have seen their last for the year but it was a magnificent show. Let’s celebrate them before they say their final goodbye.

August 18, 2006

Grocery shopping day. We had been looking forward to this day for a week or more mostly because we were getting low on food in the house. Technically, we could have gotten through another four or five days if need be. We’re still far from starving.

But last night, I chickened out. It not something I do often but last night just the thought of going to WinCo today made my head pound. I begged off asking WS if I could sleep all day instead and like the nice guy he is, he said, “Sure.” And then he said he’d go grocery shopping alone. Yeeeeeessss!

He left around noon with the last of our cash on hand – $85 – and came home with everything on the list except cat litter, and only spent $69.43! Apparently, his figures before he got into the checkout line were closer to running over the $85 than he was comfortable with and so he put back the litter. The cat box has another week to go before it needs more added so we’re okay there and we have $15 left.

Yesterday was a different story. We received $22 in free food coupons from Fred Meyer grocery store earlier in the week. We don’t shop there anymore because WinCo’s prices are a full 25% cheaper. But Fred Meyer’s does have a few items we can’t get at WinCo like Select-a-size paper towels, better cat litter, Tide laundry soap, etc.

To use the $22 in coupons, you have to buy $22 of food (I hate those kinds of things) – $2 off produce if you buy $2 of produce, $2 off frozen food if you buy $2 of frozen food, and so on and so on. Technically, we could have walked out of there with $22 worth of food and not have paid a cent but it’s awfully hard to buy exactly $2 worth of lettuce, or exactly $2 worth of frozen corn. So instead, WS (who did the shopping yesterday on his way home from work) picked up a few of the items we knew we couldn’t get at WinCo and used the coupons where he could. He paid $19 (credit card) and thanks to the coupons, brought home $41 worth of food and household goods. Balance that with the leftover $15 from today and we’re $4 in the red, or actually, put on the credit card which will probably equal out to about $25 after interest over a year or so. See why it’s not good to use a credit card for groceries? Yeah, I get it now.

We do have an extra bit of good news though: WS received a $400 cash bonus for his hard work on a project at work. Unfortunately, that’s before taxes. But the extra $225 will come in handy especially since we’ve got hair cuts coming next week and WS’ birthday is Tuesday (I bought his birthday card last year! – Go me!)

August 21, 2006

School starts for some in the area next week and that excites me to no end. No, not because it’ll be quieter around here; it’s actually been a remarkably quiet summer for a change, but because it signifies autumn is coming and autumn is our favorite time of year.

Sure, sure, I know. Fall weather won’t arrive for another two months. I’m talking about the misty, foggy mornings, crisp cool evenings with the hints of wood smoke and apples in the air; the touch of fall color in the maples. That’s the time we love so much and try as we may, we can’t help but to get all excited about it months in advance. In some parts of the country, fall weather begins right after Labor Day; sometimes before. But for some reason, here in southwestern Washington state, unlike my neighbors just to the north, our area holds onto the heat until the third week of October, well past when anyone would think it would be autumn here. Obviously, we need to move . . . and someday, perhaps we will to a place that embraces fall and the seasons start when we think they should.

That doesn’t mean we can’t start fall decorating here at home though. We burnt a big spiced apple candle yesterday during the meeting of the Secret Writing Cult over here and this morning, with a slight bit of cloud cover outside, I can’t help but start to get excited about the coming of autumn.

Our bird feeders are crammed with Goldfinches today. I’ve talking, a dozen birds to a thistle sock, half a dozen in the top platform feeder, and another half a dozen drinking and bathing in the top pillar in the fountain. They take advantage of days like this. They know the warm days are limited.

This week, my mission is to redesign two flower bed areas. It’ll include digging up countless plants, none of which are big, thank goodness, and working a bit around the Fraser fir which has shot up to about eight feet tall from six in the past year, and attracts wasps, bees, and yellow jackets. Something about its resinous sap I suspect especially during the very dry period we’ve been having. Or maybe it weeps miniscule drops of moisture from the edges of its branches since that’s where the insects land briefly before flying to another branch. Wikipedia says that Fraser Fir branches smell like turpentine but I think ours smells like a Christmas tree – fresh, green, pine.

Its been buzzing with flying activity for a month and when I hand water out there maybe once a week, I hose down the entire tree but it doesn’t deter all the flying things. I’ve verified there isn’t a nest anywhere nearby or on the tree itself but it ought to be an adventure working around it regardless. Wasps, bees, yellow jackets, and I generally have an agreement – you don’t bother me and I won’t hunt down and kill your entire family – that has stood for many, many years and I hope they are all up on the exact wording.

In the backyard, I’ve got nine pink, groundcover roses and two orange daylilies (near the Fraser fir) that I’m taking out and need to find homes for as well as for the two remaining orange, potted tree roses, two other orange daylilies to divide, one Iceberg rose to pot up, two striped grasses to pot up, one sword fern, one red daylily, a gold Exbury- variety azalea, a dwarf Nile lily, and two creeping phlox to relocate, and two pots of old Tiger lilies to plant, finally, after living here seven years. And while I’m playing with all of those, I need to keep in mind there are daffodil and tulip bulbs planted near the bases of all. In some cases, it’ll be more like an archeological dig using small hand tools to carefully sift through the soil rather than to just go in there full-bore with a big shovel.

And all the while, the wasps will be buzzing nearby. Sounds like I ought to get up at 6 a.m. to take advantage of the cooler air and the still groggy insects.

August 23, 2006

Yesterday I went on a plant hunt at the soon-to-be home of a friend and found treasures. She’s got bamboo, butterfly bush, barberry, and old boxwoods growing on a large plot of land that hasn’t seen love in a very, very long time. Does land know love? Have the plants there been waiting for someone to love them again? Do they yearn for human touch and the sound of our voices? Or do they just want to be left alone?

Today another friend is mourning the lost of someone special; someone very young. It’s cloudy outside today and somehow, that seems fitting.

Ms. Snooty, the Monkey Car Club president, called here at 7:30 this morning saying she has missed me at the last two car shows (she hasn’t been paying attention – I’m not doing car shows this year) and said she wanted to chit-chat (at 7:30 in the morning? With me? I don’t “chit-chat.” Ever!); hoped my swollen eyes were better; said she wouldn’t be at the meeting tonight but hoped to see me at next week’s car show instead (ahem!).

WS’ birthday was yesterday and I gave him a brutally honest report card. I think he was happy with the results. He has worked so hard to become a fine man; so unlike so many we used to know who recklessly, aimlessly, and unconsciously went through their lives not caring who they affected or how. I am very, very lucky.

Still no rain. The weather promises to be hot by the weekend and it’s only a matter of time before the weathermen are saying the words that make me cringe – Indian summer. I’ve known actual Indians who take offense to that phrase yet people say it without thought at the end of every summer no matter where I’ve lived. Kind of like the word “Monsoon.” The desert southwest has a “monsoon” season every July yet it’s not really a “monsoon.” Not really. People from Indonesia will tell you horror stories of what a real monsoon is and think anyone stupid and uneducated who thinks rain in the desert in July or August is a “monsoon.”

I should be working in the garden today but I don’t want to. My justification is that anything I transplant will die a fiery death over the weekend in the hot weather. I should go to the meeting tonight which is being held outside at one of the Monkey’s homes but I don’t want to. I don’t have a justification for that one; I just don’t want to go but there will be consequences if I don’t; serious consequences because I didn’t go to the last meeting.

I should call back Ms. Snooty but I don’t want to. I don’t think I’m going to either. Only two and a half more months with these people. It seems like it’s been much longer than just a year since I was nominated to be Monkey secretary, way much longer. Like an albatross around my neck it is. More like a milestone.

It looks like it’s misty outside now. We so desperately need rain. Maybe we’ll get some after all and that’ll cancel the meeting tonight. No such luck.

August 24, 2006

So I went to the Monkey Car Club meeting last night. Actually, it turned out as not so much as a meeting but as a monthly get-together and those are often worse than meetings. It’s difficult to act as though I get along with these people since discovering the Monkeys have not been playing fair.

Napoleon had two great sayings that wrap up recent events nicely:

“Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake,” and “Separate to live, unite to fight.”

The past year of life within the Monkey Car Club has been tumultuous at best but it afforded me a couple of friendships that could have lasted a lifetime. The key phrase in that last sentence is “could have.” I worked hard to keep a positive attitude and thought I made some friends, or at least that’s what they told me and I believed them. Turns out some Monkeys dislike gently swaying palm trees and prefer hurricane force winds instead. For the past nine months, I have been listening to and confiding in spies.

Every little thing I have said, every agreement or disagreement, every raised eyebrow and every shrug of my shoulders over my past year in the Monkey Club has been literally noted, saved, and twisted into a concentrated poison that, mixed with countless other innocent Monkey Member conversations, has grown into a huge bunch of toxic bananas. This behavior would be par for the course from any of the male Monkey Members but I didn’t expect it from their wives, and really didn’t expect it when, upon occasion, it was their voices that sang the loudest. Rather than chatting with friends, I was feeding the enemy. Apparently, they saw me as the same and didn’t interrupt me.

Am I mad? Do I feel deceived? Not really. These are the most happily vindictive people I have ever meant in my entire life and they don’t realize how much I have learned about human nature. Besides, no one held a gun to my head and forced me to get mixed up with this group. I’ve got no one to be angry at other than myself for trusting so openly. Life is too short to be mad and that’s where Napoleon’s second saying comes into play.

In a few weeks, my membership and secretarial-ship will be ending and I’ll be separating from the world of car clubs to get back to living. I will not be uniting with Dick and followers to ‘fight’ for the title of Prestigious Car Club of the Pacific Northwest by undermining the Monkey Car Club, which by the way, is reportedly only the first club in a long line of strongholds Dick plans on toppling. A bitter ex-Monkey might run to each club on that list to warn them of storm clouds gathering on the horizon. But reread the first sentence in this paragraph again: In a few weeks, my membership and secretarial-ship will be ending and I’ll be separating from the world of car clubs to get back to living. I’m looking forward to that weight being removed from my shoulders. I’m looking forward to no longer being a Monkey.

August 25, 2006

I slept like the dead last night after a day of fretting about the Monkey Car Club for some reason. The ‘meeting’ Wednesday night didn’t go well and it’s still bothering me a bit. Dick and his best friend, the ex-Vice President of the Monkey Club (who quit a few months ago) had been invited and their presence cast a pall over the get-together. I got the impression they knew it and loved that they were ruining it for everyone else.

Still, it was supposed to be a Monkey Club event only and not open to Dick and friends. One of the Monkey spies invited them. I suspect the next Monkey Club meeting will be filled with complaints about just that, not that it’ll matter. The whole club will be changing come the end of October. I think my fretting is all about the uncomfortable nature that will be the main dish served at these last meetings alongside a healthy portion of Who the Fuck Cares Anymore, served cold. Very cold.

Of course I jotted down some of this for the upcoming 2006 National Novel Writing Month in November when I’ll be writing a fictitious piece about the dog-eat-dog world of car shows and car clubs. I’ll have some good, likeable characters in the story along with all the childish, vindictive personalities we’ve come to know and despise. It seems like eons have passed since I last talked to a good, likeable car person. They’re a rare treat and I miss the ones I used to know.

I’m tired, so very tired of it all. I need a vacation but ha! We don’t take vacations and that’s not likely to change anytime soon.

August 28, 2006

The great thing about blog readers is that there are blog readers. The really great thing about blog readers is that that ones here are bright and have good memories. If only the blog writer could remember this. I have to thank Ris, Nancy, and Mary Lou for being my cheerleader over the last few days (and I have a little story for Mary Lou as well – see below) and to JimBob who should have been allowed to drive to my house Friday and smack me for forgetting we DO occasionally take vacations; one to Lake Quinault eleven months ago. He even looked it up in the 2005 archives here. What the heck am I whining for then? Thank you all!

For Mary Lou: This wonderful lady sends out beautiful personalized birthday cards every year. I feel terribly fortunate to be on her birthday card list and her cards get prettier every year. This year she asked if I had received hers and try as we may, we could not find it. I had given up on it thinking the post office lost it or maybe one of their employees got the treat that Mary Lou’s cards are.

Well, yesterday I was going through some mail order catalogs, looking for the center insert that has your name and address pre-printed on it. I tear those out and shred them religiously, and what did I run across? Mary Lou’s card! It’s gorgeous, fitting (she remembered that I wear a tiara on my birthdays), and was discovered at an even better time than had I found it last month. It really snapped me out of my pity-party (along with JimBob’s hunt for the missing vacation comment). Thank you Mary Lou!! Now I can say Yes! I got your card and I thank you!

The weekend was a hot one here with temperatures stretching upwards near 100 degrees F. We stayed indoors for the most part to stay cool. Yesterday, WS was a madman with all his cleaning, mowing, edging, organizing, baking (yes! He loves his bread machine!), budgeting, and washing his car. Plus he had time to sit and watch a movie with me, something either of us rarely do. We watched the Director’s Cut of Amadeus, something we’ve had for a few years and just now got around to watching. That’s so US!

Today is the last of the heat until next weekend. We might actually get rain tomorrow which would be a godsend. We are so dry right now. Cooler weather is supposed to pour into our area overnight and there is a possibility that we’ll only be 68 degrees by Wednesday. That would be a great relief and might give me the chance I’m looking for to transplant my Iceberg rose, the two Nile lilies and the creeping phlox, and start work on digging up and dividing the daylilies. Looks like no one local has any room for them so they, the orange variety only, might have to find a home in the yard debris bin instead.

Over the weekend, Ms. Howler Monkey finally notice Limpy’s severely matted fur and tore his sides off. She was walking out front and saw me working in the open garage and asked if I thought Limpy looked better. Oh, I think so! As well as feels better too I bet. She said he only bit her a few times when she “tore off” his matted sides (yeah, I would too) and she couldn’t believe how much thinner he looks (ya think? The cat was only carrying around five pounds of fur matted with gravel, shredded bark, and dead banana slugs!). I asked if she had ever taken him to get shaved for the summer months and she said she had never thought of it (naturally) and I told her he had a rough time with the heat back in June when they took off on vacation. That little bit of information seemed to go over her head as I suspected it would.

I will not tell her we took him inside during those 105 degree days because she still complains that he spends too much time on our porch rather than on hers. Let’s see, she declawed him, makes him live outdoors 24/7/365 regardless of the weather, doesn’t give him food or water, and tears his matted fur off but only when she finally notices. On the other hand, we brush him almost daily (couldn’t do a think about those mats though we tried), he has his own food and water bowls permanently outside here, he has a cardboard box to live in, we talk to him and bring him in during very severe temperature rises and dips. Where would you live if you had the choice? I have to say he looks a whole lot better now. I’ll try to get a photo of him later this week. He even looks happier now.

August 29, 2006

Over at Bowen Island Journal, I read this: “August is dying on the vine, and we are entering the last month of summer, the transition into fall, ever so gently and cautiously.”

And I think, “Good! Finally!” But for us here a bit lower on the planet, our last month of summer is usually October and no one’s more frustrated by that than me. Still, there are lots of signs that autumn weather might be coming sooner than later – the Goldfinches are molting from their bright yellow to a more muted grey yellow, some of the annual ground birds have arrived, chickadees and Towhees) and are staking out claims, the Katydids have arrived here and there, the daylilies have died nearly to the ground, the dwarf crape myrtles and the fall chrysanthemums are blooming. All of this usually happens mid September. But with one part I agree, August is dying on the vine. If I had to take any summer month, give me June. You can have August. Good riddance.

It’s cloudy and wonderfully cool today. No rain though and that means I’ve got no reason not to wash my car. It’s only been since last December when it last saw soap and water. The last time I washed it was on a cold but dry early December day before I prepped and detailed it for the Roadster Show the following March. That seems like an eternity ago. Since then I haven’t showed it once and although I’ve driven it about once a month or so, it’s never been anywhere that it got terribly dirty until earlier this month. It’s time if for no other reason than so it’ll be clean when I put it to bed for another winter. We’ll probably go for a couple more short rides in it this year but for the most part I’ll just start it up in the garage or drive it around the block twice a month.

Now that the summer car show season is just about at its close, I feel good about not participating this year. It’s good to have the mileage still low and that much fewer scratches on the paint from a season of constant cleaning and wiping.

In the rest of the car show world, no word on how the Nice Competition Boy did this season with his sports car that he cut up and installed nearly every gaudy shiny thing ever made on it. He and his wife, the ex Mrs. Drill Sergeant Dave, bought a brand new sports car this past spring and have been making speed runs to the coast every other weekend. Maybe he talked her into showing that car too though I doubt that would last long. She’s about the drinking, not the cleaning and showing.

Drill Sergeant Dave is still hanging in there with the old car club, the one he founded originally, despite that group wanting to kick him out for the past three years. His new wife who was in a horrible, near-fatal car accident a year ago with a drunk driver continues to need round-the-clock care. Knowing him and how desperate he was to find someone immediately to care for him in his old age after his divorce, I can’t help but feel that this is not the life he thought he had signed up for.

The Not-So-Nice Competition Boy and his wife have finally moved from mommy’s house into a big one of their own just a few miles up the road. He still shows cars occasionally but it’s not to anywhere near the same degree or fervor he used to have. The final nail on his coffin ended when I started to get serious to which my final nail was when the Nice Competition Boy really got serious. I don’t see him often but when I do, I still get asked to come back to that club. That’s not likely to ever happen. I’m done with the whole club thing, but you know that.

As for my car show friends to the north, it sounds like life has gone on the same as it does every year. The same people are sweeping the shows and occasionally one drops out to join the autocross/track day bunch. Occasionally I get email from that group inviting me to come trash my car like the rest of them on a hot, rubber-laden course at Shelton raceway. I did that a lifetime ago and know all too well what that can do to a car. Though the fans and groupies are a big ego boost, my heart was never really 100% in it. Besides, you think car shows are politically charged? It’s nothing compared to the racing world. Naw, I’m not going there either. I’ve got no qualms about sitting here at home, sporadically wiping my car with a diaper and smiling at the reading on the odometer.

August 30, 2006

I washed my car yesterday evening and it rained today. Thank GOODNESS! I’ll have to remember to do that more often if this is the result. We needed the rain badly!

Now for some juicy MsNoManagementSkills news:

Overheard in WS’ workplace: “We’re losing our house. It’ll be my second foreclosure unless it’ll sell fast.” This from MsNoManagementSkills’ husband, DorkMaster.

Yes. There is a God.

The only question that remains is whether the gods will smite her latest trick before she can pull it off. Let’s hope so.

To catch you up to speed, a year ago when MsNo insisted that DorkMaster buy her a house, she had no idea that he had bad credit. In fact, she didn’t understand anything about the credit rating system. She thought that by paying all his collection bills and legal fees it would make all his financial boo-boo’s better. She was in for a big surprise when she demanded a house and he couldn’t get a loan to buy one for her because, you see, he had just lost a house to foreclosure because his thinking at the time was that he’d rather lose it than to let his ex-wife have it in their divorce. As it turned out, the ex-wife didn’t want it and trashed it and it was foreclosed.

Enter MsNo’s Mommy and Daddy who gave her the very last of her money from her divorce from FatHead(that she had given to them for safe keeping so she wouldn’t spend it all) and she plunked a down payment on a small yet expensive house at the peak of the seller’s market with the stipulation that DorkMaster make the payments.

Within a few months it was obvious he couldn’t afford it. She insisted he get a second job just like she did with husband #1, FatHead. Then she found a part-time job for herself which evolved into a full-time job. But she was adamant from the beginning that she would not help pay for the bills. Her paycheck was hers alone even while their financial world was crumbling around them. DorkMaster has talked about this before at work saying she said this was a key part of their new marriage and the number one reason for her divorce from FatHead.

DorkMaster said they are woefully behind in their mortgage payments, and I know that MsNo’s Mommy, Daddy, and rich Granny have washed their hands of the matter because they can’t stand him. You would think that would wake MsNo up but if you did, you’d be wrong. She’s hooked on those payday advance places and spending the money on herself as fast as they hand it over, he said, even with summer daycare bills sitting past due and expensive school supplies for three kids needed by next week.

But not all is lost, he said. He joked to his coworkers that he might need some extra time off in a couple of months because they’ll be moving . . . to a bigger, more expensive house. Then, under his breath, he said his wife has applied for a new home loan under her old married name.

Apparently when they married, MsNo changed her last name on only a few documents, choosing or conveniently forgetting change it on others. I remember Ms. Ears saying something about that last year before that dear woman moved to Atlanta, and though I thought it was odd at the time, I didn’t give it anymore thought. Did MsNo have a plan all along?

But wait, you’ll say. Names don’t matter; it’s social security numbers that will end this charade. Yeah, I thought so too. Though he won’t say anything more, we think DorkMaster and MsNo are up to no-good and it’s not something he’s unfamiliar with. Playing the different identity game using his kids’ social security numbers again? Could be.

The months ahead ought to be interesting.

September 3, 2006

The eye I wear a contact in has been giving me grief, major grief, for the past few days. Funny how it was just this morning that I realize that was probably due to the high winds we’ve had here since late Thursday. This morning, no wind, so I popped yet another contact in (the third in as many days) and it only mildly feels like a pebble in my eye as opposed to a large, sharp-edged boulder the previous ones felt like. Why didn’t I save the previous two contacts? Long story but all involve eye drops that may not be for contact wearers only as the label states. Who knew contacts could wrinkle up like that? They looked as though a match were held to them. So, no eye drops today but I can’t go another day without being able to read and write. Unfortunately, I’m one who needs my eyes. That is really gonna suck should I go blind but knowing me, I’ll find a way to grow eyes out my ass if I had to.

So while I was waiting for the wind to stop outdoors and I couldn’t see to do much of anything else, why not create eye irritants indoors? Every two weeks or so I spend the day washing the pet bedding which consists of two large blankets, one cotton, the other a fuzzy cotton/wool blend, and half a dozen bath towels of assorted colors, ages, and conditions. I like to keep things as clean as possible for them in their room without being terribly anal about it. They are pets after all and have pet tendencies like shedding fur and infusing their own smells on things and I don’t think washing their bedding every single day would be a healthy thing anyway. Sometimes smells are comforting and the smell of laundry soap isn’t.

The favorite thing to lie on in their room apparently is the big fuzzy cotton/wool blanket which sits atop a 3×4 foot slab of flannel-encased memory foam bought to ease the joints of the elders of the bunch. At 19 summers each and in pet-to-human years, I should hope someone does something as kind for me when I’m that old. That main bed sits on the floor beneath the room window and in the afternoon is bathed in direct sun. There have been many a fight for the prime sunny location on that bed not that there aren’t several other good sunny spots to lie in. It’s a complicated pet hierarchy thing with the sunshine somehow measured by degree of warmth multiplied by space availability divided by whose paw is positioned where. And after all those precise calculations and subtleties done in the split second it takes me to open the blind each morning, The Queen, clawless and toothless, still reigns supreme and gets “The Spot.” One can’t help but feel that over the years she has calculated every possible configuration between the sun, The Spot, the serf pets’ lounging habits, and herself and knows exactly what move to make, when, and how fast.

Washing that blanket is always a multiple wash cycle job because of the amount of fur it acquires. As I was pulling out handfuls of the stuff this afternoon, I saw that it was mostly Queen colored. The balance of power continues. She may be deaf now too but she’s still got it.

September 4, 2006

Ah, Labor Day weekend and what better to do than to labor. I’ve worked many, many more Labor Days than not so that’s always forefront on my mind. I actually feel guilty not working on this day and so, when we sat out front this morning sharing a cheap bagel and sipping two-year old freezer coffee (I’m thinking of it as ‘aged’) I was glad when WS said he was ready to head back indoors. The garbage men were making their way down our street, working on Labor Day which is not a holiday for Waste Management, and I didn’t want to be seen sitting there, fat and lazy, while these guys were pulling in $20+ an hour. If they only knew.

We figured on making our beginning of the month grocery shopping trip today but feeling inspired, we did it last night instead. We spent the day yesterday cleaning up our front yard after the terrible wind storm we had Friday and Saturday in which our entire place has been covered in leaves stripped from surrounding trees. While I hedge trimmed a few bushes, WS dug out some of the Scottish moss that was threatening the lawn. I finished it off by hauling out a couple of buckets of bark mulch leftover from this past spring that was piled in a back corner and within two hours, our front yard looked great again.

Today we picked up leaves and broken branches from every nook and cranny out back. I could have spent a solid hour alone pulling leaves out of the fountain but I didn’t, spending only a few minutes to dreg piles out of the lower pool where the frogs like to hang out. Within an hour, the back yard was back in good shape. Now we’re inside cooling off. Today is supposed to be the last of the hot weather but something tells me we’ll see a couple more 90+ degree days before it’s all said and done for the year.

Got my contact back in this afternoon and it isn’t bothering me in the least. My eye must have needed a couple of days to recover from grit or whatever was scratching it. It’s been remarkably quiet in the ‘hood this weekend. Sure, there’s been a yodel here and there from Mr. Dimmer next door but thankfully, nothing more than that. Most families on the street stayed in town over the holiday weekend but have chosen to stay indoors. With all the screaming kids that live around here now, I don’t know how they can stand it but at least we’re not listening to it. And that has made for one of the best Labor Days I can remember.

September 5, 2006

It’s the first week of the month and time for our financial check up. First the good news: We did great at the grocery store and stuck to the list. WS had everything planned out even down to what he thought the price of everything would be and we still came out under because several items were on sale. wOOt! A penny or two or five here and there really adds up and it came out in our favor. Because we were so diligent with sticking to the squeaky tight grocery budget since mid-July, we had not $100 or less to spend this time around but $140 instead.

Last Friday after a dental checkup that cost us nothing, WS took advantage of a sale at Fred Meyer’s to get cat litter and paper towels cheap, spending $23.47 in cash. Sunday evening we spent $105.89 on groceries leaving us with $10.64. Add to that $4 left over from last month’s trip and we’ve got $14.64 left.

Now before you say, “$14?? That’s it?” or “Dewds, you are so broke!” let me just say that after only having $80 for groceries for 2 ½ weeks for two always-hungry people (with a third of that money used for pet food, litter, toilet paper, and toothpaste), $14 left is a windfall. We’re thinking of going back out next weekend to pick up a carton of Feta cheese ($4) as a treat to use on our homemade veggie pizza which we’ve come to enjoy sans cheese. Or maybe we’ll just keep the $14 to add to the grocery trip for the second half of the month.

More good news: In mid-July, we adjusted our thermostat from 72 degrees indoors to 74. We received our electric bill last week with the billing cycle running from July 26th through August 23rd and we used approximately 7 percent less electricity than during the same period a year ago, 12 percent from the year before that. Now we do understand there is probably a variance between last year at this time and this year in the temperatures outside which affects our temperature indoors, but August this year was very warm and very, very dry. Our bill this month this month is $157.28. WS had pre-budgeted $265.00.

On the down side, the water bill came in over the $125.00 we had budgeted. The actual amount was $160.23. The same period last year our bill was $118.60. Last year at this time, the auto fill water valve on the fountain was broken and the fountain had a smaller, less powerful pump that struggled to keep up. Since then both have been replaced and water usage has increased.

Since getting this bill, we’ve talked about moving away from letting the shower run long in the morning while brushing our teeth and I’ve started shutting off the water between squeezing the toothpaste and rinsing. We’ve acknowledged that we used more water this summer by making jugs of sun tea and keeping potted vegetables happy. We’re going to watch our usage more in the future. No more hosing down the driveway. We’ve got perfectly good brooms and we can use them instead.

We also were hit with an escrow shortage bill last week because our homeowner’s insurance went up. Taxes were higher than their estimate for escrow last year and we have to make up the difference to the tune of $235.56. Could have been worse I suppose. Most of the savings we had from the electric bill went towards paying this one.

Next weekend will be an adventure. We have two pets that have vet appointments that cannot be put off any longer. Maxx, our youngest has to have his yearly checkup and booster shots and Skitters, the oldest alongside The Queen, has firmly entered what we believe may be his final year. As our only family, we’d bend over backward, or as it is, break out the credit card to pay for their yearly health check.

We didn’t want to draw from our meager personal savings that’s only making 3 percent interest and that was slated for funding this year’s ROTH IRA but given the 10 percent interest we’d be paying on the credit card should we use it we might change our minds. There’s a mental exercise for you. Is anything put on a credit card worth the interest that card charges? My immediate answer is no, and so, I think we’ll draw from savings to pay for the vet bill and try to make up the difference before April 15th, the last date funding a ROTH IRA for this year is possible.

Overall, we’re doing well. Slamming the door on spending back in July was the best thing we could have done for ourselves. Being attentive to our monthly expenses ought to pay off come October when our grocery budget increases from $100 to $175 every 2 ½ weeks although my goal is to spend about $30 under that because we proved to ourselves we can do it. We’ll keep plugging away at our credit car debt that currently sits as:

Alaska debit card – Was $1,595.00, Now $288.00
Amex – Was $7,200.00, Now $6,965.00
VISA – Was $14,377.91, Now $14,034.62

. . . and we’ll keep our spirits high. We can do this and if you are in debt, you can too.

Thanks for reading. See you in the grocery line!

September 7, 2006

Last night’s Monkey Car Club meeting was the worst one yet; worse even than the night Dick and the Monkey Vice President threw unwarranted accusations and insults at everyone and walked out. Last night the general monkey membership was supposed to accomplish three things.

Vote for the proposed Club Bylaw changes.
Nominate people for the 2007 Monkey board.
Go for a cruise across town and have a late dinner together.

None of those things happened. What did happen was:

The general Monkey membership hurled insults at the current Monkey board in response to the attempt to rewrite the Bylaws.
Most of the current Monkey board hurled insults back. Sharp, pointy insults. This Monkey declined to participate. I was only there to take notes.
Ms. Snooty, Monkey Club President apologized for the insult hurling by telling the general monkey membership they were welcome to speak their minds but that the current Monkey board members were not allowed that privilege. “Fire away,” I believe were her exact words.
The new temporary Monkey Vice President stayed awake and sober long enough to use the gavel repeatedly in a failed attempt to keep the meeting under control.
It was confirmed that back in April Dick had intentionally insulted the club sponsor by using the ‘n’ word to start the decline of the Monkey Club because he was not elected President. Curt Warner, the ex football player and now ex club sponsor, is an African-American.
The Monkey board member sitting next to me got drunk, spilled a glass of wine down her blouse, and shoved a wad of about 50 napkins down between her boobs in front of the general monkey membership.
Voting on the Monkey Bylaws was scraped until later in the month.
All 22 remaining Monkeys in the Monkey Club have declined nominations for President, Vice President, Treasurer, and five other board positions. (Thankfully, a newbie Monkey wants to be Secretary taking me off the hook). Elections are in two weeks but there is no one to elect. No one wants to acknowledge this.
A drunken Monkey told me personally that as a female, I, myself personally could never be trusted to drive anything with horsepower. I considered the source and didn’t think a thing more about it. There were already enough angry Monkeys in the room anyway.
None of the Monkeys went on the cruise or out for dinner together because 1) the meeting ran long and 2) no one was civilly speaking to each other at the end.

6 meetings left.

September 8, 2006

I dreamt of a sad death early this morning, the time of day I usually dream the most vividly, but it wasn’t my own or anyone I know. It was as if someone were speaking to a group of people, someone who had recently passed yet didn’t know it and was able to broadcast a message into the minds of anyone who bothered to stop long enough to listen.

The message was this: Don’t be so sure that you won’t find yourself cooling in a box by the end of the week. Get things done that you are meaning to do but keep putting off. Speak what you keep holding in your heart unspoken. Live life now because you just never know. It’s beautiful here. Over and out.

Those five sentences were spoken in my dream so strongly, I wrote them down immediately upon waking; something I rarely ever do though I keep telling myself to do. What was that all about? Who was that all about? Who knows but obviously, something’s on my mind.

We still have cedar waxwings visiting the fountain daily. They first showed up around the end of June and usually, they visit just before the Fourth of July for a day or two and that’s it for the year. I really like these birds. They make me happy.

Every day for the past two weeks, we’ve had a growing flock of Canada geese fly over between 8:35 and 9:20 a.m. We look forward to their return every fall and it’s good to see them earlier than last year. This morning, they flew over later than usual; after 10 a.m. Must be casual flight Friday.

September 8, 2006

It’s time to start thinking of putting the garden to sleep for the winter. WS spread crane-fly insecticide on the lawn over the weekend because most of the block has the infestation at this time of year, and I’ve got to pull in the potted plants from the ‘far reaches’ of the backyard (in actuality, only about 20 feet out) to a more sheltered area close to the house. It’s time to take the geraniums out of the flower boxes and figure out how to winter over the Diamond Frost euphorbia that took forever to find this past spring. If I had a lamp under a cabinet in the garage, it might make it out there but then again, it might just make it indoors too; our bedroom maybe? It stays bright in there thanks to the skylights and it’s not too warm. Or maybe the old office which is the same. I really don’t want to buy another one and I know I’d want to should this one die. It’s been blooming nonstop since the day I bought it and I’m in love with it.

I was thinking of bringing the potted ivies up from the fern-laden side yard where they have spent the past two years filling in their topiary forms but I’ve changed my mind. I’ll bring up the big evergreen pots instead to flank the garage door like we used to have back when we first moved into this place before the potted Alberta Spruces got so big they toppled over at the slightest breeze. This past spring I filled the evergreen pots with azaleas, a dwarf spruce, and a slow growing cedar and since the pots are insulated, they should do fine over the winter.

September 8, 2006

Three years ago A long time ago, in a much richer galaxy far, far away, we used to shop at a high-end grocery store occasionally that I have wrote about in the past, where we spent good money on trifle things like Macadamia Nut pancake mix (from Hawaii!), extra cream-laden butter from Ireland, Harcourt baby beans from France, Apple-wood smoked bacon from the east coast, and the absolute freshest of fresh produce flown in from around the world; so fresh in fact, the melons still spoke Italian, the kumquats conversed only in Chinese and only to each other, and the leeks had a heavy, yet enchanting Welsh accent.

Masses of flowers greeted one upon entering mixed with the delicious smells of all kinds of things to be sampled, and the wine department had no equal. We’ve been in dedicated wine shops that could only hope to someday possess one tenth the knowledge and customer service this store has. The seafood counter rarely contained anything but creatures caught within the past 18 hours and it was the first and only place I’ve ever seen fresh pigeon, rabbit, pheasant, and whole goose for sale (not that I’d ever buy any, as tempting and glistening as they look).

And yet, for all the things one can find there and nowhere else without a much longer and more stress filled drive to what we consider less personalized locations, this store, built just in 2003, is closing. In less than two weeks. And not because of the economy which still sucks here by the way, or because no one can afford to shop there but because something is happening to the building itself. The floor started buckling a year ago but because it was built on part of a long, lost amusement park located on a narrow island situated between Oregon and Washington State, the new wavy floor added to the charm. Big cracks began appearing in the walls recently yet they were hard to notice over the oodles of exquisite desserts crafted by some of the finest chocolatiers the states has to offer blended with the aroma of Haitian coffee and Mexican tuberoses.

Over the past weekend, the store’s freezer cases have started to break apart and water lines have burst. The ground is moving, the roof is in serious danger of collapsing, and no one knows why. Lawsuits have been filed and yet, before we knew any of this and as sad as the closing is, we knew last month we would probably never shop there again. For it wasn’t the store falling apart that was sad, it was the knowledge that we once spent so much money on such frivolous stuff, a few gourmet items of which we still have in the far back reaches of our pantry. Truly, it’s a wonder we didn’t go broke long before this realization.

Goodbye Zupan’s Jantzen Beach location. Thank you for teaching me about the global market, about other cultures, and how the other half lives. It was nice to have known you and may we meet again perhaps some day when our eyes are no longer bigger than our wallets.

September 9, 2006

I’ve come to the conclusion that being a hero is exhausting and I’m sure real heroes would agree but that it was all worth it. In my mind, I was a small hero in the world this week, not once but twice which is quite the feat because normally I never leave the house at all to be much of anything.

Last Sunday on the way to the grocery store, we passed a large field that 9 or 10 sheep graze in. Backed up to the field is a residential development with a row of wire fencing between the two. On top of that, an electric fence runs along the top and bottom of the wire fence. As we drove past, I usually glance over at the sheep and saw that all except one were across the field and that one, a big black sheep, was caught in the wire fence, bleating to his field mates who had left him.

I told WS a sheep was caught in the fence and asked that he turn around. Sure, enough, it had a leg securely trapped in the fence. Then I asked WS to drive to the house the sheep was closest to but no one was home; or maybe they weren’t answering. I walked up the side of the house toward the fence and the trapped sheep. Suddenly it took off with the lower part of the electric fence wrapped around it’s hind leg and snapping off fence connections left and right as it limped badly to catch up with the others. I didn’t want to scare it anymore and so, after getting back to the car, I asked WS to drive back to the street where the only logical sheepherder’s house was.

The man who answered the door didn’t speak English and he called for his wife. I explained the situation and she sent her husband running. By the time she finished thanking me and we got back on the road toward the grocery store, the sheep was back with the herd looking fine and without the wire wrapped around its leg.

Yesterday we had to take two of our pets to the vet; the oldest and the youngest, for checkups and shots. The youngest did fine but we figured the oldest was on his last legs. They took blood for tests and we expected a phone call today with not terribly good news. But as it turned out, he’s doing very well without much in the way of problems for a 19 year old. His joints, particularly his neck, are starting to freeze up with arthritis so we’re trying him out with Cosequin to help with his quality of life. The cost is about a dollar a day and we’ll have to squeeze it into the budget but anything to help out this guy who had a very rough beginning in life.

Immediately after the phone call this morning, we heard a bird hit one of the downstairs windows hard. I went down to check; this happens often, once a day or more, and usually I’ll just find a few feathers stuck to the window and no sign of a bird, but today there laid a Goldfinch quivering on the cement. I figured he had broken his neck and it was a case of his body not knowing yet he was already dead.

I went and got my garden gloves because with West Nile virus and Avian Flu coming, no one should pick up birds with their bare hands, and I carefully picked up the shuddering bird. To my surprise, he opened his eyes, held his head up and hopped onto my finger. Then he slowly closed his eyes and leaned against my gloved palm, all the while trembling.

I yelled for WS who brought me a small paper bag and helped me ease my hand out of my glove and it and the bird stayed in the paper bag for a while. Bird and wildlife rescue centers say leave them in the bag for an hour, closed up with a clip on the top to keep them from flying out on their own and indoors at room temperature away from pets and noise, to see if they revive, that if they haven’t broken anything, they will be in shock from the experience but are often okay after a bit. An hour later, he was still groggy and not motivated to fly out of the bag and that’s when I called the Portland Audubon Society’s wildlife rescue center that took down the bird’s information and told me to bring it in if I could.

An hour or so later, we had made the drive down through downtown Portland’s weekend traffic and over to the center which is open 7 days a week from 9 to 5 to take in native birds and animals. The family in front of us had a baby Eastern Grey squirrel that isn’t native to our area and the center couldn’t take it in. It was heartbreaking to hear but the center did spent quite a bit of time with the family telling them what all would be involved should they decide to try to care for it on their own. They sounded like they were going to give it a shot.

They took our Goldfinch in the paper bag and after a few minutes, gave me my garden glove back and said the bird looked good and that it would probably survive. We thanked them, walked over to their wildlife store, and promptly bought two packages of special window decals that birds can see and people supposedly can’t so much. Online, the decals cost $14.95 for a package of 4. At the wildlife store, they were $6.00 for a package of 4. Since we’ve had a couple dozen near accidents with birds and our downstairs windows this summer, we bought two packages and hope this will end the problem.

As WS was paying for the decals, I walked back to the rescue center to stuff two bucks (all I had) into the donation box. The woman who took our bird said it was already acting more alert and flapping its wings. She thanked me for caring enough.

I suppose technically, I could have stood around here and waited to see if exactly that would happen, that given enough time, it would shake it off and be on his way, though every single time this has occurred in the past, the injured bird has died. I could have saved us the drive, the gas for the car, $12 in bird decals, and $2 in donations (all money we can’t afford to spend) but I felt and continue to feel it was worth it, no matter what the final outcome. All for one little bird that was less than half the size of my hand. Thinking of it that way makes me feel a little silly. But my heart feels good.

September 11, 2006

I wasn’t going to post anything today. In the states this is the fifth anniversary of an act of terrorism that ended lives and started more hatred. There is nothing more I can add to what has already been said better on so many websites and blogs and in my mind for me, my silence was better.

Then I received an email as part of a mass mailing from MsNoManagementSkills this morning and it inflamed me.

“Such a sad day 5 years ago. Let’s remember it.”

Yeah, I’ll remember it alright. It took me back five years ago on this day that started with WS turning on TV in our bedroom and me groggily trying to focus. We had a conference call meeting coming up at 10 a.m. led by MsNo and I wasn’t looking forward to it in the least.

As I lay in bed, my eyes finally cleared long enough to witness one of the WTC towers falling. I remember thinking this was a pretty good special effect. The movie people did well. But the channel was CNN and it was live. My brain just couldn’t comprehend it and I kept watching and watching until it was time for our conference call.

MsNo was already in the call when WS and I dialed in. She had seen what had happened but didn’t want to talk about it, saying she hoped this wouldn’t affect our email work load today.

Okay. Catastrophes are happening, sure on the east coast of the U.S. but still, and she’s yammering about work. But part of me could see her point. After all, our technical and customer support department had just been reduced 44 percent in a horrible, surprise layoff just six weeks prior as part of the whole dot com meltdown. We who were left with jobs were swamped with a few thousand customer emails to answer and more layoff threats were being hinted at almost daily. Here we had a TV on in our home office. We could watch and listen to TV as we worked. No problem.

Two hours later, MsNo’s daily morale-busting email campaign began.

“There are XXXX emails that need to be done by the end of today. No overtime will be permitted. You’re falling behind, people. Get to work!”

The good thing was that new customer email was barely trickling in. It seems surreal to answer emails asking for help on piddly, idiotic things like how to tag files with lyrics and album art when smoke, grief, and disbelieve filled the air across the country. But we and our coworkers were all in this together. Sure, we were all numb but let’s put up the front that everything is business as usual. The company CEO sent out an urgent email saying just that. Keep working. Keep working or you’ll lose your jobs too, we all thought.

Two hours later, more of the same came in from MsNo. It was followed by another barrage of snarky email from her an hour after that. And the final email said simply that she couldn’t think to get any work done so she wouldn’t be available for the rest of the day. On her then public Online Journal she posted moments before that she had “whipped my people into shape and was going shopping. Any journal friends wanna go with?”

My fury wasn’t quelled by the knowledge that our town had closed the mall she was headed toward. I do remember her later remarking on how empty the roads were much to her delight and her irritation that she couldn’t spend money at Old Navy. I remember how quiet the skies were that day, us living under a flight path to several airports in the area. I remember typing up several blog posts of my own that day and deleting every one of them thinking how small and petty I sounded. I finally posted something, nothing worth a peek, and tried to move on, tried to keep a hold of my little job in my little corner of the world while everything around me was changing.

Somehow I don’t think MsNo remembers her world on that day quite the same way. As to me remembering it? Yeah, some parts are best to forget.

P.S. WS posted something on September 16th about his take on the events that are part of the Blogeois.com 2001 archive. It might be worth a read.

September 12, 2006

About a month and a half from now, National Novel Writing Month arrives and the yearly madness begins. For newer readers, National Novel Writing Month is an international challenge to write 50,000 words in 30 days, 50,000 words being considered a novel length story. Long time readers of Blogeois.com have suffered silently for the most part as I have participated and yammered on and on about it for the past two Novembers. This will be my third year as a participant; WS’ as well, and well, it’s kind of fun. I say kind of because at the time, we always question our judgment and sanities but really, it’s all worth it.

The cool thing is that on December 1st, something exists that didn’t a month before whether it be a 50,000 word document or more or 12,000 words or even less than that. Its creativity and drive on a level most people never experience and it really goes a long way toward building self esteem and confidence. It’s an accomplishment worth boasting about. I mean, c’mon, how many people do you know who writes a whole story in 30 days?

The questions in the back of my mind have already begun. Who’s going to be our local town NaNo group leaders? When, where, and how often are we going to meet? Will it still be the local Starbucks on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Borders on Fridays? Maybe more importantly, will I be able to keep from partaking in the sweet caffeine-y yet costly Starbucks elixir once, twice, three times a week? Since I only see the vast majority of these people once a year, what has everyone been doing since last December? Will anyone new join up? Will anyone old come back? Anyone spend the whole year writing besides me, WS, and the other special few in our Secret Writing group? Anyone get published? Anyone else excited about this year’s challenge? Anyone with great ideas for their novel this year? Anyone still pissed at me when I inadvertently screamed at someone else in a NaNo forum last year?

This has been the first year I didn’t have a story idea in mind to write about by March. The past two years I knew exactly what I was going to write about. This year my mind was blank. Nothing. Nada. El Zippo. Like most NaNo writers, technically, I’d been searching for a 2006 NaNo novel topic since December of last year, but I was concerned by June when nothing came to mind. I was worried by July when I still had nothing, and was terrified by August because my head was just a black hole. Sure, I tossed around ideas here and there but there was just nothing I felt passionate enough about.

WS offered a topic in early summer (because he’s generally good at that) but it kind of left a sour taste in my mouth. Sure, I knew I could peck out 50,000 words on it but would it make for good quality entertainment? Yes and no. Would people want to read it? Yes and no. Could it contain excitement and high stakes, keys to any good novel? Certainly.

After a lot of thought and grief thrown my direction by a bunch of unscrupulous people lately, I’ve decided to run with that idea. Even without exaggerating the events, the story could be good; a fictionalized take on something in real life, something sinister and petty and emotionally scarring – my favorite kind of story actually. (Mary Lou, this one should be a-Okay for you to read.)

My 2006 NaNo novel will be about car enthusiasts. Surprise, surprise since I am one. Over the weekend, as I was sitting upstairs playing some mindless game like I do when I’m bored or don’t want to think, I glanced out the window and saw an unfamiliar sports car slowly drive past our house. I knew what the car was, a black model like mine with Washington plates. I could instantly rattle off all the bolt-on custom parts they had installed on it like chrome tail light covers, chrome lettering, custom exhaust, window tint, vent screens, etc. but I didn’t know the driver.

This may sound odd but it’s completely true – I know ALL of that kind of sports car owners in my area, especially the black sports car owners because there are only 5 of us around here. When you get up into the Tacoma/Olympia/Seattle area there are about 40 black ones of us and I know most of them too. But this one car I had never seen before. And why was it slowly driving by our house? I hardly ever take my car out anymore. Heck, most people don’t even know I have a car let alone what it is. Or was it just a fluke? They were probably looking for someone else. As much as I’d like to be sometimes, I’m not all that and a bag of chips. Who would be looking for me? No one, that’s who. Actually, they probably weren’t looking for anyone at all. Just an ordinary drive down an ordinary neighborhood street. Ho- hum and la-tee-da too.

And that’s when the story opening hit me. “I’ve got it!” I scared WS half to death when I shouted just that. What a relief! I jotted it down and then spent an hour starting an outline. Yes, this will work, that will work, can’t forget that either and then the list began of all the things I’ve witnessed, heard, and know. Finally! One less thing to worry about. Now and only now do I feel I can move forward without this nagging feeling that time was starting to slip away and I had this on top of so many other things to sort out before November.

Now if my right eye would stop twitching from all the stress I’ve been under lately. . .

September 14, 2006

The Monkey Club meeting last night wasn’t any better than the one before, the one last week when people shrieked insults at each other. Last night committee chairwomen cried and walked out. Papers and notebooks were thrown and slammed on the floor. People were betrayed in some people’s eyes and spoke their heart in others. I inadvertently insulted a distraught woman by quietly pointing out a fact she loudly proclaimed didn’t exist. The Monkey Club is nearly torn apart now and I’m no longer Numbero Uno on the shit list. I’ve got lots of company.

The good thing is that after last night I’m pretty certain none of these people will ever call me on the phone again. That’s particularly great news because I’m not a big one for phones and I don’t want anyone looking me up to help with next spring’s Roadster show display especially since I’ve been actively telling people, people who decline to listen, for the past six months I don’t anything to do with it.

The scary thing now is that someone last night told me to be thinking about receiving the Member of the Year award at the October banquet I refuse to attend. God help me. What a sham that would turn out to be.

It’s deliciously cool here today. Rain has been promised for later this afternoon. Actually, it was promised for early this morning by at least one local weather station but we all know how often any of those people are. Still, dark clouds are gathering to the north blocking any hope of a view of Mt. Saint Helens today from our old office window.

This kind of weather makes me start thinking of lentil soup and baked apples but I mustn’t think of food now because I’m at the start of a water fast. Yesterday I went all day drinking nothing but about two liters of water with the juice of half a lime added. Though it was a little tough during mid-afternoon (I had a huge dinner late the night before), I felt good mentally and physically as I sat through the horrible meeting. Usually after the Monkey Club meetings I am ravenous, a psychological craving for comfort food, not actual hunger. Last night I’m sure I was more upset for once than craving comfort food and so, like a good little do-bee I typed up my Secretary notes on the meeting (instead of letting them sit un-typed until the very last minute) and promptly went to bed.

Today, yes I’m hungry but I’m still drinking just my lime-juice water. The second day is always the hardest. Survivor on TV starts tonight with what very well could be the lamest season ever, but I’ll watch it, glad to see beautiful people learn to live without their lattes.

September 15, 2006

I ended my water fast last night a few hours short of 48. What can I say? I can’t pass up homemade tacos, especially veggie tacos. I might have to have more for lunch today too, they are that good.

I’ve got lots of reading and thinking to do today. I just finished a couple of chapters of a story up for review this weekend at our writer’s group and last night I started one of the last books I’ll read before novel writing November starts. This one is “Building Believable Characters” by Marc McCutcheon, a man who really knows how to write a how-to book in that he got half a dozen established authors basically doing the writing for him.

It’s a book full of countless lists of descriptions on everything you’d ever want to use to portray anyone in a story. A huge cheat sheet if you will so when you’re explaining how someone looks you won’t use the same tired, cliché words over and over again. “He had a wide, bulbous nose.” “She had wide, bulbous hips.” Who wants to read that over and over? I have to admit I haven’t gotten to the point of creating a description cheat sheet on characters yet, though apparently most authors do at some point, though I have already started one on small towns that I use for the basis of most of my tales.

And that brings me to the thinking part. Today I’m starting my character files for my November novel. I delighted in finding a brand new, multi-sectioned notebook in the bookshelves last night that will be perfect for creating the story character dossiers. A key to any story, especially one that is more character-driven than plot driven, is good, believable, unforgettable characters and I’ve got more than a few in mind. Of course, I won’t be able to use them all; it’d be too confusing to keep them all straight within the context of a single story but those that don’t get used in this one shouldn’t have any problem waiting around in the wings for another one. I’ve had both enjoyable and appalling experiences of meeting a lot of interesting people in my life. This is a great way to revisit some of them and control some of the others.

We had an hour or more of rolling, distant thunder and rain yesterday afternoon. We were promised more of the same today but nothing has fallen yet. It is cool, 57 degrees Fahrenheit cool outside. Things are greening back up and the air smells almost clean. We’ll need another week of rain to bring back that fresh, northwest air full of cedars and earth. But I’ve got patience now. Once the clouds, rain, and cooler weather rolls in, I’ve got all the patience in the world.

September 18, 2006

Is the date ‘September 17th’ significant in history? For some reason, that date always sticks in my mind. It rolls of the tongue nicely. I’m not a big fan of September-anything but September 17th for some reason always seems like an important day. A quick check on Wikipedia.org shows nothing that rings a bell. Looks like lots of unpleasant things happened on that date. Is this a foreshadow of something, or just two words that sound good together?

Yesterday, our writing group, the Secret Writing Cult, got together to review a couple of chapters of a co-authored piece that’s been worked on a lot and edited to a near perfect point. It was a joy to read. I should hope to someday learn enough to write and edit to that level and it excites me to no end to truly feel in my heart that that body of work is going to go places. To listen to the authors so easily slip into conversation about where the story is going from there, about future plot and character involvement, is fascinating. They embody what every How-To-Write book stresses – you must believe in your story; you must know your characters as well or better than yourself. These authors have succeeded. Their characters are real.

Sweet summer rain today, or I should say early fall rain. Today is the first day that everything outside, to me at least, looks washed of months of dust and dirt. Greens aren’t just green, they are emerald green, yellows are golden yellow, and hints of flame red are creeping in here and there. It’s an apple spice candle burning day and maybe one for some soft music in the background. Of cozying up with Constant Comment tea and exploring the world of fiction story development, searching my past for long past friends and acquaintances to model my next characters after, to think of people I haven’t thought of in years and try to bring them back to life.

After a brain storming conversation last night, Kami from Jestablog wrote a beautiful entry about someone who briefly attended her grade school. Most people I know claim to not remember much about grade school and some would like to forget high school as well while for others, school was the pinnacle peak in their lives. But how many remember the invisible kids, the ones that hung back, that didn’t fit in, and that didn’t seem to belong anywhere? Her words are worth a read.

September 19, 2006

Monkey Club elections are tomorrow night. I figured this would be the really bad meeting, worse than the two previous, mainly because there isn’t anyone running for most of the offices including Monkey President.

Or is there? Ballots were snail-mailed out and I just got mine. Last year’s head monkey had his name placed on the ballot for Monkey President at the last minute it looks like, hand written in, and while he isn’t exactly as bad as Dick, the guy who’s destroyed this club because he wasn’t elected head monkey last year, this guy could be his conjoined twin brother. Add more chauvinistic behavior toward women, a constant thirst for whisky especially while driving, a goodly amount of intimidation tactic knowledge, and less hair and you’d have a fairly accurate picture of the guy. He’s running unopposed. Naturally.

Of course, I could write in someone else’s name on the ballot; Mickey Mouse, Daffy Duck, Napoleon Dynamite maybe or George Bush. Might as well.

The ballot also shows somebody running unopposed for Vice President. I’ve already fielded half a dozen emails from other Monkeys wondering who this guy is. No one knows. I don’t either.

Ten bucks says half the Monkey Board won’t show up to tomorrow night’s meeting after the uproar that went on last Wednesday night. Either way, it ought to be interesting. If only I were interested though and I’m not.

5 more meetings. Just 5 more meetings.

But in the meantime, I nearly let my car battery die last week because I forgot to start it up. Bad me. Everything is fine now. I’ll start it up next weekend and drive it around the block. It looks like it may be dry weather-wise. I need to put stuff in the garage cabinets anyway and my car blocks access to it. It’s time to put away the citronella candles and the wind chimes (though I’m going to leave the Swiss cowbell – Treicheln – out because it hardly ever sounds) and get out a little ceramic pot I’m certain is in there to give to a smuggled spider plant that needs a reward for putting out a runner and couple of babies.

The plant as a baby wasn’t meant to be smuggled from out of state, 1500 miles away, but a coworker at The Company I used to work for asked me to take it as something to remember her by. I think she knew The Company was being sold back then and being as she worked at Company Headquarters, she’d have access to that kind of knowledge long before any of us telecommuters would. Anyway, the baby plant survived the trip wrapped in a damp paper towel and shoved in my purse to be forgotten for a week after and it’s doing well but I wonder how long before the pets find it. Now that’s it’s putting out runners, I can’t keep it where it did so well in our tiny bathroom. Now it’s out in the open, exposed, vulnerable, and defenseless.

Okay, it’s going back in the bathroom. Somehow.

The coworker, by the way, isn’t anywhere to be found. Sigh. But I do have this plant. . .

September 20, 2006

Parts of our vine maples out back are turning the most gorgeous autumn colors while other parts are as green as ever. I’ve found that’s part of the beauty of the trees, a Pacific Northwest native. We’ve got seven back there, all between six and seven feet tall, and most with multiple stemmed trunks. Their branches grow mostly in an upright position and don’t spread like a traditionally known tree would. Birds, especially the Goldfinches, seem to really like the top branches which become stripped bare of any foliage over time because of the number of birds that fly to and from them. That adds to the natural look we tried hard to achieve. Funny how I thought we’d be able to do it all ourselves at the time, not taking into account that nature would help where it can.

I finally got a current photo of Limpy, the Howler Monkey’s poor ignored cat. You can see where his severely matted fur along his sides was removed. Ms. Howler Monkey told me personally she ‘ripped the mats off” and got bit as a result. That kind of horrified me. I thought it was an awful thing to do. But what was interesting was the following weekend Mr. Wall Street told me she had told him she used electric hair clippers to get rid of the mats. Now why would she say one thing and tell someone else something completely different? Sure, that kind of behavior is all too common around this neighborhood but I’d like for once to know the reasoning behind it. If you couldn’t already figure out, I like trying to understand why people are and do what they do but the reasoning around this kind of stuff continues to elude me.

Fall weather should continue through the rest of the week but it’s possible we’ll be back up into the 80’s by early next week Let’s hope that doesn’t last long.

I’m on the third day of a lime juice/water fast with plans to stay on it through tomorrow. This morning I was a little tired and my eyes didn’t want to focus terribly well but since drinking my 1.5 liter bottle of juice water, I feel much better. And less hungry than yesterday too. Tonight’s Monkey Club meeting will be stressful and that usually makes me ravenous regardless if I’m really hungry or not. As long as I don’t get overly tired and bored, I’ll be fine and tonight ought to be anything but boring.

My plan is to finish up this fast Friday or sometime over the weekend. Then in a couple of weeks, I’m going to attempt a 10 day cleansing fast followed by a week of consuming little more than raw food and fresh juice. Why? Because I’m one of those people for who fasting occasionally makes my body and mind feel better. Today my mind is quieter and the skin around some parts of me feels tighter finally. I don’t understand the zits I’m still getting other than it’s got to be a lime juice thing.

The best part of this fast is that the number of hot flashes has been drastically reduced. I don’t take medication for them (on doctor’s orders) other than vitamins and those I avoid during a fast because they upset my stomach if taken without food. Last night was the first night in almost a year and half that I didn’t wake up multiple times in a pool of sweat, even though I have two fans that blow directly on me all night long. It was heavenly and I actually felt a little like I used to before my fibroid tumor surgery in 2004 that demanded a complete hysterectomy at the same time. Yeah, I could learn to like this again.

September 21, 2006

The Monkey Club meeting last night wasn’t half bad, surprisingly so and I think the reason why is because it was elections night and the current Monkey Board members can finally see light at the end of what was a very, very long dark tunnel.

As predicted, some Monkey Board members didn’t show up. No big deal there. Lots of other members didn’t show up either. It could have been the rain but then again, the club’s been on a steep decline since last February. Everyone elected to the future Board ran unopposed and a couple of people on the ballot bowed out at the last minute. Current President Ms. Snooty was voted Monkey of the Year. No big surprise there. That’s pretty much tradition. Presidency goes back to the guy who was head Monkey last year. Sure, no one likes him but at least the club had 100 members back then. There are 38 paid members now.

4 meetings to go.

Day four of my lime water fast. I had a headache last night but I think it might have come from squinting during my drive home from the Monkey Club meeting. It was raining pretty hard both to and from so the roads were wet and dark (because our town doesn’t believe in too many street lights for some reason). Took a Tylenol PM and slept like a log. A cool, non-sweaty log. Nice.

Out in the back yard, our quince tree is making up for not producing any fruit last year. We cut it back last year in an attempt to give it some pleasing shape and learned that quince trees have a will of their own for the most part. We didn’t touch it much this past spring and it has rewarded us with dozens of pear-shaped, pineapple-smelling fruit that won’t be ready to pick and cook until late October at the earliest.

On tap today is more character development work for my November novel. WS and I talked a bit last night on his November novel and came up with some awesome plot lines and twists. He’s going for his first thriller fiction; he usually writes technological/psychological fiction. If I can come up with as good of plot lines for my work as we came up for his work, we’ll do well in this year’s NaNoWriMo.

September 22, 2006

Grocery shopping day! We are woefully low on everything but me fasting this week has helped stretch things, WS says. Not that he likes me fasting. He hates it actually and liked it to a line of dialog from Star Wars 3 “You’re going some where that I can’t follow!” Eh, fasting isn’t for everyone.

On the financial front, we’re still shopping at WinCo, the cheap grocery store in town which only accepts cash or personal check (and that’s not anywhere that I’d feel comfortable writing a check at) I think which is great for keeping to the budget. WS makes out a detailed read: anal list and we stick to it like glue. The part of the trip where WS stands there, usually back by in the bulk food section or in a corner by the produce section, figuring out what the bill will be before we get to the registers is less than the excitement of say, watching paint dry or grass grow but its better to know how much the total will be before getting in line. The last thing someone would want to do at WinCo is have to have the less-than-sympathetic cashier take things off that can’t be afforded. The horror!

The plan was to go in with $175 cash to spend on 2 ½ weeks of groceries, including pet food and incidentals, but to try to spend no more than $150 so we can put the extra $25 in savings. We bought everything we got at every trip since our mid-July $100 trips and added a few extra items like olive oil, limes, squash, soymilk, and Parmesan and feta cheese. Our total came to $155.36 leaving us with $19.64. Add some change to that out of our spare change can and we’ve got $20 for the savings account, the first chunk of money put in there since January of 2005 when we were laid off.

We’re still making good progress on our credit card debt. Every bill is being overpaid every time, sometimes to the tune of $60 over the minimum payment due. That feels good. In addition and because the weather has been so fall-like outside, we’ve turned off our air conditioner for a couple of days in the past week or two. That’ll save bucks on the next electric bill.

In the really good column, a very kind reader tipped Blogeois.com $20 which automatically goes into an account specifically set up for the maintenance costs of this web site. Last year, someone did the same and with interest, that account is now up to $43. That’ll almost pay half of next year’s domain name and hosting bill. I am very grateful to whoever these readers are. Thank you very much!!

In the bad column and completely without thinking at the time, I bought a $5 solid brass candelabrum at a garage sale around the corner because it was something I have always wanted. Okay, that’s not exactly the truth – in truth I’ve always wanted a big sterling silver candelabrum but I haven’t found one of those yet for $5 at a garage sale.

I had a $5 dollar bill in my pocket from last month’s garage sale and quite honestly, didn’t think of what I was doing. I plunked the money down and walked away happy. But when I walked into the house, I realized my mistake . . . but I didn’t take it back. The sellers had a prominently displayed sign – No returns or refunds. Obviously they are seasoned garage-salers. Yes, I felt bad and still do to some degree. I’m pretty sure I learned my lesson on this and won’t do it again without thinking first.

Short of that, we’ve been diligently keeping our noses to the grindstone. We did have a late evening of weakness a week ago when we wanted to order pizza in lieu of cooking dinner but we talked each other out of it and found something relatively fast and simple to make. It’s amazing how that can happen if one is motivated enough and hungry. Afterward, we congratulated ourselves on not caving in and staying strong. Days later we still felt good about the decision and I’m finding that is key to this whole thing. Dwelling on what is being denied and choosing to live in denial about our own mounting debt is a lifestyle we don’t want to go back to. Making the decision to not spend money and turning it into a good, fuzzy-feel habit takes some getting used to but for us, it’s making all the difference in the world.

September 23, 2006

Happy autumn, our favorite time of year. The hot, dry weather outside isn’t cooperating but I won’t be bothered by that. My mind is already thinking of cold nights, foggy mornings, and fall leaves. We’ve having a quiet day at home today after having to run out to the vet this morning to get joint relief medication for one of our oldest pets whose neck tends to fuse in a downward position without it. That’s a $30 bill we weren’t expecting and so, the money will need to come out of next October 6th’s grocery budget which is a hoot when you consider that’ll be right around the time we’ll run out and need to pick up more of the same stuff. Hopefully by that time, the pet will only need half of the daily dosage and that’ll extend the next batch.

I was surprised to receive an email shipping invoice for spring bulbs recently. It took a day or two to remember that back in April, we had discussed whether this was the year we wanted to replace the masses of bulbs the sprinkler guy destroyed four years ago when we had the fountain and sprinklers put in. We ordered a hundred of so daffodils and tulips and yesterday, when a FedEx truck delivered a big box to our front door, naturally I assumed it was these bulbs. Oops. Seems we also ordered bulbs from a grower down in Woodburn too because they have the best bulbs for our area as well as WS’ favorite tulip, Temple of Beauty.

So I’m still waiting for the shipment from the first company before I can plant the bulbs from the second company to ensure I don’t dig up the second batch when planting the first. Confused yet? It may be a complicated gardening thing. Those who hate gardening shouldn’t worry their pretty heads.

The plan was to take my car out for a drive today but WS has been dragging his feet when it comes to finishing a work project that was due yesterday. Or maybe it’s due Monday. It’s hard to keep up sometimes because things are changing so fast at his job lately. Either way, he’s one of those kinds of people who puts off doing important stuff like that until the very last minute, then will stay up all night if necessary to get it done with outstanding results. I don’t understand why some people torture themselves that way other than think that there’s something in the reward that tells them they got away with playing around and goofing off until the very last second and then the pressure to accomplish the deadline task pushes them to achieve better than average results. Basically, they get their cake and the time to eat it too before rapidly cleaning up any evidence that they did so mere seconds before Mom gets home. Personally, I can’t live that way. Call it either not smart enough or not stupid enough but it’s always worked for WS. Lucky bastard.

Before I can drive my car again I’ve got to fill up one of the back tires. Three years ago I picked up a roofing nail on a trip back from a sports car cruise with the first sports car club I was in. It was no biggie because I have run-flat tires that came stock on the car – that means the tires can’t go completely flat when punctured and can be driven on for 100 miles or so, preferably to a repair shop – but of course, I took picking up the nail personally. The place I’m certain I picked up the nail at didn’t seem at all receptive to a bunch of rich-looking sports cars zooming into their parking lot; the handyman wandering around outside with an apron full of nails least of all. I’ve noticed this as a trend from time to time but that’s another story.

Anyhoo, I noticed my car leaning a bit on that side in the garage days later and drove it across town to America’s Tire Center and they fixed it in no time. A year later, I noticed I had a meticulously slow leak in that tire that requires me to put a pound or two of air in it every six months or so which has kept me thus far from needing to replace it. At $414+ per tire and the inability to replace one at a time per auto manufacturer requirements, it’s important that I don’t let it go too long without filling it up.

And that’s the main reason I bought a small compressor last year. Sure, it would have been fun to outfit our garage with a big tank-style compressor and lines and all the cool tools but it would be wasteful and more ‘pretty to look at’ than anything I’d really ever use (kind of like that awesome rolling, upright Craftsman tool box I want with the awesome upright tool chest that screams ‘SEX!’ to me). Ten minutes from start to finish and the tires are aired up, on both vehicles if necessary, and I’m good for another six months. And I don’t have to rely on gas station air stations, all of which in this town have gone to pay systems (when they haven’t removed their air and water service lines completely). Only then can I go for a drive. And if I go out and air up the tire now, WS will feel the urge to stop working on his project to come out and watch (even though filling up a tire isn’t interesting, he says it’s more interesting than work stuff) and want to go with me on a drive.

So here I sit instead, chomping at the bit to get that tire done and zip around town long enough to recharge my car’s battery, but knowing that the longer I sit here the longer WS, who is sitting behind me, is working. Unless he’s surfing without me knowing it which is entirely possible. It doesn’t matter to me though; no one pays me to be his babysitter.

September 25, 2006

Pooped. We worked hard yesterday on cars, in the garage, upstairs and downstairs, organizing, cleaning, vacuuming, and generally wearing ourselves out. WS finished as much of his work project that he could do at home and I got to take my car out for a spin and a final gas tank fill up before getting ready to put it away for the year. It needs a final wipe down and the cover put over it and then just a start up every other week until next March or so. Sometimes I think of those automatic battery tenders but a few people have had their’s catch fire so it’s probably best that I didn’t buy one at some point along the way.

I ended my water fast last Thursday night. I just can’t pass up homemade veggie and rice tacos no matter how steeled I force myself to think. Weak, weak, weak. Still, four days wasn’t bad; the longest I’d ever fasted and boy, even after eating dinner that night, the next day I felt wonderful with a capital W. My joints felt loose and my muscles limber, my face had nearly cleared up, my double chin wasn’t as noticeable, and my gut didn’t hang out nearly as much. Wednesday night, I wore my second fattest pair of levis without any pinching around the waist and a pullover top that hasn’t seen light outside of my closet since 2001.

Three days later and my stomach is threatening to pooch out again as well as the extra chin, and this morning, a chin zit hovered near the bright red portion of the color spectrum; all pleading with me to fast again. “But we just bought groceries,” I whine in return but the memory of how good I felt versus the salad fixings waiting patiently in the fridge pressure each other to see who will come out on top as the winner this week. I haven’t made up my mind yet.

This week’s plan is to come up with at least three more characters for my November novel, to take a pet to the vet for a deformed dew claw removal, and to go in for a mammogram. Mammograms don’t bother me like they do some women and should they find something like they did back in 1994, a benign lump, I’ll have them remove it just like I had them do back then and then I’ll get on with my life again wishing I never had breasts in the first place. I’ve never been a fan.

I’ve had to lightly salt the front porch and walkway last night near Limpy’s food and water dish because the slugs have claimed his food for their own. I don’t sprinkle too much out there, just a pinch here and there and that’s enough to keep them at bay for a month or so. You know you have a slug problem when you can identify the big ones individually, you name them, and you can hear them crunching dry cat food. Thank goodness I don’t name them anymore. I’d like to think I have more of a life now than when I used to talk to the slugs.

Soon pumpkins will be on sale here even though it’s almost 90 degrees outside and will be for the next week or two. I’m hoping I can afford one or two medium sized ones to sit outside the front door. The basket-planted chrysanthemum that made it through last year needs to be brought out front from the backyard to sit alongside the big evergreen pots I planted up last spring. We used to have a couple dwarf Alberta Spruces that sat on either side of our garage door when we first moved in here but they quickly outgrew the decorative pots they were in and fell over at the slightest hint of a breeze. I don’t know why I didn’t replace them over the years but now the look is new again, this time with much smaller spruces and a low sun-loving azalea and I like it. Maybe I’ll add a touch of white lights to them for Christmas. I swapped the foliage in the hanging wreath by the door in my giddiness for true autumn weather and all that’s left to do is to start lighting the pumpkin spice candles. Go away, hot weather!

September 26, 2006

Still cleaning and organizing. I worked in the garage a bit this morning, cleaned the counter space, wiped my car and put the cover over it, organized a couple of tote containers that don’t have a dedicated spot. It’s been dry here for almost a week and every time we open the garage door, my car sucks up all the dust like iron shavings to a magnet. The car cover puts an end to all that.

Then it was time to de-clutter downstairs. I did the library Sunday evening and it inspired me to de-clutter the rest of the house. It’s amazing how fast stuff – junk mail, receipts, etc. – can pile up if I don’t stay on top of the situation.

October looks like it’s going to be an expensive month for us. We’ve got two dinners that cannot be missed – one with the Secret Writing Cult for our pre-National Novel Writing challenge and one with our friend and old roommate who is coming to town and whom we haven’t seen in seven years. This Friday, one of our pets will be undergoing surgery the tune of $400 to remove a deformed dewclaw that has caused her and us grief for a long time.

In addition, every Tuesday through October, the Secret Writing Cult will meet at Ris’ new home (Congrats again, Ris!) for Tuesday Tea and then here every Friday evening, both for brainstorming, motivationalizing, reading, writing, socializing, and generally gearing up for National Novel Writing Month beginning November 1st. To prepare for that here, I sent our living room rug out today for professionally cleaning. It’s been lying rolled up and stinking to high heaven in the garage ever since we discovered The Queen was peeing on it back in June and boy, oh boy how I have missed that beautiful wool rug. It’ll be back next Tuesday just in time for the cool weather to return. The Queen will continue to rule the roost from the comfort of her own closed off resort bedroom alongside Cameron, Zooot, and G.B. who enjoy her company. In the peaceful, serene quiet and comfort of the airy room, complete with sunny perch, private apartment boxes, memory foam bedding, spacious litter pan, and personalized meal service twice daily, all without the presence of The Boy (who we all know irritates The Queen to no end), I think her elderly years are turning out pretty well.

And finally at the end of October, the last Monkey Club meeting will be held, on neutral territory I’ve been told (a statement that in itself told me the war’s not over) and one which may cost me the price of another meal just to turn over the meeting minutes and instruct the new secretary in her expected duties. WS hit the ceiling when he found out I was expected to chip in to buy exiting club President Ms. Snooty a fancy sports car necklace and I would have pitched in too but only to the tune of a couple of bucks because the woman certainly didn’t make the last year of my life any easier, but with everything else going on this month, things and events that hold way much more importance to me, I just can’t justify even that small cost. Some Monkey’s going to foot nearly the entire bill for a $220 necklace and it’s not going to be me.

I begin fasting again tomorrow for another 3 or 4 days. With all the eating out I’ll be doing this next month, I’ll practically need to fast every week just to fit into cool weather clothes. I’ve learned I can’t wear elastic waistband shorts everywhere. Besides, fasting last week made me feel so much better than anything I’ve eaten since. Okay, the homemade pizza Saturday afternoon was unbelievably good but you can have all the rest. Fasting really did taste better.

September 27, 2006

I woke up today feeling rich and I highly recommend it. Earlier this year we bought a set of high thread count sheets in one of my favorite colors, Chocolate. We used them once because I discovered high thread count means a crisp, tighter weave of the fabric which translates into no air is able to get through and that means I sweat. A lot. Now my hot flashes are being managed a lot better and yesterday, in the seemingly never-ending quest to bring autumn indoors, I “re-discovered” the chocolate, high thread count sheets and put them on the bed. Packed along with these, I “re-discovered” a duponi-silk duvet cover in bronze that we bought two years ago and never used (don’t ask me how that ever happened). Combined with an ivory matelasse coverlet and a couple of tweed wool pillows originally from another part of the house, the look and feel is pure luxury.

Nothing much is going on here today. No Monkey Club meeting tonight. WS doesn’t have his usual conference call to India this evening. We might actually get some prep work done for our November novels or maybe we’ll read or sit and talk here in the library. Things are good between us even with the constant thought of debt looming overhead. Our relationship is strong.

Our area is being warned of the end of the sunny hot days starting this coming weekend. Naturally, you know that tickles us to no end and will prompt us to dive headlong into fall cooking – Lentil soup, baked apples and pumpkins, squash and wild rice, all those things that seem so appropriate now and no other time of year. Here’s a locally renown Lentil soup recipe served at The Rheinlander and Gustav’s Pub:

Bavarian Lentil Soup

4 oz. diced bacon
½ cup diced leeks (white part only)
½ cup diced celery
½ cup diced onion
½ cup diced carrots
2 cups raw potato
1 ½ cups green lentils
1 qt. beef stock (canned)
If desired, diced meat from smoked pork hocks

For seasoning:
1 tsp. thyme
¼ tsp. nutmeg
2 bay leaves
½ tsp. black pepper
Salt to taste

Method:
Cook bacon in large stock pot. Add onions, leeks, carrots and celery and sauté until golden. Add one quart of stock, lentils and seasonings. Cook for ½ hour, then add potatoes and cook until lentils and vegetables are tender. Remove meat from pork hocks and mince, adding to the soup. Salt to taste. Before serving, add 2 tablespoons white vinegar. Serve with sausage and warm bread.

Blogeois’ and WS’ changes to the above recipe:

Add at least 2 more oz. of bacon, preferably applewood smoked bacon.
Mince all vegetables. Diced isn’t small enough and leaves the soup too chunky.
The meat from smoked pork hocks does add a delicious flavor but isn’t necessary if you add more diced bacon.
Use fresh thyme, not the dried stuff. The flavor difference is worth it.
Do NOT add the white vinegar. We suspect this was added to the recipe so it wouldn’t taste just like the restaurant version. Bad recipe sharers!
We use chicken stock in place of beef stock (we don’t eat beef) and found the taste was still just as deep and rich.

September 28, 2006

Every fall I try to get us into the habit of going to bed ridiculously early one night a week. Usually Wednesday night works well. It’s halfway through the week, we don’t watch TV on Wednesdays anymore (heck, we don’t watch TV much anymore anyway – go us!), and it used to have a recharging effect going into the weekend. It helps that it gets dark early and daylight savings time helps too. Unfortunately, sometimes it backfires and we’re wide awake by 4 or 5 a.m.

I tried to get WS into a more writing-friendly routine a couple of months ago. Into bed without the TV on by 9 p.m. Reading or writing is okay. Lights out not a minute later than 10 p.m. Up at 6 a.m. An hour spent getting ready for work, feeding The Queen and everyone else, and two hours spent writing journal entries or stories. Into work by 9:30 a.m. 10 at the latest.

The routine worked well for about a month. Then it became too easy to shut off the alarm and go back to sleep. I don’t blame him; I’m not a morning person either. He doesn’t have a scheduled time that he needs to be into work. As long as he shows up sometime, it’s pretty much okay. Then WS was required to start attending 6 a.m. conference calls with India every Monday morning combined with conference calls late every Wednesday night which seemed to throw the whole schedule off. Then more meetings got piled on along with too much work due yesterday for too few people to accomplish, especially if those people are constantly being required to attend meetings. Where’s the time to the actual work? Apparently on your own time.

The point of this schedule was to prepare us both for the flurry of writing in November for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). Fifty thousand words in 30 days is the challenge and one we’ve matched two years previous. That’s 1,667 words written or typed a day in some kind of story format; anything less gets lumped onto the next day or the next or the next, and it becomes rapidly clear how much a participant would want to keep up the pace and not get behind. On the flipside, it pays off big time to get ahead of schedule. Last year, WS completed his fifty thousand word story in 13 days. The first year of participating, I completed mine in 23. A friend of ours routinely completes the month with over ninety thousand.

But it makes it much harder if we aren’t rested and if we’re not in the writing mood. Daily writing helps with the mood – it becomes natural – but the resting part we’re still working on. We’re going to have to try harder to get our rest which sounds like an oxymoron but really isn’t.

September 29, 2006

Its 10 a.m. and already we have taken a pet to the vet and discovered she doesn’t need surgery after all (a savings of $462 minus $41 for the office visit and nail trim), had my breasts squeezed and flattened not once, not twice but four separate times, given enough blood to cause the woman sitting next to me to faint, and received instructions and a packet upon which I get to smear my own fecal matter onto and send back via the U. S. Mail service. Yeah, living the dream.

Is there something about cucumbers I should know about when it comes to colon cancer screening? Something I may have missed in the news media? Because the instructions on my Hemoccult packet (a fancy name for a do-at-home shit sample kit) says I have to avoid eating certain things for a while before taking my samples and one of them is cucumbers. The instructions say it, along with rare beef, can return positive results. Dang! I really like cucumbers too but never would I suspect it would be in the same league as rare beef.

The instructions also say I can eat all kinds of other stuff which is all fine and good when I’m eating at all. Day three of my water fast and I won’t be stopping anytime soon. I plan on trying to get through the weekend which will be my longest stint ever if I can make it. Then I’ll try this sample kit. They want three consecutive samples which may prove to be interesting because I don’t tend to go three times a day. It also says I’m supposed to put plastic wrap or layers of newspaper over my toilet bowl and go on that. Heck, I ought to just use one of the cat boxes in that case and pick off the chunks of litter. Surely I can collect something on toilet paper, can’t I? I don’t understand the point of going through covering the toilet bowl with Glad wrap. I’m not even going to mention where other things would go with plastic wrap covering the bowl.

“Yeah, I tried to collect your samples but I ended up needing to clean the bathroom floor each time so you’ll excuse me if you find some Windex or bleach scrub in along with it.”

And this brings up another point: Sending this through the mail. The U.S. Postal kind of mail. My shit smears in the mail, alongside your electric bill, your pension checks, and letters from your great Aunt Hattie. No wonder everything has fecal matter on it!

And what does the lab do with this stool sample tests after looking at it? Do they keep them in a file cabinet with thousands of others? Do they burn them?

“Where’s Jack?” “Oh, he’s in the back burning shit.”

Is this just a cheap excuse to fulfill someone’s sick fantasy? Do they extract DNA from it to sell on the black market? Hey, I’ve seen Jurassic Park. I know how they can play around with that kind of shit. I know the Army experiments daily with hazardous genetic materials. Whose bodily matter are they using in these experiments? I don’t think the Army’s getting permission for this sort of thing! No one’s going to say, “Well sure, General, have a specimen of my shit so you can use it to create a lethal viral gene that if released into the atmosphere on an unsuspecting country could cause all kinds of havoc.”

What if I want my samples back? It’s my fecal matter. I made it. I should be able to get it back if I want to. I’m not so sure I feel comfortable having my fecal matter out there, somewhere, in the world for anyone to do with what they want. It’s different when you simply go, your name and health record number isn’t attached to it, and it isn’t printed on the toilet paper. It just gets mixed with everyone else’s. Maybe I should include a little note with the completed packet requesting my samples back. I’ll even include a self-addressed, stamped envelope if it makes it easier. I’d say I’d feel more comfortable disposing of it myself.

And so, the more and more I thought about this, I came to the conclusion I really think I want my shit back. They can test it all they want but I don’t think I want them to keep it. There are few enough things in this world you can say are your own. You can’t even truly call your children your own because it’s a team effort, at least at first. But damn it, those smears are mine!

Yes, I want my shit back!

October 1, 2006

Goodbye September, Hello October! We’ve got cloudy skies and cool weather today and throughout most of next week. The hill rising up behind us ought to start putting on its fall leaf show soon as well as our October Glory maples that turn a brilliant, eye-blinding red come the first frosty night. We haven’t been anywhere near freezing here yet, that usually doesn’t come until halfway through the month or later. I remember a year or two when the first frost held off until November. Ugh, I’m going to try not to think about that.

I saw pumpkins, some real beauties, on sale yesterday at Fred Meyer when we stopped in to pick up paper towels and laundry detergent (both on the approved grocery list). 25 cents a pound. The smallest looked to be about 8 pounds or so. Unfortunately, pumpkins aren’t on any grocery list around here so I may have to do without this year. I’m going to try hard not to think about that.

4 days. I seem to be unable to last longer than 4 days fasting. It’s not my stomach that protests as my mind and my nose. They conspire against me every time. I’ve been watching a lot of TV, more than I probably have all of the last 6 months and I always change the channel when the food commercials come on. But my brain works overtime anyway and plays the “If I were to eat something, what would the best thing be” game.

Also, the oddest thing about fasting I’ve found is that my sense of imagined smells has increased. Whenever I sit at this computer desk anymore I swear I smell French Fries or Taco Bell. But it’s been so long since we had either (last March or April maybe?) Still other times I’ll be walking around here and think I smell strong alcohol like scotch or something like it straight from a bottle. And this is over the apple spice candle scent that is usually wafting through the house. Very odd. Yesterday, I smelled fresh baked bread. Friday, WS did make bread but I know the smell doesn’t last that long around here. I’m certain my imagination and stomach are just working overtime. They don’t have much else to do while I’m fasting and so, I ended my latest attempt last night. I’ll give it a week or two and then try again for 5 days straight. I’m determined to hit that goal sometime this month. In the meantime, I’m going to try not to think too much about it.

Don’t you hate it when an ink pen finds its way into the laundry? At last count, 2 shirts, 1 pair of favorite shorts, and a good white towel found themselves unable to be salvaged even after spraying the ink with hairspray, a method that usually works and a bleach pen. Tragic. I’ve since discovered Levis’ doesn’t make those shorts anymore and I’d just look silly wearing low hip hugging shorts. Good thing cooler weather’s coming. With fasting occasionally, I might just fit into regular pants again and won’t miss those shorts one bit. Either way, I’m going to try not to think about it.

I find out tomorrow what time our living room rug will be brought back Tuesday. We’ve missed that rug something fierce. The problem now is I have a Writer’s Group meeting Tuesday, the first pre-NaNo meeting for this year. I can’t miss that. I don’t want to miss that. Let’s hope the rug cleaners say they won’t be in the area until after 2 p.m.

Still no sign of the Breck’s bulb order. I’ll expect them no later than next week. In the meantime I’ve got 100 other bulbs waiting for the others to come in before they all get planted together. I was hoping to get them planted during the warmer weather but it looks like that’s going to happen when it’s cool and breezy, as usual.

I set up Limpy’s winter box last night for the cooler night temperatures coming. Re-duct taped the whole thing, added a top to it, and placed it where it’ll catch the most sun in the mornings to help warm it up. I wish he had a bit more fur already after being shaved by Ms. Howler Monkey a month or so ago but he’ll probably be okay. And you know me, when it gets down to 32 or below at night, I’ll cave and sneak him in to sleep in our little downstairs bathroom. Have I mentioned lately how much I don’t like Limpy’s owners? Well, I try not to think too much about it but how they treat him, especially during the winter months makes me so mad.

October 2, 2006

It’s time to start outlining my November NaNo novel and I’m doing it differently this year from years prior. This time, I’ve got a bunch of characters and a bunch of storylines. The characters are very loosely based on real people, loosely enough that no one should be able to easily identify themselves (not that those people read books anyway other than Chiltons or Hayes auto manuals). The some of the situations the characters will find themselves in are also based on real events. Again, those will be loosely based and turned enough that no one should be able to lay claim to any particular thing though enough people in the car show world and in many other hobby worlds will claim to know someone to whom this or that common occurrence happened to. You know, the usual “he slept with her and she left her husband for him” kind of thing. Also tossed in will be the gold digger, the rude, crude, and lewd brothers, the honest nice guy, the wives, the assholes, and the whipping boy.

This week I’ll pick which events to include in my story (I have an entire, single-spaced page crammed full of actual events to choose from) and assigning who and to whom each event takes place with and finding a way to thread them all together toward a climatic end. There will be a mysterious death, an age related death, and as does occur occasionally in the ‘car’ world, one or two deaths and injuries by stupidity.

I don’t have an ending yet; the one piece of writing that continues to elude me when I plan out a story. Most of the time endings come to me during the actual writing process and often more than one makes itself known. I just jot it down with any others I might have come up with and see where the story is going along the way and decide which one might work out. Sometimes one stands head and shoulders above the rest and so, that’s the one. Of course in the back of my mind the whole time, I’m sorting out the logic of each possible ending and testing each for plausibility. If there is anything I can’t stand it’s a weak ending that 1) doesn’t make sense, 2) doesn’t fit in with everything that came before it, 3) you can see coming a mile away, and 4) one that cheapens the whole reading experience. Nothing quite says “crappy writer” to me than for a decent story to just end as if the writer got tired of writing and just stopped. Of course, there are lots of novels we’ll all just like to end and yes, while those are crappy novels too, we here tend to think of them as ‘motivation’. I mean if someone can write such-and-such crap AND get it published thinking we can do better, why not try?

Next on my list of things crappy writers do to their readers would be to throw in the cliché ending and that’s usually the wall I mentally work through every time I myself am coming up on ending a story. Is this cliché; is that cliché? Should Jane fall down and twist her ankle while the monster is chasing her? Should John come to the rescue at the very last possible moment? NO! I say. Let’s have John fall down, the monster trip over his broken kneecap and Jane fall on top of the monster thusly creating an unconscious monster sandwich and saving the day.

Okay, so that was pretty crappy. I can assure you my writing is generally a bit better than that last scenario. Hopefully, you’ll know what I’m trying to get at and let’s just say I’ve got my work cut out for me this week. Exciting work true, but work nonetheless.

In the other aspect of my life that has nothing to do with writing, a frog joined me today on the front porch looking for warm sun. It was supposed to be very cloudy today but there isn’t a single one in anywhere in the blue sky. What is wonderful is the temperature is only 60. Delightful! We just may have to make chili tonight or tomorrow. Or maybe lentil soup from the recipe I posted last week for Ris.

We’ve switched from air conditioning (electric) to heat (natural gas) last night and let’s hope we don’t have to switch back. Even with shutting everything off for a couple of days last month, our electric bill was higher than this time last year and the year previous. WTF? Next summer, I’m setting the thermostat permanently to 75, maybe even 76. We’ll survive.

Still haven’t heard back from the rug cleaners. Soon, I hope! I’m going to roll around on the rug when it comes back tomorrow . . . uh, after the delivery guys leave and before any pet steps a foot on it if for nothing else but to say I did once. You’d think we bought furniture and rugs in this place for the pets and well, that sentiment just isn’t going to continue. Mom’s Fall Rules, I’m calling them. No more pets on furniture. No more pets in rooms like the old office. Old rules still apply: No pets EVER outside, peeing on anything will NOT be tolerated; The Queen and The Boy are always to be separated by study walls and strong doors, etc. It sounds like I’m such a hard-ass but really, it’s for everyone’s sanity and well being.

Okay, I’ve got to get back to my story outlining project and maybe lunch. Since fasting twice in the past two weeks, lunch seems like a luxury and one I’m going to partake in today. Hmm, salad, tuna sandwich, or Mac & Cheese? Oh, wait . . . we made fresh salsa yesterday! Score!

October 3, 2006

I’m waiting for our living room rug to be brought back after being cleaned (and deodorized!). Naturally, as such things tend to happen to me, the delivery time is smack dab in the middle of when I was supposed to go to Ris’ for the first pre-NaNo writing get together. Grrr. When I asked to reschedule the delivery time, it too would have occurred during the same time and I would still have missed the meeting. Double grrr.

So okay, I’m just waiting. And waiting. Now that I think of it, I’m still waiting for that bulb delivery too.

Last night I finished up my novel’s situation list from which I will choose several things from. NJ commented that I did a lot of think-work to get ready for my story and that’s true, though it didn’t used to be that way. I used to just jump in, winging it, maybe with a note or two scribbled down on a scrap of paper or napkin or maybe not even that. It’s fun to just go, just write, ramble; I do it every day I write an entry here and I have no doubt, I’ll do it in some writing in the future but for National Novel Writing Month, I have found it helps to have a few things done before November 1st, mainly research because if I don’t do it now, I’ll waste time I should be writing spending it online looking this or that up.

Here’s the comprehensive list I made up of just the situations I’ll pull some of my car people story events from:

- The Clubs.
- Favoritism.
- Stuffed ballot boxes.
- Bribed judges.
- Stolen ballot boxes.
- Attending shows.
- Holding a show.
- Registration & goodie bags.
- Car classifications.
- Judges.
- Show atmosphere.
- Setting up & cleaning. (The wax debates.)
- Checking competition.
- The folding chair bunch.
- People who talk ears off.
- The language. (Car talk, “stoked!” “Daddy-O, etc.)
- Children events. (Rock climbing, games, live music, DJs.)
- Law enforcement & fire trucks during and after. (Displays during, enforcement after.)
- Award ceremony. (Sponsor only and open voting.)
- Aftermath.
- Security measures – looking for weapons on low rider shows.
- Lost car show entries and fees (both purposefully and not). Purposeful misinformation given and/or withholding of information about time, place, requirements.
- Stuffed ballot boxes – Hometown advantage. Most represented clubs, longest distance awards, People’s Choice.
- Raffles gone bad. Unsafe cars given away because no one else wants them.
- Sabotage of cars, shows, clubs, and displays.
- Acts of sheer stupidity. ?
- The rumor mills:
-Purposefully lies made up to cause trouble for pleasure.
- Who’s sleeping with whom?
- Outing or impeaching members/president.
- Embezzling club funds. See Crime.
- Sabotage of club sponsorship.
- Crashing other club functions.
- Stealing cars and parts.
- Accidents – Drunk Driving, etc.
- Raffle cars built with substandard parts, overcharged parts with club members profiting, making money under the table as second business from clubs and shows.
- Supporting a beloved charity or cause. (Bread & butter to some causes.)
- Members with disease.
- Members with family tragedy.
- Club merchandise. (Jackets, stickers, jewelry, & t-shirts.)
- Club Repercussions.
- Past clubs – “Your wife nearly ran me out of car clubs completely.”
- Dual club membership rivalry.
- Friends in other clubs.
- Clubs that split.
- Quitting. (Rumors & Aftermath.)
- Divorce and Death.

- Club and Member Crime.
- Auto shop robbery.
- Club embezzlement.
- Arson.
- Theft.
- Vandalism.
- Intentional injury – A talented car detailer, envied by jealous competitors for years, has fingers cut off in an ‘accident’ when a jacked up car is quickly lowered while hands are working between fender and tire.
- Murder for hire.

- The Members: Guys.
- Racist behavior.
- Chauvinistic behavior.
- Cruelty toward difference and ugliness. See whipping boy character.
- Giving cars away to lovers or complete strangers.
- Abuse – Physical and psychological.
- Hiding assets (cars). Losing cars to ex-spouses.
- Wife swapping, drunken hot tub parties, sneaking around, contemplating murder of spouses.
- Deceit and ulterior motives for joining clubs, shows, friendships.
- The hunt for companionship either real or twisted and for selfish reasons.
- The hunt for financial security (gold diggers/groupies/sugar daddies & mamas).
- The hunt for emotional security.
- The nice guys who help and are used.
- Rich kids, rich dads.
- Posers. (“My dad built it for me.” It’s my dad’s car.” “Future mods may include this and that…”
- Theme dressers. (Saggy, greasy pants, always pulling up pants, wife beater shirts, leather, chains, aloha shirts, standard issue car shirts, bowling shirts, Vans, etc.)
- Businesses. (Good & Bad, destroyed by trophy love interests.)

- The Members: Wives, lovers, girlfriends, boyfriends, and ex-wives.
- Trophy wives.
- Racist behavior.
- Adultery.
- Abuse – Physical and psychological.
- Rumor mill.
- Attempts to form wives activities club.
- Theme dressers. (Poodle skirts, pony tails, high class hookers, etc.)
- Giving cars away to lovers or complete strangers.
- The hunt for companionship either real or twisted and for selfish reasons.
- The hunt for financial security (gold diggers/groupies/sugar daddies & mamas).
- The hunt for emotional security.

- Love, friendships, hatred between enthusiasts.
- Members with cancer or heart conditions without all the time in the world.
- Members without known illness.
- True forged lifetime friendships.
- Lifelong enemies made.
- Employment and unemployment.
- Businesses.

- Past lives.
- Abandoned families.
- Living two lives.

- Alcoholism, disease, divorce, and death. (Most told through dialog.)
- Fear or acceptance of getting old alone. Old age.
- Realization of the silliness of it all. Quitting. Selling off cars.
- Disease affecting and not affecting hobby.
- Accidents.
- Crashes, injuries working on cars, painting deaths.
- Suicide.
- Hospital visits.
- Burial in a car. Memorial shows.
- Rabid car collectors. (Hobby turned obsession, too many cars, driving different car every day, continued maintenance.)

- The cars.
- Car history. (“This used to belong to so-and-so.” “This car was painted by The Beard.” “So-and-so’s widow fought to buy this car back.” BS stories created to up the price of the car.)
- Auctions.
- The Looks.
- Body work good and bad. (Chop, channel, smoothie, French, fabricate, customizing, & molding.)
- Paint (Kandy color, ghosting, flip-flop, graphics, pin striping powder coat.)
- Engine. (Natural aspiration vs. NOS.)
- Interiors. (Liquor displays, dry ice, waterbeds, fake fur, velvet, vinyl, & fish tanks.)
- Themes. (Displays.)
- Chrome bling & anodizing. Also De-chroming.
- Hydraulics.
- Wheels & Tires. (Big dollar names – Boyd, Foose, Enkle, Pilot Sport.)
- Parts.
- Security and electrical. (Cameras, DVD, TVs, etc.)
- Building a car. (Changing front & rear ends, tranny, engines, updating, tubbing, etc.)
- Restoration. (The hunt for matching numbers & stock parts.)
- Detailing.
- Props, mirrors, & lights.

October 4, 2006

Yesterday was nearly a complete bust. In fact, had it not been for Ris’ Tuesday Tea writer’s group with Kami of Jestablog, I probably would have been reduced to actual tears before the day’s end. We had a few personal crisis’ yesterday – a lost prescription, a worrisome blood test, and our livingroom rug that smells like it never saw a $367.02 cleaning AND deodorizing.

The rug is now back out in the garage rolled up as it was all summer long WITH the new pad we just bought rolled and sitting separately so as to not absorb the stench of the cat urine that infused it’s sharp tang throughout the freshly scrubbed house yesterday. The rug cleaning company is coming back out next Tuesday to pick it up and try one more time.

But the prognosis isn’t good. It seems our $1200 rug isn’t Belgium wool after all but a very tightly woven rendition of something called cheap synthetic and once urine of any kind is in synthetic, nothing short of a garage sale gets it out. Our beautiful, beloved livingroom rug is as good as gone. Heck, I might as well stand over it and pee on it myself at this point.

Upon my arrival back to a house that reeked, I also had a message on the answering machine to call my doctor immediately regarding my blood tests last week. It shows my liver’s transverse enzymes are mildly elevated which means either 1) I’ve been taking too much Ibuprofen or Tylenol (bing!), 2) that I’m overweight (bing again!), 3) that I’m an alcoholic (not hardly) and/or 4) my liver’s getting ready to blow up.

But the nurse said it’s nothing to worry about as they all seem to be able to do. It’s like telling someone who’s having their leg hacked off not to take it personally. It is personal, just not to the person saying it.

We, the nurse and I, then proceeded to haggle for the next ten minutes over when I’d be able to “pop in” to get more blood drawn for a second test and then a week or more later, come in to sit around and wait for my doctor to show up to tell me to my face what’s going. The nurse could not comprehend my inability to get anywhere near a medical office on any day of the week other than a Friday. I know it may sound odd but there it is, plain and simple.

Except it wasn’t so plain and simple to Nurse Clod Head over the phone who told me I should take this seriously and walk to the nearest clinic. Hmm, if I’m to take it so seriously, why did she tell me not to worry about it? If I head out right this very minute I told her, I might make it there by Saturday morning. Will they be open for me?

She ignored the sarcasm and asked if I didn’t have a car to get around in, why wasn’t I home to accept the original phone call. I told her it was none of her business. And the conversation went pretty much downhill from there on out.

So, this coming Friday or earlier if I can but the chance that will happen is nearly nil, I will go get blood drawn again. Next Friday I will go back to my doctor and pay another $15 co-pay I don’t have (especially after paying for the cleaning of a rug that is FAR from clean), and sit around until she deems I’ve waited around long enough practically in the nude in a cramped, video monitored room just to tell me what I suspect I’ll hear: Lay off the Tylenol P.M., lose some weight, and get blood drawn every 3 months for the rest of your life so she can make sure I’m not lining myself up to be on a liver transplant list.

As for the lost prescription through the mail, WS’ stomach medication has been lost; we suspect it was put in the wrong P.O. Box as that practice seems to be rampant in our area. We constantly get mail deemed for other people making us wonder if this is yet another ploy to get yet another postal rate hike. It didn’t fix anything the last go around but they raised the price of stamps anyway.

The pisser in this is that our checking account was billed for the lost medication and that didn’t make WS’ stomach feel any better. Neither will haggling with the pharmacy, the post office, and the bank to sort it all out.

So, that was our Tuesday. Monkey Club meeting tonight. How was your day?

If it wasn’t that I feel so good about so many other things, I’d just be sick over the whole mess that was late yesterday afternoon but apparently, I may really be sick.

But I don’t think so.

October 5, 2006

I had blood taken today, again, and got to drive some more in the misty rain. It made the whole experience nicer than I would have thought it would be. It rained quite a bit last night too and coming home from the Monkey Club meeting, the windshield wipers on WS’ car were going full speed. The club meeting was mercifully short. It has been decided that the “neutral ground” deemed necessary to hand over old Monkey Board stuff to the new Board Monkeys won’t necessitate an additional meeting. The official “Here! Take this crap off my hands” exchange will occur at next week’s Board meeting at a location yet to be determined. That leaves only 2 meetings left. Only 2.

Insert the first of many big sighs of relief . . . and the first realization and wonder of what I’m going to do with myself from here on out. Sure, I’ve got the November novel writing challenge coming up and then there’s the holidays but after that, what? Nothing different and exciting is on the horizon. Nothing that stands out and makes someone say, “You do what? Wow, that’s different!” Nothing that would give WS bragging rights at work. Another sigh.

I’ll keep writing, that’s a given. I’ll dig last year’s novel out as well as Cabin 4 and work on editing and finishing the pair, hopefully as I’ve planned, by mid-summer. But other than that, what? I can’t remember too long a spell in my ‘enlightened’ adult life when I didn’t do something that wasn’t considered normal. To date that’s been car and car racing stuff, neither of which I want to get back into, nor can afford to get back into, for several years. I garden. Everyone gardens (Okay, maybe not JimBob or Danelle or WS for that matter). I have no idea what else I’ll get myself into at this point. It could be anything or it could be nothing. The nothing is what I fear.

I would like, in five years time, to have a book published and be making the signing rounds as a paid author. Can someone with no writing background and limited education and knowledge do this? Or maybe more importantly, can someone like me grow a tough enough skin to withstand rejection and criticism from the literary world? Why not, I say? Perhaps this will be my next adventure. I never said anything I’ve done to date has been easy.

Baking oatmeal/currant cookies tonight in preparation for a pre-National Novel Writing Month get together here tomorrow night. Kami brought huge Costco muffins over yesterday (Yums!) and WS will be grocery shopping and picking a few needed things tomorrow morning. I’ll be working on laundry, mopping, and dusting, as usual and anxiously waiting to see if anyone shows up. I say anxious not because I’m worried, but because my excitement is running high for this year’s novel writing challenge.

October 7, 2006

Our writer’s group meeting last night here was all good. Ris and Kami have good starts on their upcoming NaNo novels. WS and I are still working on ours to get to their level. We voiced where in our story outline process we’d like to be next week. I’ve got to settle my characters down in my head long enough to assign them roles to play and situations to find themselves in. There’s nothing quite like having to keep unruly characters in line, especially the ones who take on a strong life of their own and want to play Napoleon. My job as author is to not let the Napoleons steal the story or lead it down the wrong path fraught with British soldiers.

I spent the morning looking up southern sayings one of my characters is apt to spout off. Things like, “He jumped on that like a duck on a June bug,” “He’s as full of shit as a Christmas goose” “It’s hotter than two rabbits making babies in a sock,” “I’m busier than a cat covering crap on a marble floor,” “I’ll beat you so bad you’ll feel like you were ate by wolves and shit over a cliff, “ and “He was madder than a mule chewing bumblebees!” Gotta love some of those. I now have a list four pages long to choose a few from.

Today is the beginning of a dry, hot spell (hot for October). Looks like it’ll be 80 degrees F. most of the week. We made chili today because we both had a hankering for it and knew it’d be too warm later in the week to enjoy it. I’m going back on another fast Monday and will, WILL, stay on it through Friday. I have a doctor’s appointment Friday afternoon (Another $15, thankyouverymuch!) and it’ll be interesting to see if I’ve lost any weight this time around like she wants me to. I was disappointed, though not overly so, to see I hadn’t dropped a pound on my last four-day fast. Sometimes you do, sometimes you don’t, I guess. I still felt better than when I’m eating regularly so I’ll keep doing it on and off throughout the rest of the year.

The Howler Monkeys are holding another garage sale today. I’ve been worried all afternoon their ignored cat Limpy is going to get hit by a speeding SUV, or jump into one of the SUVs that most of the owners jump out of, leaving the doors hanging wide open, as they check out the garage packed with unwanted crap for sale. Limpy is so people-starved, he’s attracted to anyone who’s talking.

Earlier I was sitting out front with him and a couple zoomed up, hopped out, and stood on the sidewalk in front of our house commenting loudly on our landscaping. When they saw me sitting up by the door, they stopped in mid-sentence and got back into their SUV and zoomed off, completely forgetting to check out the garage sale across the street that they surely came for originally. It made me feel self conscious and so I’m back inside, typing this, and worrying still about the Limpster. I’m sure he’ll be fine.

October 9, 2006

I worked on an outline to my November novel all day Sunday, literally all day. I started with four things I knew had to happen and try as I may beforehand, I didn’t have a single other thing in mind. I looked at the situation outline I posted here last week and things started flowing. I had to have that listed situation crop up and that listed situation has to be a part of it and before I knew it, my outline was forming almost faster than I could write it all down (longhand as I initially prefer – one of my author quirks).

After I had written it all out, I came upstairs and typed it all out, adding additional information here and there where it was lacking. Since this was the version I planned on using during the writing process, I need it to be as complete and descriptive as possible without being overly long and wordy.

Then I remembered a plot line that simply must be included. I added it and was feeling pretty proud of myself, especially since I hadn’t planned on being able to finish this for another week or two. Then I glanced at my character list and discovered I had left out half a dozen fairly important people! I wove them into the story here and there and then I discovered a few minor characters that I had mentioned in the very beginning but didn’t mention again until the very end. Didn’t they have roles to play in the middle of the story? I’m sure I had something lined up for them but it seemed that I had lost my purpose for them. Damned stand-ins anyway!

So I got them all situated and reread the whole outline while taking notes of missing parts and plot holes. Yet again, when I finished reading, I had a whole paragraph of missing characters, characters without explanation or history, protagonists and antagonists running around with no point of interaction, etc. What the heck was I spending my time doing? I might as well have been sitting here for seven hours doodling or something!

All I could think of was how proud of myself I was to complete my story outline and I kind of wonder what exactly I thought I was doing because what I ended up with is a pretty lackadaisical, hole-riddled outline. Obviously I need to try harder and I will. Obviously I need a big-ass 10 foot by 10 foot wall that’s nothing but whiteboard so I’d have enough space to write out everyone’s point, plot, and interaction with everyone else. I’m going to have to do something like that to keep everyone straight and everyone included in the story. A computer screen or single piece of paper just doesn’t have enough room. (I envision myself with dozens of sheets of paper laid out on the floor in the room formerly known as The Office and yelling at anyone or anything that might disturb it.)

Yeah, it ought to be a fun week.

October 10, 2006

Another sign fall has arrived: The east winds and garbage blowing around the neighborhood.

Every fall and throughout winter, the slightest breeze from way east of us funnels itself through the mountain passes, over hills, and around tall stands of ancient trees to grace our neighborhood street with pizza boxes from eight houses up, sections of the Wall Street Journal from the guy five houses up who’s thinking of dabbling in the market, and strand upon strand of glittery iridescent confetti I strongly suspect is from The Wall Streets next door that threatens to drown our lawn. If I thought it would do any good, I would fetch each of these items and return them to the clueless owners who insist on placing all their lightweight blowsy items on the very top of their recycling piles, but then the street and I would only see them a second time. People don’t want to learn.

Why is it so difficult to understand that any sane person would never put their newspaper or paper products recycling bin on top of their much heavier weighted metals and glass bin? Do people not understand what happens when the slightest breeze hits that pile of unbundled newspaper? Do they not understand why there are other yards full of their garbage when they drive home from work in the evening?

“Hey look, honey! Those people decorate their lawns with the exact same lasagna boxes we buy at Trader Joes! Small world, huh?”

They have no idea how small.

The flyers we get from the recycling company even instruct homeowners on placing bins containing lightweight items ON THE BOTTOM of the recycling pile. I know this for a fact because those flyers are often blown into our yard too. But people have a will of their own; they will do whatever they want; will choose the easiest route and damn anyone else on the planet.

Which is exactly why I should be saving every scrap of paper, ribbon, and plastic bag, every box, container, and milk jug, every used diaper, every fast food wrapper and cup and soda can that ever has graced our yard and give back to the community in the form of dumped garbage on their lawns, all of them – maybe for Christmas morning! That way, when I get it all back, I can have the same satisfaction that everyone else around here must feel: Ah yes, I have helped create a neighborhood eyesore.

I love fall, but I hate this aspect of it.

October 11, 2006

Odd things are a foot in the neighborhood. In the past two days I have witnessed:

A man dressed all in black wearing a long black robe walking down the street, undress behind a black SUV (exposing his large, overlapping beer gut and long black hair growing from his shockingly pale shoulders and back), and then screeched down the street out of the neighborhood. We think it was a priest – last rites maybe?

A woman up the street who locked her keys in her SUV while the hazard lights were flashing, and discovered she had pulled too close to her garage door to let her open or close it. She waited nearly three hours outside her house before someone came to her aid. Apparently, she locked her house keys and her cell phone in the vehicle too. Oopsie!

Cap’t Dan’s wife weeding their side of our rock wall in back. The four year old weeds were four feet tall back there yet they’ve told me they don’t want me to weed back there, something I would gladly do. She, who is rarely seen outside her home, has finished half the job. Mark your calendars.

The man in black was very odd. He didn’t have a white collar on with his black get up. In fact, the gown with its big poofy sleeves and pleated front nearly down to his black athletic shoes looked more like a high school graduation gown. Perhaps he was performing a home wedding. Perhaps it was a circumcision. I believe there is one new baby on the street. There is also a dying woman though I saw her today up and walking around, although rather stiffly. Perhaps it was a miracle.

The woman who locked her keys in her car has shown signs of ineptitude since moving in two months ago. It’s pretty sad when an average onlooker can figure that out in such a short period of time. I keep expecting her to barrel through her garage door and I have no doubt she’ll do just that someday. The SUV seems to be a bit too much power for her to handle up an angled driveway. Sigh, what life must be like to be young, have a big new vehicle and a new expensive house (much more than ours is worth) and not have much of a brain. How does that happen?

Speaking of expensive homes, we’ve got our first half million dollar house up for sale in our neighborhood. One of the daylight basements down by the creek is asking $500,000. Three stories, multiple fireplaces, gas range, theatre room and wine cellar, huge back deck and backed up to thick trees and scrub brush making the need for blinds or curtains unnecessary. What I wouldn’t give. I do hope they get their half a million because it’ll only mean our house will be worth more in the long run. Still, that’s a big price and a gutsy move.

And finally, proof that kind people still exist. Kami of Jestablog took in a stray cat the other day that she and others believe was dumped in her neck of the woods. After getting a relatively clean bill of health from the vet, plus a neuter, a wounded leg drained and cleaned up, antibiotics, and a bath, he’s been named Wizard, or G. Wiz for short and will be living in the lap of luxury indoors throughout the coming winter. Good choice, Wiz. You couldn’t have picked a better family to live with. If you get a chance, let Kami knows how cool she is for opening up her home and her heart for another.

October 12, 2006

One Monkey club meeting left. An event after the meeting last night almost made it all worthwhile – I and I alone got to drive a new 2007 C6 ZO6 Corvette, a 500 horsepower car with 87 miles on it that belongs to Ms. Snooty’s husband. Hey, she was showing it off, having driven it alone to the meeting and all the Monkey males were taking turns sitting in it. When they were done getting their testosterone all worked up, I sat in it and she came over, closed the door, and started it up. Then she walked off and back into the building.

Now in case you don’t know, these new ones don’t have an ignition key, just a push button. The actual ‘key’ just has to be within so many feet of the car. I found it in the ash tray. I hadn’t read up on how to turn it off after it’s started (I now know you press the lower right side side of the button) because I don’t see myself buying one anytime soon. But the guys were daring me to drive it around the block while Ms. Snooty inside and out of sight. I resisted at first, several times actually, but I wasn’t going to get out of the car and leave it sitting there idling. One of the guys would probably hop in and do a burn out through the parking lot or something horrible given this bunch. I couldn’t let that happen. Not to this beauty.

So, being the caring individual I am but listening to my pounding heart that knew I’d never again get the chance, I drove it around the block. Slowly. Politely. No burn outs or over revving the engine. I have respect for cars with only 87 miles on the odometer, especially pretty cars like this that get my panties all in a bundle. Ms. Snooty came back out just after I parked it exactly back where it was and no one was the wiser. Yeah, I know the guys will squeal on me but I don’t care. Not at this point in the game. The experience was almost enough to make me take back all those bad things I said about not getting to drive that Saleen S7 twin turbo last spring. Almost. And this was worth every slow, creeping foot I drove.

I begin a fast in earnest today. A serious fast. Not for 4 days or 5 days or even 7 days. I’ll be attempting to go for 10 long days of healthful body cleansing and rest. It’s what I’ve been working up towards. It’ll be difficult I’m certain but I have faith in myself if given some encouragement when I need it and I know myself and my body enough to feel comfortable enough to try it. It’ll all be mental after day 3 and sometimes, my brain is not my friend. Let’s hope I don’t give in to it too early.

October 13, 2006

*Pant, pant* I’ve been on the run all day it seems. WS’ dental appointment (went well), my second doctor visit (went exceptionally well), a bit of needed shopping, and now cleaning the house to get ready for a writer’s group meeting here at 7.

My doctor says I’ve lost nine pounds since my last visit and she’s happy. Naturally, she’d be happier if I lost another 30 and so would I. Time, it’s going to take time. My liver enzyme numbers that were scary high two weeks ago are back to normal just like I suspected they would be after going cold turkey on the Tylenol PM. I’ve been sleeping well enough with needing to take that stuff and I’ll learn to live without it now that I know it can screw up a person’s liver. Yikes! The doctor said if I don’t lose weight, I’ll be heading toward developing fatty liver disease; basically turning my liver into fois gras. And to think I actually used to eat that stuff, as inhumane as it turns out that stuff is to create. Shame on me and never again. I certainly don’t need to be creating my own either.

Day 2 of the lime water fast and I’ve been too busy to notice if I was hungry or not. The lime juice and pulp help keep a check on my potassium and electrolyte levels as well as a touch of Agave Nectar sweetener I add to the water. I remember my body building days and reading about the death of a famous body builder who fasted himself right into death from a heart attack. I’m on a heightened alert for anything that feels wrong or out of character. Thank you, JimBob, for reminding me of that.

October 15, 2006

Day 4 out of 10 of my lime juice/water fast and I’m feeling pretty good. A bit tired but nothing I wouldn’t normally feel on a cool and rainy afternoon like today. That’s right, we’ve finally got rain. Wonderful, washing, wet rain and temperatures in the high 50’s. I couldn’t possibly want to sleep through this. I’ve been waiting for this time of year for too long!
After a couple of days of my eye not liking its contact any longer, I was able to get a new one in without much trouble (for once) and come back to the world of writing and books.
I finished a Michel Faber book I had been struggling through called, Under the Skin” and I have to say, it’s the oddest book I have ever read. Yet lots of people say it’s brilliant right down to the author’s crappy and Oh-So-Convenient ending. Yet for as much as everyone says it’s good and I don’t, it makes a great motivational story for anyone who thinks they can write a novel themselves. Right up my alley given that National Novel Writing Month is 16 days away. Do I have my story plotted out and ready to go? Not exactly, but I’m further along than WS is with his (and I think his is a much better story). I acknowledge I have a problem writing good guy characters probably because I haven’t met very many of them in real life and that’s where I’m currently stuck. But I’ll be ready come 12:01 a.m. on November 1st don’t worry about that.
Yesterday I received the results of the mammogram I had to get a couple of weeks ago and everything is good. No problems at all. That’s a huge relief. It’s been just over two years since my huge fibroid tumors were removed (lovingly named Emil at 23 pounds and Hubert at 5 pounds each) and there was a small part of me that worried it would be something else this time around.
In fact back in 1996, at my very first mammogram, something was found and I wrote about it. You know me by now, I’ll write about near anything. So, over the next week and in celebration of 10 years of clear, unlumpy breasts, I’ve decided to post my words from that period in my life.
A word to the wise: If you are squeamish, you may skip this place for a few days. But if you want to educate yourself on procedures and how a relatively normal person is affected by them, you might want to stick around.
From 1996:
It’s July 20th, 1996 and after my yearly physical, my doctor asks if I would like to have my first mammogram. Uh, sure, I spout off. I turn 40-years old in nine days. It wasn’t as bad as people lead you to believe. It smashes your breasts but nothing too bad and nothing really exciting to write home about.
About forty minutes later, the mammogram people tell me I have been scheduled to come back for an Ultra sound. No, they couldn’t tell me why. This begins eating on my brain rather rapidly. I barely remember agreeing to the appointment and picking up my paperwork.
I thought I would call the Ultra sound people today and ask them what I should expect next week at my appointment. The first woman didn’t know a thing even though she worked there. So I asked to speak to someone else. She said she was the only one there. Hmm….I think. Okay. And I hang up.
I wait about 3 minutes and call them back.
Lo and behold, someone different answers the phone (no duh) and I ask her what I should expect. She was fairly informative and told me that the mammography people obviously want to look more closely at some area inside one of my breasts (a likely story) and actually, it is a quite common occurrence with large breasts. She wasn’t sure if I would need to take anything along but to bring deodorant because I will have to remove any that I am wearing at the time. Deodorant shows up on X-rays as cancer patches. Interesting, huh? She could tell me if they plan on smearing jelly or anything on my boobs in order to do the ultrasound but I do recall seeing a jelly substance on any pregnancy ultrasound I have seen, so I will probably bring a washcloth and soap just in case. I mean, who wants to smell like jelly all day? Especially since I am certain it won’t be grape jelly or anything that smells good…

October 16, 2006

Day five out of ten of my lime juice/water fast. I was in serious danger of caving last night and giving up. I’m still here though, halfway through. Please don’t let the next five days be as hard as last night.
And now, The Ten-Year Old Mammogram story continued. Written in 1996:
I went in for my Boob Ultra Sound today. Yeppers, one of them has something there. Something small. Undetectable by human feel. Something that is definitely not a common everyday household cyst. It is a tumor.
So a doc talked to me about having 5 core samples done in it to find out whether it is benign (nothing wrong here) or malignant (HEI-HO! We got ourselves a WINNER!). Core samples are routine now having come into existence because so many women were afraid of the slight to mild scarring that just removing the small tumor can produce. Core Sampling requires a needle threaded with a hooked wire be inserting into the breast and the tumor and 5 hollowed needles then inserted using the wire as a guideline into the tumor to remove samples. Any scar is equivalent to that of a small nick in the skin.
There is then a 2 day minimum wait for them to check out whether the tumor is okay or bad. If it is okay, you can decide if you would like to leave it alone or have it removed. If it is bad, they schedule its removal.
Sounds to me like the possibility of going through two procedures is kind of silly when one will do both jobs at once. I couldn’t give an elephant’s butt about scarring as I was already talking to a doc about breast reduction surgery which leaves a MUCH bigger scar than removing an inch or more of internal mass.
So I go for a pre-op talk next Tuesday afternoon with a Dr. Butterfield. I am having the tumor removed one way or the other. No, this bothers me WAY less than the Not-Knowing-Why-I-Had-To-Have-The-Ultra Sound did.
You see, some women put way less importance on their breasts … unlike some guys feel about their ‘nads.
One week later:
Tomorrow I go down for my pre-surgery talk with the infamous Dr. Butterfield to go over which hack and slash method will be the one of choice in my case. I am not really looking forward to this talk, but, maybe not too surprisingly, I am VERY MUCH looking forward to the actual surgery itself. I think I will only be getting a local shot and should be wide awake for the whole thing. If so, I am gonna ask to see the tumor upon removal.
I think that is only fair.
I mean, I grew the stupid thing…

October 17, 2006

Well, Dr. Butterfield, henceforth forever known as Dr. Butterknife, is an old fart. I wanted to ask to see some ID that stated his age. I am sure he is retirement age or beyond. Kinda scary I thought so throughout our “chat”, I watched his hands carefully. Steady as a rock. Drugs will sometimes do that for a person.
He asked me right off the bat how I was doing in this weather. I started to explain about our garden shed at our rental house and that nasty windstorm we had here last month, and how it went Bye-Bye for good yesterday in yet another big wind storm, and that we will be tearing it down next weekend and throwing it in the trash, but I only got out a couple of words when he began telling me all about the mudslides he has been having around his place “up in the West Hills where I live”. I let him go on and on about his “nice, big mansion” that he was worried about. I didn’t tell him I figured he could afford any damage but I thought it real loud.
He went on to explain about how the surgery will go and that he would try to do minimum scarring. I told him that scarring was the least of my worries and this surprised him. He said he had never heard of anyone saying such a thing and asked me why I said that.
I told him I never cared for my breasts and it would suit me fine if I were flat as a board, before he interrupted again. He went on to say that he didn’t think I was large enough to have to worry about breast reduction, something he noted that was in my file per my request, and that he seriously doubted that my breasts had EVER given me any problems.
I didn’t say what I was thinking. I mean, this man was gonna hack on me with a sharp instrument in a week. So I kept to myself that he didn’t think THEY didn’t give me any problems because THEY DON’T HANG OFF HIS CHEST.
If he had my size breasts hanging as, oh say, gonads, do you think he would want ‘nad reduction? I don’t think so. He’d be the type that would swing them around and probably be giving himself black eyes with the monsters.
He then went on to tell me something I really REALLY didn’t want to hear. No, it wasn’t anything about the surgery, or the pain, or the scarring, or the needles. Nope. He told me about his personal hobby. Nude art. Yep. He told me he considered himself an expert on what looked right and what didn’t and he went on to tell me, “You have centerfold breasts……BEFORE the airbrushing.”
Oh Plluuuuuuuuueeezeeeeeeeeee. I had heard it all now. But NO, There’s MORE!!!! He then asked how my husband thought about my wanting reduction surgery or any scarring. I told him WS didn’t care one way or the other. They are my boobs afterall. Dr. Butterknife looked shocked. I wanted to add that I was not aware that women’s breasts existed solely for men’s enjoyment and why in the world would what WS think about it matter? But once again, I held my tongue because….well, Dr. Butterknife holds the knife.
So, I passed his test, finished our “chat” and I get cut on May 6th 1996. If they find out it is cancer, I go back 4 days later and they hack some more plus I get to do radiation therapy (an oxymoron). The good thing about radiation and chemotherapy is that it shrinks a women’s breasts. Sigh…..I knew there had to be something to look forward to at the end of all of this…
During my wait for Boob Surgery Day ’96, I recalled something Dr. Butterfinger told me about my tumor. He said it is about 2 1/2 centimeters big and something that size had to been growing in there for about 5 to 6 years.
Huh, that takes me back to just after I moved up here to Washington State. So in reviewing my life and in going back to anything I may have eaten or exposed myself to in that 5 to 6 year time frame, I have succeeded in driving myself almost completely bonkers.
I remember ‘touching’ the water in the Columbia River with a pinkie finger. I used to let the mist water in the produce departments of grocery stores fall on me. I used to purposely eat Burgerville burgers. I started gardening in the Northwest WITHOUT the use of chemicals. I played in the first snowfall of that first winter here.
At that point, I had not eaten any fish from the Columbia River nor fished there. I had not over-exposed myself to the Northwest sunshine, what little there is of it. The coffee
craze had not taken hold of me nor the country at that time and I never drank coffee before. I have never taken a vacation nor visited any potential health sites since living here such as Hanford, The Dalles, Seattle, or Mount St. Helens.
Since this sort of thing does not run in my family, that leaves only 3 possibilities: The brief time spent living with WS’ mother when we first moved up here, probably not long enough to cause tumor growths but definitely enough to cause suicide, 2) my unfortunate few years working at Farmer’s Insurance where they used to blow out the dirt from the heater/cooler ducts down onto the employee’s desks with regularity (most likely source), or 3) that it really doesn’t matter what you do or how you live your life; if you are gonna get something, be it a scratch on your knee or cancer of your entire body, you are just gonna get it. No amount of living good, exercise, diet or thinking only good, clean thoughts are gonna save your butt. So make your life worth something to yourself and go out with no regrets.
I like this last sentence and to prove it, I am eating potato chips and twinkies as I type this. And neither of them are those mamby-pamby ‘light’ varieties either. Hmpf.”
Future Entries

It’s a sad day when you realize your significant other is a non-believer. All the time and effort put into things seem silly to them. They roll their eyes at the mention of stuff and it’s clear they are merely tolerating your behavior. Am I talking about a political stance or religion, a manner of dress or code of conduct, a belief or conviction? No, this is about something I consider much more serious: The topic of having a home emergency kit and now that THAT has come to light, should the worst happen, I’m giving serious thought to not sharing the stash I’ve accumulated. If we should find ourselves butt-deep in volcanic ash, I may or may not share my sealed tins of dried apricots. Should we wake up with water swirling around our bed on the second floor, I may or may not share my waterproof matches or plastic sheeting. Should our country be nuked and we survive, I may or may not share my dual pack of N95 dust masks, nor aspirin or Mountain House dehydrated pork product or antibacterial hand soap that I’m sure will be totally pointless at that time and so, I might give you that anyway. Call me generous.

October 19, 2006

I’m getting a slow start today and although that’s because I’m cleaning things here and there, I’m enjoying ever minute of it for one big, fat reason:

I’m no longer a Monkey. I’m FREE!

Last night’s Monkey club meeting was my last as club Secretary. My only duties were to hand out the previous meeting minutes. The new Secretary Monkey took the minutes so I could just sit there and pay attention to all the dynamics and subtleties I usually miss. It’s worse than I thought in that department but anyway, I read a short little statement about how I appreciated everyone’s patience and confidence in my year-long abilities, blah, blah, blah, mostly half-truths and nothing that would moisten anyone’s back side. I wanted to give the appearance of going out in a classy, thankful manner and I think I did well.

The Monkey Spies then made a big to-do about me not attending the Monkey Club year-end banquet last weekend and presented me with a couple of items from the event: An autumn flower arrangement and a plaque with my name and office I held engraved on it in thanks for my time served service.

After the meeting, I was treated to dessert at a local restaurant known for its formerly good food. I thought that was a very nice gesture and was glad I wasn’t still fasting because they were so terribly insistent, but I only ate half of it, not because a teensy-tiny, minuscule part of me wondered if the off-sour tasting cheesecake was poisoned or anything (geesh, could I think any more dramatically?), but because it really tasted horrible. And I generally like cheesecake.

During dessert, I found out the reason why President Ms. Snooty pressed me so hard last week on whether I’d be attending the event or not: She had personalized stationary made up for everyone and didn’t want to pay the extra cost of a set for me if I wasn’t going to be there. Perhaps tacky, but it makes sense I suppose. I got to look at another Monkey’s stationary to see what I had missed and to be honest, I probably would have tossed it in the paper recycle bin, not out of ingratitude, but because Ms. Snooty had “2006 (Board Office Held)” imprinted on each alongside the Monkey’s name. No one, including myself could understand why she would include that when just four days later, the new batch of Board Monkeys would be taking over and we’d all become ex-Monkeys. Then again, you have to understand she’s got an inside edge with a stationary shop just around the corner from her office and the whole thing probably cost her zip.

Anyway (again), it’ll probably take a month or two for the edge to wear off and for the realization to sink in that I don’t have to spend three to four weeks out of every month listening to and dodging that immature, vindictive bunch. I’m proud of myself for coming out of the back side relatively wiser, smarter, and actually less bitter than I went in. I gained much more with the experience than they will ever know, accomplished one of my life goals in the process, and gathered a wealth of things to write about. I know I’m biased and all and would like to be humble about it but I’m not going to be in saying that I honestly believe that club has lost something important they never even bothered to realize they had. I wish them luck.

October 20, 2006

Yesterday was an incredible day. One of those rare, perfect days when everything and I do mean everything goes right. Yeah, so I didn’t win a lottery or anything nor did all our debt magically disappear but everything else went just great. I’ve found over the years, days like yesterday seem to happen more often during autumn than at any other time of year for us. Is it any wonder we love fall?

But . . . Issue Number One: Today is a completely different day. Actually, as soon as darkness fell last night, the tide turned. That’s when I discovered an event I was going to attend in November, wasn’t the first weekend of November as I was certain it was, but over the third weekend which butts directly up against the same time we had wanted to keep clear in the off chance we’d get to go out of town. My fault completely. I want to say I’d swear on my mother’s grave that I heard it was the 3rd, 4th, and 5th of November and NOT the 17th, 18th, and 19th but we all know how I feel about my dead mother and how likely it is I’d use a swear word or two when mentioning her.

If I decide to attend anyway, I’ll only be able to attend half the event and even that will be cutting into time I need to prepare for our trip. But because I hold myself to my own personal high standard of preferring to keep to my word, I’m scrambling this morning to rearrange schedules and have decided to still attend the event down in Portland because last year, I said I would.

Issue Number Two: Our long-lost roommate whom we haven’t seen in ten or more years is coming to town this weekend and has asked that we meet up with him. In fact, he’d like to see us and meet with his fiancé this evening. The problem is we already had plans for this evening which overrode our original pre-NaNo writing group plans for this evening. Will we get to see our old roommate later in the weekend before he heads back to Phoenix and alleviate the schedule conflict? Not likely. We’ve got a tough choice to make this afternoon and I don’t think anyone’s going to be happy in the end.

Issue Number Three: We’ve got grocery shopping and a hair appointment for WS tightly scheduled for this afternoon which are butting up against important job teleconference meeting calls WS has to attend on and off all day. Add in a hand car wash sorely needed for his car, and a quick lawn mow, both before it gets dark at 5, another house vacuuming, some laundry, and clutter pickup, and come 7:30 tonight, the last thing we’re probably going to want to do is be social and cordial to anyone. It makes me wish I knew about any of this earlier in the week but then again, with it raining outside and the pets shedding like crazy inside because we switched over from air conditioning to the heater, there wouldn’t have been much I could do about most of it until the very last minute anyway. I need to just suck it up and get over myself.

But have I mentioned lately I’d done serving time in the Monkey Car Club?

October 24, 2006

It’s been a hectic last few days and I’m trying to wind down from all the excitement. Writing group meetings, long lost friend dinners, visits from friends and all that entails, re-scheduling this and that, yard work, bulb planting, car washes, cleaning, and working, ever working on my November novel outline has got me pooped and wanting nothing more than to sleep the sleep of the dead. Well, if I’m that tired, I’d better get as much as I can between now and October 31st because none of us writers get much sleep during November’s National Novel Writing Month. I’m already wondering how many caffeine headaches I might put myself through during that time especially given I haven’t caffeinated myself that much since last November. It might not be pretty but I can’t write while I’m sleeping (no comments from the peanut gallery, please).

I missed Ris’ Writer’s group meeting yesterday because my head wasn’t screwed onto my shoulders yet from the busy weekend when everything hinged on Sunday night’s long lost friends dinner at Portland’s Ringside Restaurant. If someone were to promise to feed me anything I wanted every day for a year, I’d be hard pressed not to want Ringside’s Australian lobster tail, plain, without butter. That whopper was easily three pounds of succulent meat, sans shell, if it was an ounce. I thought I had died and gone to lobster heaven.

But now that our pre-planned expensive October is nearly over, it’s time to get back to our normally scheduled tight budget. We went grocery shopping last Friday and for the second time in a row of shopping at WinCo, we lost our tempers with each other. This is not business-as-usual for us! Something in that store or something in our process of shopping there has got us snapping at each other within thirty seconds of walking into the place. Maybe it’s the overwhelming feeling of being smothered under a wet blanket upon entering, or the disparity coarsely etched on everyone’s faces, or the high pitched squeal I, and I’m sure others can hear slightly over the din of conversation. Maybe it’s seeing elderly people hobbling around inside with tattered shopping lists clutched in one hand, a near empty hand basket in the other, and the hint of tears in their rheumy eyes.

Last time we shopped there, an old woman in a wheelchair was pulling herself slowly down one aisle using one functioning hand and a foot. She had tears streaming down her face and looked like her motions were almost too much for her to bear. There were two cans of beans nestled in her thin, bony lap and I watched as half a dozen store employees walked by and didn’t seem to notice her. I suppose I could have stepped up and asked if she needed any help, but I’m ashamed to say I didn’t. I had tears welling in my own eyes due in part to the sharp abruptness of realizing this is one of the last places people go to shop when they can still afford to pay for food. The next stop is usually the perpetually empty food bank or one of the homeless shelters.

This shopping trip WS was very frustrated because nearly everything we’d been buying since mid-July had increased in price. I had heard food prices were going up in November and although nothing was outrageously priced, everything was a penny or a nickel or more higher than it had been just two weeks before and it all added up to us having to cut back a bit here and there on our ‘wish list’ grocery items; things like canned pumpkin pie filling, cookie baking supplies, an extra backup box of dryer sheets – things we can certainly live without. The previous trip, and since we’ve been so strict with our grocery spending all along, we were finally able to stock our pantry cupboard fairly well for the first time since July. Me going a week without eating certainly helped keep most of that food around, and this trip helped keep us stocked in canned food, but WS wasn’t happy, and that added to that day’s irritation . . . which bled over into Saturday a bit. We used that dry and very windy morning to burn off the bad vibes doing yard work and napped in the afternoon.

When I got up, the left side of my face was swollen and puffy and my eye was half-closed; probably allergy related from whatever was blowing in the strong wind, and I worried about how I’d look come Sunday night. I dabbed a little left over Benadryl spray on it every few hours and the next day, the swelling was nearly gone by the time we got to the restaurant and everything turned out well.

We’ve had a discussion about shopping at WinCo in the future and while we haven’t made any decision on whether we will continue to shop there either together as usual or separate, we’ll figure out something before November 3rd, our next scheduled trip.

Yesterday, during laundry and vacuuming and cleaning in The Queen’s room (and forgetting Ris’s writing group meeting), I took a few pictures with Seth and The Boy with one of our newest luxuries – Green apples.

October 25, 2006

Have you ever wanted to do something badly but can’t seem to get over something negative someone in your past said about it? Yeah, me too but I’m working on changing that, slowly but surely.

Tonight I’m going to a small publishing company’s open house down in Portland. Do I think it will do anything for me and my writing? Probably not but you never know. I’ve heard that publishers, big and small, network like nobody’s business and it pays to make a good impression. I might learn something too. One of my favorite things of late is learning more and more about the writing world. I’m looking forward to going.

November is rapidly approaching and I’ll be looking for ways to pull extra time and energy out of a hat. At 12:01 a.m. on Wednesday, the 1st, National Novel Writing Month begins and yes, I’ll probably be up then typing away to get a good start to the month. WS plans on knocking out 10,000 words on his novel in just the first two days. I’ll be much slower I’m sure.

After 3 p.m. on Thursday, November 2nd is a Holiday Open House at one of our favorite decorating shops close by. I wasn’t on their A-list for the past two years but I made sure we were this year for the preview night. Costs us nothing but a few cans of food for the local food bank and we get champagne and hors d’oeuvres and the opportunity to gaze upon all kinds of sparkly, glittery Holiday decorations . . . that we don’t have buy any of which is good because 1) we can’t afford anything, and 2) we’ve got enough of our own decorations to glitz up our entire neighborhood. I just can’t get enough of looking at them. It’s cheap entertainment that goes a long way toward getting us in the holiday mood.

On the 10th, I get my hair done finally (it’s budgeted). On the 17th and 18th, I’m attending a Science Fiction writing conference in Portland (also budgeted). On the 19th, we go out of town for a few days but only if we’ve both written our 50,000 words for our November novels. On the 25th, two of our pets have vet checkups and the 30th is the last Novel writing day as well as the day we usually put up Christmas lights. Add in a trip or two to the grocery store and don’t forget every Sunday, Monday, and Friday I’ve got writer’s meetings.

I’m sure I’m forgetting something else. It’ll come to me. And then I’ll probably have to re-arrange the whole schedule. Again.

But all in all, I love November!

October 26, 2006

This entire past summer I read one How-To-Write book after another, back to back; some of the most highly recommended books on the subject the English language has to offer. I read not too many nor not too few; just enough to completely forget everything I’ve read from the very beginning. If that’s not frustrating enough, every book seemed to have within it a little exercise called ‘Describe your story in one sentence or less.’

Now, if you couldn’t already guess, I basically suck at naming things, assigning titles, and coming up with descriptions. I suck worse at doing it in one sentence, even more so with less. A synopsis? My mind goes blank. What’s a synopsis? A five sentence paragraph with opening hook? Paragraph? What’s a paragraph? Please, go away, you’re hurting my brain. It sounds too much like how I involuntarily react to taking a test. Not a single thing happens upstairs. It’s like I’ve become a turd lying out in the yard. It’s all I can do to prevent the ‘deer in the headlights’ look.

Until last night, that is. I might have had a breakthrough though I really think it was just luck. The last How-To-Write book I’m reading before November 1st asks the reader to find the ‘intent’ of their writing using only three words. Better yet, find it using one word. If you can’t state the intent of your story in one word, you’ve either got some work to do or you’ve got crap.

It took me all of ten seconds to find the intent of my November novel. It’s “Obsession.”

Yeah, I’m proud of myself. My only worry now is straining my arm trying to pat myself on my back.

I went to the publishing company’s open house last night with WS and Kami of Jestablog. There were lots of people there interested in science fiction-y stuff and no one really interested in my style of writing, not that I walked around with a bold printed sign that read “I’m a Psycho Thriller Writer.” But it was interesting nonetheless with people talking and showing interest in each other’s reasons for being there. It makes me almost long for a regular fiction writing convention or publishing open house. Almost. I still have tons to learn before I’m ready for one of those. I still need to work on my people skills, my communication skills, my confidence projection while hiding the terrified interior self, and most of all, I need to work on my writing.

I’m feeling like I’m in a bit of a vacuum lately without anyone around me that writes like me and as much as I want to believe that could be a good thing (maybe I’m creating a new style of genre writing), I think overall, it might not be in my learning’s best interest. Someday I’m going to have to expand, I’m going to have to jump, to walk off that ledge believing that something else lies there hidden in the mist that will support me through to the other side.

Or maybe this feeling is the result of reading some of those How-To-Write books. Maybe my subconscious is remembering just enough tidbits from them to screw up my thinking. Really, there’s nothing like feeling proud of oneself in one moment, and then questioning the point a few minutes later. But then again, isn’t this what all struggling artists go through?

October 27, 2006

Well, it’s been a long, quiet summer living next to The Dimmers; a summer that melded into early fall without much incident. No sheriff cruisers pulling up in response to the latest Dimmer 911 call because they couldn’t log onto the Internet, no loud, obnoxious yodeling or foul language blaring out their open windows (since early July), even the daily ritual slamming of the shared gated fence seemed softer, gentler, better timed to a slightly more reasonable hour of the morning.

That all ended this week but then again, we should have known better. It is the end of the month after all and that means one thing – The Dimmers are out of their medications.

Monday, I awoke to Ms. Dimmer going through all her neighbors recycling bins. Clink, clank, rummage, rummage, crash, tinkle. It wasn’t like she was looking for anything to take but more of just a stirring of the glass and aluminum in which each brown bin held. After a few minutes of mixing various bins up and down the street, she went back inside.

Tuesday Mr. Dimmer got into a shouting match with his neighbor across the street. Don’t know what that was all about and frankly, I didn’t care to find out. It’s bad enough living next door to the guy, watching him react to the hallucinations he says he experiences most every day. Still, he was pretty good friends with that neighbor and had done some siding work for the guy. Okay, so maybe Mr. Dimmer put the siding up a little crooked. I’m sure it still looks straight to him.

Wednesday, he drove his big Dodge 4×4 truck into his garage door rendering it impossible to close. In fact, the door now is only able to close about a foot down from being fully open. This is particularly bad because Mr. Dimmer is back to living out in the garage, a place his wife banishes him to when the voices get too loud or something.

It’s been cold here for the past couple of nights; down to 34 degrees and he’s got all his stuff basically sitting out in the open for anyone to come by and steal. A big TV, a bunch of expensive cabinet making equipment, power tools, etc. So what did he do? Did he cover the huge, gaping garage door opening with a tarp? Did he move his expensive things inside the house overnight?

Nope. He slept out there with his arms wrapped around both his TV and his power saw work bench in nearly freezing temperatures, but only after he pounded, pulled, and slammed the door for an hour without success in fixing it. Yesterday morning, in the frosty air, he angrily drove off in his truck leaving the door still stuck wide open, his TV and tools sitting there unprotected, his twin-sized bed littered with beer cans. Ms. Dimmer took off shortly after he did and the garage door stood open the entire day, unguarded.

The place is looking more and more like the crappiest place on earth with dead and dying trees scattered about the tiny property, a mismatched fence with its sagging, broken gate (that is, btw, breaking our side fence as well every time the wind blows because the two are bolted together), kids toy littering the yards for kids that haven’t played with them in almost two years, rusted exercise equipment that’s been sitting out in the rain since May, and now a garage door that is hanging sideways.

But in other neighbor news, Mr. Wall Street professed his fear of spiders to me yesterday and calls them all “brown recluse spiders” because he thinks they all are. Imagine his terror when he saw his first large garden spider in a web straddling our shared side yard. It was all I could do to prevent him from knocking the “deadly and lethal” thing down and smashing it with a hammer “to protect his children.” He’s lived here for almost a year and I’ve talked to him on and off a few times and I never figured him for the drama queen type. You don’t even want to know how he reacted to seeing a tiny tree frog hopping around in our holly bushes. You’d think he was wading knee deep in snakes. *rolls eyes

October 28, 2006

One big last deep breath. . . Or should I have named this entry the Typing and the Fury? Either way, the time is nearly upon us.

I’ve got my characters, my 9-page outline, my situations, an ending which is highly unusual for me, a wealth of new found knowledge lodged somewhere mostly inaccessible in my head; I have my new NaNo stickers and buttons and squishy crustacean toys courtesy of Aprildiamond, a pretty new spiral bound mini notepad thanks to Lynds, a word count record sheet, character dossier, and folder courtesy of Kami and Ris, and added confidence to a future provided by conversations with Squeaks.

I’ve listened to the first pre-NaNo radio broadcast and although I think the theme song has got to go, I’m feeling the misty droplets spray of the big kahuna writing wave that will soon follow. I’m pointed in the right direction, I’ve been paddling like mad, and it’s nearly time to hop up, drop down the face, find the groove, and ride it in.

Confession Time: I wasn’t terribly excited about NaNo this year until this past week even though I have a story idea. It wasn’t my idea originally and I didn’t want this year’s idea to be just another ‘whine fest.” This past year was all about learning how to write and how to offer constructive editing comments and not doing much actual writing and frankly, I was a little burnt out from all the How-To reading; just like I feared would happen.

But my head is clear now. I’ve done a smidge of short story fiction reading in the past couple of days and I’m back to where I was last year, and the year before, back in that sphere of both excitement and fear, of longing and hope that this year’s NaNo experience will put me back on the right track to published accomplishment, and back to the place where I can read something written by someone else and say with all the confidence in the world: “I can SO totally do this.”

To NaNo 2006, I say, “Bring it!”

October 29, 2006

With National Novel Writing Month beginning in just two days, we’re scrambling here to get things done that we know we won’t have time to do after November 1st. First on the list of things to get done was planting bulbs Saturday morning. All 260 of them. The Breck’s bulb order finally arrived and all of them are now in the ground. Let’s hope I don’t have to do this again for years to come. My legs and back still hurt.

With the Breck’s bulb order, came another big cardboard box which I used to reinforce Limpy’s box out front. He was collapsing the top pretty seriously there for a while but I didn’t have anything to fix it with.

Then a very special delivery arrived, something I ordered a couple of weeks ago (NOT budgeted), something that makes me feel better – an outdoor-rated animal heating pad. Yep, I can’t stand the thought of Limpy going another long, wind-chilled and frozen winter being forced to live outside without even claws to protect himself. We spent $70 and put it on a credit card but now Limpy has something to sleep on that he won’t wake up frozen to.

The pad is waterproof sealed inside heavy plastic and the heat only comes on when an animal lays on it. It heats up to 102 degrees and then stops. The cord is wrapped in steel to keep it from being chewed on or ruined. So far, Limpy seems loves it though when he gets too warm he has to exit the box and then he sits up on top of it out in the elements. Good thing I reinforced the top with more cardboard and old bath towels.

Kami of Jestablog said she’s has lots of experience building chicken coops and has offered to build Limpy a real box out of wood that would house his heating pad and contain enough room for him to lay off the pad but still be sheltered inside. It’ll be nice to have something that will handle the elements better than flimsy pieced-together cardboard and a couple rolls worth of duct tape each year. I don’t know if Limpy knows how much I care about him out there every day and night on a semi-busy, poorly lit street , he not being our cat and that not likely to change anytime soon, but I’m sure his owners, The Howler Monkeys, couldn’t care less or wouldn’t believe it to think anyone else cared. Limpy’s just a problem to them, a problem they actively choose not to think about.

WS followed up the busy day Saturday vacuuming up leaves before the rain returned. We were both so exhausted by 8 p.m. we ate quickly, turned back the clocks an hour from daylight savings time, put all the pets away, and went to bed which technically put us in bed a little after 7 p.m. with the time change. We didn’t get out of bed until 9:30 this morning. We’re getting too old and too out of shape for that much work in one day.

Today, Sunday, we met with a couple other writers at a new local bakery to talk about NaNo coming up. Then it was over to Bed, Bath & Beyond for a minute or two to return something that didn’t work out for us. When we came out of there, the weather had turned from chilly to very windy and rainy, perfect weather for sitting at home dreaming of making Lentil Soup, sipping Harvest Moon tea, and plotting out our upcoming novels.

How was your weekend?

October 30, 2006

Okay. There. I’ve played my last computer game until after I’ve finished my 2006 NaNo novel near or at the end of November. No more will Age of Empires or online Mahjong Solitaire tempt me. I’ve played myself out. Or at least I’m pretty sure I have. Yeah, I have. Probably.

I’ve been weaning myself off distracting things like computer games for a week now. I can’t be tempted to put off writing 2000 words a day or more if the first and foremost thing on my mind is that I will write those words AFTER I wipe any and all traces of the Gaul civilization from the map. Yet again. And I say yet again because I play Age of Empires on average of twice a day, everyday, and have been for the past six years. That’s right, six long years. Against seven other civilizations at a time like the Romans, the Spaniards, and the mighty Teutons, and without cheating I might add, and I always win. I’m a master.

Sure, in the past I’ve gotten into Half Life and GameSpy, playing online for hours BEFORE they used to charge you for it and BEFORE practically everyone and their mother had high speed Internet access. Back when it was fun to blast the slow dialup players who wouldn’t know their character had been killed until five minutes after the fact. But I’ve never cared much for the current popular online games like World of Warcraft. Yawn. I prefer to remember the online games back when they were fun. To me, they aren’t anymore. The new games are, dare I say, silly.

And then there’s Mahjong, a computer rendition of a game I’ve enjoyed since back in my Amiga 500 days (that was around 1987 for all of you born without knowledge of a world devoid of personal home computers). It’s a mindless game and allegedly, it’s one of the many mental puzzle games found to help keep your brain engaged and helps prevent Alzheimer’s. And it’s a game I can’t play just one round of because it just might be the next one that I will win by removing all the tiles from the board. And then I have to play another round immediately after in the off chance I’m able to win two games in a row which I’ve only done once and am very determined to do again someday.

But not today and not tomorrow, and not for the whole of November most likely because I have something more important to focus on, that being writing. I want to win NaNo this year which will be my third win in a row and that’s better than winning two round of Mahjong any day. Besides, for some really odd reason I’ve had a weird sense for the past two weeks that not many of us local NaNo-ers will reach 50,000 words before November 30th. I’m determined that I will.

Of course, I can’t write 50,000 words in a single day but I can try to win three rounds of Mahjong in a row in a single day. Sure, it could happen. But I’ve found the best time to stop playing Mahjong is when I start thinking certain tiles are in certain places on the current board but in actuality, they are my memory of tile locations from a previous round. When I start mixing up the rounds, it’s a good time to stop playing. But sometimes it takes me a long time to mix up the rounds and I could technically play for hours when I should be writing instead.

So it’s off gaming for a month. It’ll be a reward for finishing 50,000 words before November 30th as if accomplishing that wouldn’t be reward enough. All I know is that I have to take this time of year seriously. Writing comes first, always, every morning, afternoon, and evening. Writing and caffeine. And a little sleep thrown in here and there. And no games. As much as it pains me to think about it, I’m going to have to let The Mongols and the Goths live relatively peaceful lives without worrying if I’m just over the far hill, gathering masses of troops.

Okay, maybe one last farewell round of Age of Empires and then that’s it, I swear.

October 31, 2006

Today, Halloween. Bleh. This year I’m not going to go into why this day is no longer my favorite day of the year. That detailed information can be dredged up in the archives year after year. Let’s just say that people generally suck, especially people with children who have taught them that Halloween is all about dressing up like butterflies and innocent little lambs as if today were Easter or Mother’s Day or Puppies & Rainbows Day, and that it’s okay to go out with friends after hours to vandalize homes.

Yeah, so where am I going with this? Our costumes are still packed away as they have been since the year 2000 and once again, I have removed everything that isn’t nailed down from the front of our house. All the new families with young children on our street will just have to get over the fact that this house won’t be blackmailed into giving out candy to their precious overweight darlings in lieu of some ‘trick’ played upon us. We know better. And to think we used to go all out with ‘good’ candy and elaborate costumes and scary sounds. But it seems Halloween isn’t about being scary anymore. It’s about young innocent toddlers dressed in bunny costumes or girlfriends and hot housewives adorned in skimpy French maid, sexy corrections officers, and schoolgirl get-ups. What happened to all the ghouls, ghosts, and monsters? And by monsters, I’m NOT talking about the Incredible Hulk.

And yes, tomorrow we may be taking time out from our NaNo writing to hose soap and eggs off the house or clean up toilet paper and replace our porch furniture and potted plants from safe keeping. At least we won’t be hunting for them in someone else’s lawn or find them smashed in the middle of the street.

And Limpy will be spending the night in our downstairs bathroom. Ms. Howler Monkey yesterday told me she wasn’t concerned about him, traffic, or vandals. How typical of her. Just like she casually mentioned she didn’t believe in taking her pets to the vet. She was holding her Pomeranian dog at the time, the dog that makes the Howler Monkey sounds being as its locked up in the garage and the very same dog that’s walking on three legs now because her young son jerked its knee out of its socket the other day yet she didn’t want to pay what a vet wanted charge to fix it. That pretty much makes up my mind about Limpy’s future in regards to tonight. He is a black cat after all and starved for human interaction enough to walk up to anyone. I did ask if she had ever had Limpy tested for feline leukemia or to see if he was a carrier of the fatal, contagious disease and of course, the answer was no. So much for interaction between our pets and Limpy. But I so wish I could find someone to take him and who would keep him indoors permanently as all de-clawed cats should be kept, and love him. I fear for his future sometimes, especially on nights like tonight.

Gee, I guess I really do still hold resentment toward this day. It’s just that I used to have so much fun on Halloween and now, well, it’s all about surviving with limited home damage.

But come midnight, it’ll be writing time; time to start our November novel writing challenge. WS is taking the next two days off work to get a good start on his story idea and virtually guaranteeing he’ll be up at midnight. Me, I’ll be up then as well; glad Halloween is over and that NaNoWriMo time is here at last.

November 1, 2006

So, WS and I stayed up last night until well after midnight to get an early start on our NaNoWriMo novels for the month. I broke out the Constant Comment tea at 10 p.m. to start charging up my system thinking it would help me get a good 2000-2500 words in. I’ve got several events to attend in November so I can’t rely on myself getting just the basic 1667 words in per day to make 50,000 by November 30th. No, I’ve got to push myself above and beyond that . . . without getting writer’s block or burning myself out first. My ultimate goal is to be at 50K words by November 16th. Yeah, ought to be fun.

A lot of NaNoWriMo participants have discovered a little writing exercise called “word wars.” Basically, a couple of people or a whole group of people get together in person or online and beginning at a set time, write as much as they can for a timed 10 or 15 minute period. The person with the most words typed at the end of the time wins. I’m not sure what exactly they win but it really does help eliminate writer’s block and of course, it ups the word count toward the 50K goal.

I played word wars a few times last year with some of my co-writers and it was fun. WS isn’t big into it; he has his own style that entails mostly writing alone with music playing from time to time. Me, I can write to music sometimes, not often if I’m really trying hard to think about what I’m writing, more so if I don’t care about how I’m writing. Since I’m writing about car people and car shows, I’ve got a whole bunch of car-related songs I can play if and when I need to get into the right mood. Beach Boys, Jan and Dean, ZZ Top, etc.

Enough already about writing though. You’ll read more about it throughout the month than you’ll probably ever want to.

Last week at this time, we got our livingroom rug back from the professional cleaners. While it did smell (and look) a whole lot better, there was still an entire strip that smelled faintly like The Queen’s pee. I took a cue from an old cleaning rule book I used to own and placed several Snuggle dryer sheets between the rug and the pad spaced about a foot apart all along the smelly strip. Within forty-eight hours, the smell was gone. But just to be sure, I got the green light to go ahead and order Urine Off, an enzyme professional rug and furniture cleaners use to get rid of bad smells. It arrived late last week and after using it, I noticed it smelled exactly like the rest of the rug smelled: Nice and clean. Hmm, I wonder if the rug cleaners used anything at all the first time around because the rug stunk just as badly when they first brought it back as it did when we hauled it out of the house.

Anyway, we’re happy now. The room is back to normal . . . normal considering we don’t own a couch down there anymore but it wasn’t like anyone but the pets used it anyway. No big loss if you ask me.

November 5, 2006

The first thing that came to mind this morning when I was trying to get my brain to engage was, “What day is it?” followed by “Why is it day at all?”

I’m tired, very, very tired. I’ve spent the last five days writing nearly nonstop for upwards of eleven hours a day. Yes, this is the profession I’ve chosen to become a part of and I figure I better stop whining and get used to it. Deadlines are much more brutal than this and I expect to have at least one or two in my life.

I dreamt this morning that I touched Keiko, the orca whale.

If you were to say, “But Keiko’s dead” I would have to reply with simply, “Yes, I know.” Let your mind wander over that if you have a moment to spare. And you perverts out there, no, I didn’t touch him in an inappropriate place. Jeez, a some can hardly publish anything on the Internet without someone thinking the worse.

National Novel Writing Month is going better than I ever could have expected, other than the exhaustion part. I touched 18,000 words this morning out of 50,000 needed by November 30th. WS is skirting 25,000 as I type this but he wanted to start out with a bang. His job will suck his creativity over the course of the next few weeks. We both want to cross the 50K line before the 15th of the month because the second half of November is too crammed full of stuff we can’t escape. Work, a multi day convention, pet vet visits, more work, a couple of work-related dinners and visits, nightly conference calls, and the ever present house chores. I now understand the need to teach and reinforce the need for the pets to start carrying their weight around here. They might not have thumbs to run the vacuum cleaner but they don’t need to track little mounds of cat litter throughout the house every single day either. And potentially furry plates and silverware? Like that’s any different from now exactly how?

I think you see my point. The problem, of course, lies in that we picked independent pets with their own minds. Stubborn, independent pets. I don’t think the concept’s going to go over well.

Just a few short blurbs about what else is going on here in between writing our fingers to the bone:

- I ‘rescued’ another pet from probable certain death. A neighbor’s gorgeous German Sheppard got out the other night during a horrendous rain storm that blacked out most of our street. I wasn’t sure who the dog belonged to but I knew someone up the street owned a German Sheppard. It took forever for the woman to answer the door and then she was shocked to find her dog had gotten out and was wandering the streets. I didn’t tell her Limpy was holding it at bay from eating all the food set out front and it ended well. Good Limpy.
- It’s been very windy and very rainy here since Wednesday. Perfect writing weather. Half the quinces have fallen from the overloaded tree. I picked all but three or four of the rest to keep and give away. I couldn’t reach the rest. Man, do they ever smell good!
- I’m officially back on caffeine. So is WS at least for as long as it takes to get our November Novels done. Expect future whiny posts about headaches.

November 6, 2006

It’s already two in the afternoon and I haven’t written a single word on my November novel which sits at 20,004 words as of late last night. That might change in the next hour but only if I move the laptop to the bathroom. Sometimes, clam chowder isn’t your friend.

I’m really not feeling well today, an extension of yesterday when I probably ate something that didn’t agree with me and I’m missing Ris’ writing get together (as well as seeing her new carpet). I had Panera Bread’s clam chowder Friday night and was surprised to see it still on the menu yesterday when we were there for our local NaNo Sunday writer’s group write-in. I’m a sucker for clam chowder; have been since moving here (not much chance of finding clam chowder in the desert southwest in the 60’s, 70’s or 80’s). Mo’s on the Oregon coast is the best around these parts but that’s a much longer drive than the new Panera Bread restaurant. Maybe it’s a good thing there’s talk of moving the write-in meetings back to our homes; less expensive and less chance of getting food poisoning, not to mention less noise and much better writing environments.

The writer’s group gave the Panera Bread restaurant a shot when our local Starbucks got progressively noisier and more crowded. The newer Starbucks being built around here have less room to sit and it’s obvious they want to move people in and out in a hurry to grab the next buck. If the place is crowded with people sitting around, say, chatting and typing on laptop computers, new patrons are more likely to turn around and walk out. Of course, they usually go to another Starbucks location. It’s not like you can go more than a mile before finding another one and the company still gets the money.

Yesterday’s write-in get together at Panera was fun for a while. A few of us were able to get some actual writing done via ‘word wars’ while it was too chaotic for others. It was incredibly busy and loud. The after church/shopping crowd is like that here and the stormy weather brought everyone inside for a hot meal at the newest restaurant in town.

We took (hogged) THE big long table in the middle of the restaurant. It’s THE prime location at the place and it fit us wonderfully but the downside is that no electric outlets are there. Most of the booths have outlets but it’s hard to fit more than three people in a booth, less if more than two have a laptop with them. And we all want to bring our laptops because Panera has free wi-fi, fast wi-fi, at that.

So while all six of us Sunday writers (there are more on different days) sat at THE table, we got loads of curious and sometimes dirty looks from the crowds around us. The guy behind me kept kicking my chair and I suspect it was on purpose. I say that because at one point I turned and looked at him, and he just smiled sarcastically at me. I saw that it wasn’t easy for him to bend his leg around to kick my chair and that made me think he was doing it intentionally.

Groups of five and six stood off to the side and stared at us as though willing us to get up and leave so they could take over the table. I’m used to this tactic from our Starbucks meeting days and it usually doesn’t carry much weight with me. A couple walked by and the woman loudly mentioned she thought it was weird that we all were sitting there with laptops open, some of us wearing headphones, most of us typing at once. She wondered out loud if we were all doing our homework together. The funny thing was, scattered about the table was full page size print outs that say, “Novelist at Work!” with the NaNo website listed below in big, bold letters for anyone to glance at and read because we’re proud of what we’re doing and invite others to take interest. Okay, yeah, I guess you could call it homework. We’ve got until November 30th to get it done.

Which brings me back to needing to get to writing. You know of course, this was just a warm up. Can you tell I’m writing a catty character scene today? No? Hmm, must try harder then.

November 7, 2006

“The roads are slow going and I-5 packed with stop and go traffic at best in most areas.”

A traffic announcer’s voice on TV said. The first thing that went though my mind was, “Why is I-5 traffic stop and go at midnight?” Except it wasn’t midnight, it was 8:30 this morning.

Obviously, last night was the fastest on record. I hate sleeping so hard hours feel like mere minutes.

And I don’t wake up feeling refreshed either. I’m straining my brain but I probably need to. I still have words in me that need to get out. Specifically, 30,000 more before the end of the month. And no, these here don’t count.

The rain outside has pounded the area since Thursday. We’re in no danger of flooding here though it’s happening all around the Pacific Northwest. What it is doing is letting me know that living near the Olympic rainforest and/or living closer to the foggy, perpetually wet beaches of Northwestern Washington would suit me just fine.

And so I looked online for property in the area as if I had more than a dollar to my name to spare. And I found a nice little 364 square foot metal roofed plywood cabin with no running water for $69,000 on the banks of Hood Canal across from Seabeck, Washington if I wanted to live in the equivalent of a refrigerator box under a canopy of trees. I might be able to handle it but the pets and WS wouldn’t. But hey! I’d have beach rights and you know property values are only going up.

Okay, maybe they aren’t anymore in some areas. We’ve not been hit too hard with that around here just yet but I’ll bet its coming. It’s best to just sit tight where I am and not think about a cool little writing cabin in the woods.

November 9, 2006

I’ve been writing for nine days straight and I’ve got 30,000 plus change toward my needed 50,000 words. I feel good and more importantly I feel good about what I’m writing. I think it’s my best coherent work yet and by that I don’t mean I’m drunk or anything when I normally write; it means I’ve got a tiny glimpse of some of writing’s fundamentals like correct Point of View and intertwining subplots. No, this isn’t a scary story though there is one mystery ‘Who done it?’ question posed at the beginning that will be answered at the end. Basically, it’s just basic life in an overly testosterone-laden sport, one I’ve spent years whining about here.

I’ve also discovered something about myself and if you know me, you know that I’m always experimenting with myself when it comes to how things I may ingest affect me. Hence the title to this entry. I vow to not eat any more sugar on days when I write unless absolutely necessary. Lucky for me, I don’t put sugar in my tea or coffee. No one needs to eat an entire handful of Jordan Almonds not once but twice. For three days in a row.

Yet I did and within the hour, I just wanted to roll over and sleep for days. Good thing I did most of my writing for the day first before I spied those shiny tempting morsels because I couldn’t even think of a word to type after eating them.

Good thing I polished them off yesterday. Good thing there are no more left in the house. Good thing it’d take a drive in my clean show car on wet muddy streets to get some more. I won’t go that far. Saved again!

It’s time to get back into juicing and this morning, in an attempt to start flushing all that sugar from my system, I juiced a dozen gala apples and seven big carrots. With the influx of the carrot juice, in about three days I ought to be feeling like a million bucks. Carrot juice does that to me yet I have to have it mixed with something else. I can’t stand the stuff on its own – insert sour, spitting, and sputtering face here.

The other word for the day is ‘banished.’ Last night we discovered our other oldest pet is the one who has been relieving himself on the stairs. Up to this point, we had wondered if it was The Boy, Maxx, though I wasn’t completely convinced. As I stood at the front door waiting for our one obligatory writer’s pizza to arrive I heard water tinkling and turned to see Skitters letting loose. Thank the stars for Pergo flooring.

This makes two pets banished permanently to their own lavish bedroom. I might add that there was a clean litter box not more than fifteen feet away from where he was going. Since then, he’s been periodically beating everyone up who’s in the closed pet room with him including The Queen. I was witness to a ‘disagreement’ this morning. Not fun but they will get used to one another just like they used to be when they both roamed the entire house. They hated each other then too by the way. With a passion. It’s a white-boy thing.

And finally, we had a secret agenda of sorts for the month of November this year in that we thought we might be able to take an away vacation for a week during Thanksgiving. Unfortunately, the word came down late yesterday evening that those plans needed to be nixed. While saddened, strangely neither of us is terribly disappointed. The cost would have been ridiculous and who can relax when you’re spending a vacation mentally trying to figure out the cost per minute while you’re there? Nobody wants to hear me say, “Are you having fun? Because it’s costing us XX dollars per minute to stay here whether you are or you aren’t so you’d better be.”

Another good side to this is that it frees up a tremendous amount of time for both of us. We don’t feel the need to get to our 50,000 words for NaNo done before November 15th now (earlier for WS), I won’t miss most of the science fiction convention (prepaid) like I originally was going to have to do, we’ll have time to do a final yard clean up (if it ever stops raining this month), and we won’t be rushed to put up holiday lights (again, when it stops raining). There are about half a dozen more reasons our cancelled vacation plans are more a blessing than not – house sitter cost, pet sitter cost, pet lodging cost, needing to eat all the decorative squash in the kitchen before the 15th, and so on and so on.

Sounds almost like we’d probably need a vacation from the vacation, doesn’t it? When it gets this involved and spendy, it’s time to rethink the plan.

November 11, 2006

I had a very busy Friday yet when I list what I did, it seems short and I sound whiny. It’s not like I had my house flood like both Kami and Ris did so I’m not going to go on and on about how good it felt to get my hair done. We had the last of the writer’s meetings for NaNo here last night and I thought it went pretty well. Talking with other writers is very motivating!

But for all I did yesterday, I barely wrote anything. I just didn’t have the time to peck out any more than 331 words. Still, 331 words are always better than zero words or the big goose egg as WS calls it. He had a goose egg day last week on a day stuffed with enough meetings and conference calls to fill three days worth.

So at 34,000 words, I’m at the part in my story where the second big car show of the 5-part summer series has just ended. Floyd, the main bad guy, is appalled to learn he placed third behind his nemesis Cecil, the story’s good guy, who placed 2nd for the first time in the twenty-some years he’s been showing cars. It serves Floyd right for rigging his shady car club’s election by becoming President and needing to handle all those Presidential obligations that cut into car cleaning and set up time. Oh, and it didn’t help that he fired his master car detailer, Ace Hansen.

You couldn’t blame Floyd really for firing Ace though. Ace has had a little trouble readjusting to living without fingers after the accident last fall. Still, it was pretty harsh of Floyd to kick Ace out of his house after reminding him it was he who hosed Ace’s fingers off his driveway after the accident. Floyd’s best friend and toady, Scratchy Moore, would have gotten a big kick out of hearing that. Scratchy is an ass that way and is rumored to have intentionally caused the accident.

Cecil, on the other hand, quit showing his latest show car after coming in 3rd yet again after Floyd in the first show. Ace was the one who talked him into showing it again and now Cecil feels on top of the world with his new 2nd place win. Sure, he didn’t place 1st, but let’s let him have his fifteen minutes of second place fame, shall we? He deserves it and besides, he’s got the stress of upcoming robbery to deal with, and as we’ll find out much later, stress isn’t Cecil’s friend.

And who is this newcomer Carlton Novato rich kid with the stunning 1932 Highboy that swept every show in existence all up and down the east coast? It is any wonder people hate him? His daddy bought him the car for Pete’s sake! This guy has no history with cars; he doesn’t even do his own work on it. This whole thing is just a short term whim for him. Posers like this don’t generally fair well, and they certainly don’t get THE girl. Or do they?

November 12, 2006

Observations.

I think there may be something seriously wrong with people who refer to TV’s NBC channel as the ‘Must See TV’ channel or simply ‘Must See TV,’ as in these sentences:

“Tonight I’m racing home from work to watch Must See TV.”

Or:

“Did you see Must See TV last night?”

Or:

“Thursday night is Must See TV night at our house. All other outside life comes to a screeching halt.

It’s a marketing ploy, people. It’s like believing that bouncing, dancing bubbles will actually emerge from your Diet Coke to make you look cool to all your friends.

November 14, 2006

Sometimes you have to let your characters run.

I like my characters in this story, even the assholes Floyd and Scratchy but no one would like them if they were stiff and made out of cardboard. So I gave them voices and habits only a couple of chauvinistic hard asses could have and if I gave them anymore leash, they’d take over the entire story. Good characters can do that and as a writer, I have to know where, when, and how hard to snap back that leash.

Cecil, Peggy, and Brent Orbach, on the other hand, could stand to take more leash and run with it. Sure, a reader might love them to death; after all, they get along like nobody’s business and you have to feel for them when X, X, and the upcoming big X happens. But they’re just so nice and civil about it. If you didn’t know better, you’d think they were proper English.

I often have problems writing good, kind characters and that could be because I haven’t known many in my fifty years on earth. Mine are painfully manufactured out of innocents I see on TV or are characters in someone else’s work I’ve read in the past. My good characters are often made of nothing stronger than mayonnaise and it irritates me endlessly. It’s just so much more fun writing mean characters.

So Floyd has had his car’s paint job temporarily ruined by the incompetent meth addict Wayne and has taken another miserable third place in the third of five shows. Cecil has tied for first with the rich poser Novato and is on top of the world. His son Brent has officially broken up with Laura when he found her with Novato, and has been banned from the convention center building for the rest of the year for inciting a fight, and fun, fingerless Ace has found out something that might work to his and Cecil’s advantage.

Buddy has to come back in to help Ace with Cecil’s car, Floyd’s wife Marilyn is reaching her breaking point, and Wayne is about to do something very, very stupid. Thank goodness Peggy will only be shaken and not stirred. But Cecil? How could someone be that kind and naive? Let him rot in jail, I say!

November 15, 2006

At 3:20 yesterday afternoon, I crossed the 50,000 word mark in the National Novel Writing Month’s challenge and my story is only half done. The really good thing is that it’s just getting to the good parts where the subplots are weaving their way to the surface here and there. Shortly, it’ll all make sense, well, for as much as nasty, egotistical and obsessed car owners make sense of much of anything to say or do.

Looking back, I should have added more immature behavior other than the name calling and crude language. I should have added the spoiled wives’ habits of stomping feet when they don’t get their way, of throwing expensive jewelry down carburetors of lesser expensive cars, and more cattiness. My wives and girlfriends are too civilized. Heh, maybe I will write a sequel like Jackie Collins did with Hollywood Husbands and Hollywood Wives.

The really great thing about passing the 50K mark is that I have a story, a real story that I can be proud of and hold in my hand (as soon as I print it out) and that didn’t exist two weeks ago. And even though I wasn’t exactly enthused with writing it originally as WS was that I try to write it, I’ve found that I really do like the story. A lot.

I’m going to keep writing it until it’s finished. I’m going to write a minimum of 1,667 words a day on the story from here on out and by November 30th and the official end of NaNo 2006, that should give me 75,000 words, the most I will have ever written in such a short amount of time. Considering this year’s Blogeois journal contains over 125,000 words, 75,000 written in one month isn’t a bad amount of work. I’ve got a right to feel proud of myself.

And just for the record, WS passed his 50K amount last night around 8:30 p.m. Yep, just a couple of budding novelists here. Next year, we’re going to force the pets to join in on the fun.

I’ve got no delusions about the story though. It’s a fictional tale about people and how people can be. Okay, that makes it interesting to about two thirds of the U.S. population and about half of the Canadian and European populations. It’s also about cars which drops that interest down to about a quarter of the population all the way across the board. And finally, it’s about car shows and that combination right there drops the interest level from a quarter of the population to between ten to nil. That’s ten people to no people. Well, I guess I’m one. 10 to 1. Hmm, that doesn’t look like too good of odds either, does it?

But if I was to be delusional, i.e. crazier than a sprayed roach, I’ll bring up the point that no one thought Stephen King’s story about a 1957 Plymouth (or 1958 with ’57 panels and trim if you really want to get technical) was going to be worth reading either. And he sold the movie rights before he was even done writing the book.

On the other hand, Stephen King was already wildly popular back then and his story is about a possessed car. He could have published his grocery list (and probably did somewhere) and pulled in six figures for it. Who am I again? A nobody. Do I have any possessed cars in my story? No! Because then I would be copying something that had already been done. Phft!

My eyes wander to the myriad of books lining our library shelves; so many good, a few excellent, many of them poor to downright bad. Sigh, someday I’ll be there. Someday.

November 16, 2006

We were supposed to have a storm Monday with high winds and lots of rain. Got the rain, barely a single shingle ruffled in the breeze. We were supposed to have another one yesterday. Maybe bird feathers got ruffled . . . when they fly. I probably should be thankful but it pisses me off when the local weather channels make a big to-do about nothing.

Saw MsNoManagementSkills in the local grocery store. She claims she had 50 mile an hour winds at her house because a Portland news channel said she did. She lives about four miles away from us. Portland is some thirty miles away. She needs to stop taking DorkMaster’s medication if for no other reason than to make her stop admitting that’s she listened to a weather report. She never watches the news, especially weather reports because “only old people do that.” Could she actually be getting old? Ms. “Everyone over thirty should be shot”? I wish a big wind would carry her far, far away.

We have new neighbors on the street. They aren’t located terribly close but they might be worth mentioning occasionally. Tuesday when it was partly sunny and dry without a hint of a breeze (but blowing the beeves out of MsNo’s house several blocks away if you listen to her) the new neighbors were out trying to teach one of their small children to ride a bike. It didn’t work well because they, the parents, are weebles. You know, weebles wobble but they won’t fall down? There was more weeble walking going on than I think I’ve ever seen in my entire life, even more than I think I could have even imagined occurring.

Technically, that makes two severely walking impaired people on our street, three, WS reminds me of a probable time in the not so distant future when he’s walking will be seriously impaired due to his MS. It’s a rebellion, I tell you. More power to them I say.

It’s official: Limpy is doing well in his heated box outside and Ms. Howler Monkey is having an affair with the local Schwan’s delivery man. That’s all I’m going to say about that.

The Canada geese are back and more are arriving every day. We love the geese. Unfortunately, we can’t keep out bedroom window open at night anymore to listen to them. It’s also hunting season a block and a half away and it’s terrible to have to wake up to shotguns blasts and the potential sight of geese falling from the sky.

I played my first computer game last night in two weeks. It was so fun I might do it again today. I also wrote another 1,700 words on my November novel. WS, ever outdoing me in everything, wrote nearly 5,000 extra on his. He rocks that way.

I might clean our bathroom today. Then again, I might not. It’s downright skanky in there.

November 17, 2006

The bathroom, the skanky one I was afraid to walk into in bare feet, is clean. Yes, we let it get that dirty. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because no one sees it or uses it but us. It got away from us. I was ashamed of it.

But it’s practically spotless now!

Most of the laundry is done too. And the upstairs vacuuming and the computer desk are clean as is the office, living room, and most of the kitchen. We almost live in a resort again which is good because WS is officially on vacation as of Saturday morning.

I’m celebrating by taking his car and hanging out in downtown Portland at a Science Fiction and Fantasy convention by myself most of the weekend. And I don’t even like science fiction and fantasy. I’m not really trying to get away from him. It was just bad timing. But I’m sure he’d want some time to himself here just to experience what I go through everyday. Pets in the bedroom, pets out of the bedroom, pets in, pets out, pet in, pet out.

No, I’m going to the convention for the people. Call it, story character research. Too bad I can’t claim the weekend registration fee on my taxes. The good thing is that in the coming years I might be able to if I start getting things published. C’mon story!

To be honest, there are lots of hour long programs and classes I’m planning on sitting in on that aren’t terribly focused on Science Fiction and Fantasy. Lots of note taking will occur I’m sure. I’m taking a big fat notebook, NOT my laptop which weighs a ton and needs power ALL THE TIME, and a print out of the schedule, multiple pens, including a sharpie. Oh, and I’m taking that baggie of quarters out of my purse. Talk about weighing a ton. I think I’ve had that thing in there since 2003 when I used to drive out of town and needed to find a car wash.

Well, that just about catches me up on everything going on around here.

November 19, 2006

It’s only 7:30 p.m. here but it feels like midnight. Outside is quintessential Pacific Northwest weather in that it is VERY wet and VERY foggy. Oh, and VERY wet. Did I mention how wet it is? Well, it’s that and then some.

I’ve just spent the past three days at Portland’s Marriot Riverfront Hotel, running from conference room to conference room every hour on the hour, dodging pirates, Klingons, knights, and Goths along the way. In most instances, I did well with my dodging. In a few cases I didn’t and had to wittily banter my way out of a sure plundering. Or maybe they looked down and saw I was an old fat woman and decided I wasn’t worth the trouble. Either way I won easily and only had one draw. I’m not going to talk about that. I’m sure the guy is fine though. Kami’s husband assured me he was just happy to have someone touch him. (Uber-nerd).

I can’t praise enough the format of the Science Fiction convention. The hour-long classes I took nearly all day everyday were exactly what I needed to sit through. I feel as though I’ve read another dozen How-To write books in just the past three days and the really cool thing was, none of the classes I took were on How-To write science fiction (of which I’m not interested in the least). They were generalized enough for all writing styles and all genres and for the most part reinforced everything I read over the past summer. I felt like I belonged there even if I wasn’t wearing a poofy pirate shirt or chain mail to my knees.

Not only did I take a notebook full of notes from each class, sixteen classes total, but in traditional Blogeois fashion, I kept a running section on general observances and running commentary throughout the weekend. Feel free to needlepoint any of the below listed remarks onto pillows for your home.

Observations:

Day One

Not all dwarfs are short.
Wearing different colored stockings still don’t make tall dwarfs short.
Lots of mouth breathers are here. LOUD mouth breathers. Strangely, this is acceptable.
Star Trek crew dressers intentionally walk very straight and tall.
The line between Science Fiction/Fantasy and Thrillers/Horror writing is blurring. I probably should feel afraid.
Most nerds seem to have evolved to a certain point and then stopped. It is always too soon.
The rooms swarm with nerds of all ages, mostly middle aged and male, all with a complete lack of social graces including belches, loud flatulence, and other questionable personal hygiene habits.
Lots of people here think they alone are terribly clever and funny and they definitely are not. Sometimes these are people in charge of a class.
Egos still exist. Oh boy, do they still exist.
All panelists in all the classes I took know of each other’s work no matter how obscure. Grocery lists probably fall into this category.
Some classes were not about teaching people anything but about forming mutual admiration societies which just happen to have onlookers. Luckily, I only had two of these classes but even so, I don’t consider either a waste of time.
Grown men who go by the name ‘love beef’ should be avoided at all costs.

Day Two

There are lots of deaf people in attendance. If you happen to break someone’s hearing aid, they can’t hear you if you say you’re sorry.
LOTS of people pronounce ‘horror’ as ‘harrar.’
Something you NEVER want to see is a herd of fat, white, anime chicks. You are just going to have to trust me on this.
Real furries walk purposely pigeon-toed, barefoot, and only on the balls of their feet.
Sometimes people drag things for a reason.
Overheard: “Reading that was like reading Rumsfeld Poetry. It doesn’t make sense!”
Wearing a knotted bandana on your head sideways can signify you are a pirate. And you probably thought only gang members did that.
Sometimes, having a pronounced lisp makes people think you are a science fiction god, especially if you wear a bowtie and a white dress shirt.
Overheard: “Barbequed cat is good. Tastes like kitten.”
Absolutely NO ONE cares what they look like. This includes all people for whom their costume is five sizes too small.
Most panelists have at least one obvious long-past broken finger or knuckle. Hopefully, this isn’t the result of years using a keyboard.
Pleated micro mini skirts are HOT. Leather pleated micro minis are HOTTER.
If you dress like a pirate’s wench, the bigger the hips the better.
Overhead: “Use the Jay Lake method and you’ll get published.”
It is extremely difficult to take anything said seriously by someone in full, furry makeup. Furries wearing glasses does not make this any easier.
Overheard: A group of five wannabe authors forming a ‘skull and crossbones’ type of group and vowing to support each other for the next six years until every last one of them is published.
Lace-up corsets and thigh-high pirate boots are expensive but to die for.
Sometimes, a person just needs to wear something that jingles.
Overheard: “Would you like me to crème your Brule?”

Day Three

There is a general belief that Marriot’s toilet paper is made with Teflon. The good thing is that their toilets are industrial strength flushers and no amount of toilet paper can clog them.
The words ‘craft’ and ‘crap’ should never be confused with one another . . . but often are.
Some big-name bloggers believe that blogging should only be about marketing the blogger’s name. They simply do not want to believe there is any other reason for the activity. So sad.
Some known authors get stuck using one word to describe everything. I sat through three classes with Mr. ‘Brilliant’ and it got really annoying around three o’clock Sunday.
Overhead: “People who think they can make a living at writing are stupid for believing so.”
There are a lot of stutterers here and most of them get stuck using the letter ‘A’. However, by day three, listening to a stutterer speak (or severe lisper for that matter) has become a study similar to learning an alien world language . . . Perfect for this convention setting!
Pissed off people who leave their bags in a room after a class need to realize that if the room had been an airport, the bag would have been blown up.
Being a moderator for a panel of speakers is an admirable job. I admired everyone whose job this was, save one. (See Ego’s still exist.)
Overheard: “Boring stories. This is why we have diaries with locks on them.”

A list of people I personally met (does not include legitimate authors and people I now want to be adopted by):

A young Obi-Wan Kenobi
Blackbeard and Mary Read
The Ice Queen from Narnia
A Harlequin jester
Edgar Winter (seriously, it could have been him)
Jolly Rodger and Captain Morgan, both of which you would assume would love sitting in the sports bar but insisted on being served at the hotel restaurant instead. Posers!
Henry the VIII . . . as a biker
A Union Jack
Admiral Nelson
THE Bishop, not just any bishop but THE Bishop. Let’s not confuse those two.
A knight in full chain mail . . . but who was in a wheelchair. I didn’t ask if his chain mail was so heavy he needed a wheel chair to get around. Nor did I look to see if he were missing limbs ala the Black Knight from Monty Python and The Holy Grail
Pan . . . yes, with hairy goat legs too
Mario
Queen Victoria, before Prince Albert’s death
A woman with breasts so large, they lay in her lap and she used them as armrests
Xena and Mary, Queen of Scots. It should be noted that although Mary had a commanding air about her, it was Xena who had all the hotel doormen, bell hops, and lot attendants at her beck and call. Short skirts win over long dresses no matter how much royalty you throw into the mix.
A member of DEVO
And the ‘usual’ assortment of pirates, Star Trek officers, vampires, Goths, elves, and Klingons.

November 21, 2006

I’m finally starting to get my feet back under me after the OryCon convention last weekend. Is it bad to feel like you’re part of something big and important (though it probably really isn’t) for a short while and then a little let down when you go back to your humdrum life as a housewife? Probably not, and there is a way to fix that. It’s called writing.

Hi. My name is Blogeois and I haven’t written on my NaNo novel in five days. (“Hi Blogeois.”) Doesn’t matter that I’m already over 50K; the story isn’t finished and that is my goal. Beat me with a stick.

I read a short story last night from someone I met at the convention. Actually, WS read it out loud when my voice got too scratchy and both of us came away saying, “WTF?” Why is this a published story? Maybe more importantly, why was this person paid for this story? Oh, the mind wanders. The person is charismatic, the person is humorous, the person knows the right people, but honestly, this short story sucked.

But to give it credit, it did force me to get out a piece of a short story I have written on and off since last summer and it was refreshing to hear that at least one person didn’t find that and the one published all that dissimilar in style. Maybe there is hope for me yet.

Also, to give that story credit, the story that had us both scratching our heads that is, it will now become one of our tools to help others when they are stuck or feeling that they are wasting their time by trying to become an author. Really guys, (and you know who you are), your work is light years better than you think. By all means, have your pity party because there is nothing wrong with having one or two or a hundred. In fact, look around the room; that person standing over there in the corner by herself? That’s me, and I have a pity party at least once a week.

But if there’s anything I learned at the convention last weekend its that all authors go through this, they all go through dark times like these and for most of them, the more you get published, the more you’ll question what you’re doing. You’ll be certain that at any moment you’ll be discovered as the fraud you are convinced you are. You will become certain that everyone is whispering that you are a hack and all the world needs is for you to stop. Go ahead and think these things, but know deep in your heart that it’s normal . . . and one of the better signs that you are a writer. Yes, that’s what you are, a writer, for better or worse.

Now, taking my own advice, I’m off to write. Keep writing, guys.

November 23, 2006

It was a long dark time in history, back when good advice and decent jobs were scarce, when decent music had given way to the beginnings of commercial rap, when friends and family alike were lining up to smack us down and break us apart. When the mere thought of a cupboard full of generic Mac & Cheese would make our hearts giddy, anything to replace WinCo’s moth-laden bulk food version of the same.

We had a place to live but no furniture to fill it, a vehicle that was broken down more than not, and we were drowning in deep debt. We didn’t have some of the more basic things to our names and no way to preserve the special moment when it finally occurred. When no one would stop for just a half-moment and offer a smile or a helping hand, we learned how to rely on one another and since then, have never looked back. Friends and family have come and gone (and for the most part they can stay gone for as much as we care) but we’re still here, going as strong as ever, proving every last one of them wrong.

Seventeen years ago this very day, on a Thanksgiving Day that ended in family squabbles, lies, and deceit much like the same day ten years before and that held nothing but painful memories, WS took a chance and I became complete.

For when no one else would give me the time of day, thanks WS.

Happy Anniversary.

November 24, 2006

The cold I have been dodging successfully for the past two years has struck. I’m heavily relying on Zicam and I’m pretty sure today and maybe tomorrow will be my worst days. The annual outdoor holiday lighting and family argument extravaganza will have to wait until the next time we have a semi-dry day, perhaps sometime next February. Oh darn.

I haven’t been writing like I should be. It’s a two-fold issue. A) My head has felt woozy since yesterday morning. B) I’m trying to work out a problem with a chapter in my story and often, my subconscious will work it out for me if I give it a few days to do so. It’s not a part that will hold up the rest of the novel but this year I’ve been trying extra hard to get the story right from the very beginning, and I think I did a damn good job of it right up until this point.

The bad guy Floyd hasn’t been doing very well at the past two Outlaw Summer Series car shows but he’s certain that if he can find out the weaknesses of the lead show winner, Carl, Floyd can use those weaknesses to find his way back to the winner’s circle. How is the best way to find Carl’s weakness? Talk to his current girlfriend and gold digger Laura.

Floyd and Laura go back a long way. Heck Laura and practically everyone go back a long way. She’s just that kind of gal but when she finds Floyd in her bed unexpectedly, she tries to convince him she is a one man woman now and her man is Carl. Floyd isn’t convinced but instead of getting to the meat of the matter on why he is really there, he is distracted by his buddy, Scratchy, who happens to have broken into Laura’s apartment with the intent of secretly watching Floyd and Laura together. Yes, Scratchy can be a sick-o from time to time.

After making a fast exit from bed back to his truck, Floyd wants to pound Scratchy something fierce. And not pound him in a good way either. Uber-pissed Floyd takes off and accidentally runs over a pedestrian. How does he get out of this one? He calls Wayne, a local loser who owes Floyd a favor.

My problem is how to make it seem believable enough that Wayne would ask how high when Floyd said to jump. It should be noted here that previously Floyd did bail Wayne out of jail for robbing Floyd’s nemesis and then talked the same nemesis into dropping the charges against Wayne so the set up for the favor is there. The problem is that it’s weak. Floyd wants Wayne to rush downtown and take the rap for running down the pedestrian. As far as Floyd knows, no one saw the accident. He dragged the body off the road and it’s currently hidden under his truck. He’s on the phone with Wayne and has threatened him with bodily harm if he doesn’t get himself there on the scene pronto.

But would Wayne do it? It’s not that Wayne is stupid, he has to fear the consequences and I’m not sure he does well enough. Add money to the equation, and he just might.

November 25, 2006

So, have you gone shopping yet this weekend? Did you wake at o dark thirty yesterday to stand in line outside of some business that had something you couldn’t live without? I only participated in that exercise once back in 1985 and vowed never to do it again. My word is as good as gold.

We here are notoriously known for not shopping around the holidays, particularly the day after Thanksgiving (U.S. recognized), before Christmas, and the day after Christmas. For me, too many years stuck in retail did it in. For WS, he just doesn’t like people and positively hates crowds (don’t ask me how he’s going to cope when his first New York Time Bestseller is released).

We do occasionally shop online though. This year, the items we can’t seem to live without included Paper white narcissus bulbs, whole nutmeg, and books. Sometimes, however, there is no substitution for browsing stores to touch things and kick the tires and this is difficult when a significant other has that people problem mentioned previously.

Take downtown Portland, Oregon for example. When we first moved here almost eighteen years ago, it was as if I had lived here before in another life. Driving downtown just seemed to make sense to me, even with all its one-way streets and nooks and crannies. I’ve never had a problem down there and so, whenever we go, I usually drive. Walking is another issue completely. I don’t mind walking but walking downtown can be adventuresome. WS, on the other hand, hates walking with a passion. Given his MS, who can blame him? Though it’s the people problem that bothers him the most I think.

Still, there are times I’d like to go and walk through Williams-Sonoma, or Godiva chocolates, or PastaWorks, or any number of shops in and around Portland, but for some reason I only think of them during the holiday season when everyone, their mother, their brother and all their relatives from *Bataminia are here doing the same thing.

It’s just as well though. I still have my cold and WS is deep within his traditional “I have to go back to work Monday’ funk to end all funks.

• Bataminia – a crowded over-populated country that exists solely for the purpose of serving the needs of other countries when massive amounts of people are needed on a moment’s notice.

November 26, 2006

The local weather people hint that we might, might get snow showers here today through early Monday morning. Yeah, us, snow. Hardly ever happens but it sure would be nice! Temperatures tonight are supposed to get into the mid 20’s Fahrenheit. It’ll be a good test of Limpy’s heating pad. So far, it’s working wonderfully and he really likes it. I’ll watch out for any sign he isn’t warm enough though and will smuggle him into the downstairs bathroom if I have to. The Howler Monkeys, by the way, have been out of town since last week and once again they have asked someone to watch their dog but not a word was said about their cat Limpy.

Okay, so where was I?

Oh yeah, snow. Seriously don’t think it will happen. Seriously.

I’ve got some MsNoManagementSkills news: DorkMaster wasn’t laid off like he was supposed to be in mid-November but instead got a mandatory 25% pay cut and complete loss of benefits. Naturally, MsNo is taking it personally claiming it was done on purpose before Christmas because she’s still only working part-time and because they recently and severely up-ed the whole family’s mood altering medication intakes. Not because any doctor said they should but because they found a way to get more medication. It’s got something to do with having ex-wives with their own benefits and sharing kids I think. At least that’s what I think she meant the last time I talked to her right before Thanksgiving.

I wanted to strangle her right then and there in the store when she said she was taking things personally. She used to flippantly say I took everything personally when we worked together, the last of which was when I was laid off. Now that I’ve calmed down and aren’t as bitter as I once was (WS would say I’m only ‘tart’ now), I’m viewing this as a big time karma pay back.

She wasn’t too happy to discover I still haven’t had to look for a job and in fact, still have a smidge of Company stock money left (a very, very, teensy small smidge but I didn’t tell her that). She said her bankruptcy plans were scraped after she got a $100,000 he-loc loan (home equity loan) this past summer but she might revisit the plan next year since ‘raising kids is hella more expensive’ than she could have imagined. Apparently, the money is nearly gone already. Didn’t we all know that was bound to happen anyway? Money has always been like sand through her fingers.

I had almost forgotten to write anything about seeing her. I’ve learned not to dwell on her affairs since she’s moved from our neighborhood. Had I not been recently part of a group of people she emailed begging for help in finding a wii system for DorkMaster ‘so he won’t have to stand out in the rain overnight in front of the local Best Buy’ I would have forgotten completely. But to beg for help in getting him yet another computer/game system? Oh boo-frickity-hoo! She’s complaining about DorkMaster getting a pay cut and the family’s loss of benefits one minute and then buying a stupid wii the next? Those are some pretty fucked up priorities if you ask me. Oh, and don’t even get me started on her now infamous statement about divorcing FatHead and marrying DorkMaster because ‘[DorkMaster] is the more mature one.’

Early this morning we all got a snarky email saying DorkMaster did indeed stand out in the rain at Best Buy for nine hours last night and got his precious wii (even though the rain didn’t start in our area until 4 a.m.). The email ended with a sarcastic “Thanks.”

Yeah, you can thank us by taking all of us off your email list.

Well, it’s pouring outside right now and fairly windy. The wind is expected to push all the cold air out of the area, replacing it with warmer ocean air, and leaving us without the chance of snow. Every once in a while, I see something bigger than raindrops blowing past the window but I can never catch sight of what it might be. There are still lots of leaves left on trees across the street and it’s possible that’s what I’m seeing out of the corner of my eye. But I sure would like to see some snow. Uh, let me clarify that; I sure would like to see a whole lot more than three snowflakes sometime between today and tomorrow at this time. Please?

November 27, 2006

That was one determined snowball.

Okay, so it didn’t snow enough here in the ‘hood to form a single snowball (even if you scraped everyone’s yard) but more than three flakes fell from the sky, and I almost missed it.

Having not grown up with the possibility of frozen water falling from the sky, even at my age the chance of snow coming down right outside my window is too much for my brain to handle. So I stayed up all last night and finally went to bed around 6:30 this morning. Sometime around 9:30 a.m. WS woke me up to tell me it was snowing lightly. I had him briefly open the bedroom blinds just so my brain would register the fact and then I promptly fell back asleep.

The weather people say it could start back up again anytime after 4 p.m. and continue until Tuesday morning. And that would be great because it would allow me to get some sleep today because you know I won’t be able to sleep again tonight because if I did, I might miss it.

But it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that if I slept today, I won’t sleep tonight and such deviations will screw up my beautiful, perfect-working, sleep aid-free, and much loved three month sleep cycle. I could use the time today to get things done; the house cleaned, holiday decoration switch-overs, baking, light stringing; all the things I love to do at this time of year, and not to mention working on the novel.

I am so sleepy.

November 29, 2006

I got my Christmas wish: It snowed here yesterday. Only about a half an inch and most of it melted within two hours but it was so pretty while it was coming down. This also made the very first time ever I have seen it snow in November. Yeah, it’s the little things that make me happy.

WS worked from home yesterday because we didn’t know if the snow was going to melt and if the temperature was going to suddenly drop like the news said it would all day. It didn’t until six in the evening. An hour later after hearing the local weather people predict a low in the upper teens here, I brought Limpy inside to spent the night in the downstairs bathroom. Yes, he has a heating pad outside but that’s not enough for me to feel comfortable with him outside in 19 degree Fahrenheit weather. His belly and toes might be toasty warm but the rest of him wouldn’t be. Ever see a cat with frost bitten ears? I have and it definitely isn’t pretty.

Tomorrow our area is expected to get hit with freezing rain. I’m waiting until after that runs its course before I start on outdoor lights. If ice forms on the lights draped on bushes and trees, the weight will pull them over and I don’t want to repeat what happened a couple of years ago when I almost lost three of our newly planted white birches. One of those trees still has a bend to it and I suspect it always will.

This coming weekend, we’ll put up our bedroom tree; a four hour job compared to our downstairs tree which is more like 8-12 hours. I’ve been working on swapping out the fall décor to the holiday look. And I’m planning on going through all our Christmas decoration boxes to get rid of stuff I inherited somehow. Paper Mache reindeer, mini Christmas trees, candle chimes, enough tacky-colored ribbon to wrap our house, a painted nutcracker soldier? Where did that come from? Those nutcracker things give me nightmares!

Anyone want this stuff?

November 30, 2006

Is it just me or does it seem like everyone got the jump on Christmas decorating this year? I’m not talking about the usual department/grocery/downtown stores that start the week before Halloween. I mean usual folk, your neighbors, your relatives, and the guy down the street who usually waits until Christmas Eve. Our neighbors have jumped right in which is unusual for this neighborhood. Usually we’re the first to get lights up on the house although we don’t turn them on until December 1st. This year, Mr. Dimmer and the Wall Streets had us beat by a few hours.

Across the street, a couple of families have had a tree up since the day after Thanksgiving which is fair game technically but I’m usually a stickler for waiting at least until November is over with before I start piling up the glitter around here.

But not this year; something is in the air; something that told me to start early and obviously told everyone else to do the same. Well, not everyone else, but lots of people who usually wait. Yep, call us the Haus of Glittr from now until sometime around June.

The Howler Monkeys are still away on vacation or wherever. Some cat or raccoon came by the night before last and marked Limpy’s box and food outside. I purposely left food out for any animal that might have wandered by and needed it. I didn’t think anyone would ruin it for anyone else.

So yesterday I washed down the front porch, washed the blankets that cover Limpy’s box, dumped the food and plastic food bowl, and brought his box into the garage. Since we were slated for freezing rain this morning and because it barely got above freezing yesterday, Limpy was more than happy to stay one more day inside the downstairs bathroom, a room that stays very toasty. I know I’ve said it a dozen times or more here but if we didn’t already have so many pets, Limpy would be so ours on a permanent basis. He needs love and the chance to stay comfortable year around, not tossed outside 7/24/365 days a year to fend for himself.

So, while I was washing things yesterday, I redecorated downstairs with holiday this and that. Last Sunday, WS set up the big twelve foot tree and I’ve been working on finishing it up. This coming weekend I’ll start the same process upstairs which tends to go much faster. And I need to get back into my writing. I’ve ignored it for a week due to any number of excuses writers can come up with on a moment’s notice. It’s part of the job description I believe. But it hurts no one but me.

I’m also looking for a fiction writer’s conference or convention of sorts in the area that both WS and I can attend next year. I think it would be wildly beneficial to both of us. I’m completely amazed at the connectivity between Science Fiction & Fantasy writers through blogging and I’m convinced that if I could narrow down what genre my writing actually was, I could find the same level of support for my genre. Baby steps though. I’ve got too much to figure out first, some of which has little to do with actual writing. More on that later.

December 1, 2006

Yippee for December, one of my favorite months of the year. Pretty weather, pretty lights, grumpy people . . . who I can usually avoid without problem because I tend not to go much of anywhere during the month of December.

This month we’re working on getting back onto the ‘get-out-of-debt’ bandwagon. We had expenses both expected and unexpected in October and November though overall, they were less than originally planned. Good for us on that front. Foregoing vacation helped too and it was just as well; we might have been snowed in on the freeways up in Seattle coming back home if we had gone. Sometimes, things go our way.

We’re working on getting passports for ourselves this month before any more restrictions get lumped on starting in January (if what we’re heard is even halfway correct) but WS’ job isn’t cooperating. The old ‘Hurry Up and Wait’ scenario combined with the ‘Hey, let’s send him over there’ kind of deal. Nothing we can do anything about. His job takes top priority.

Decorating outside with lights and inside with the bedroom tree is on tap for the weekend as well as offering congratulations to all my local National Novel Writing Month writing buddies. We made it through the month. Celebrate the moment no matter how far you got. And you, my readers, pat yourselves too because you don’t have to read about it anymore until next year.

*wild cheers in the background

The Howler Monkeys are back minus one SUV. Don’t know what happened there. They never even looked twice at Limpy begging to get inside their home when they got back. He’s back over here now, outside but inside his box. The night temperature stayed above freezing last night so he spent the night out.

In the luxurious pet room here, The Queen and Old Man Skitters have been getting into geriatric fights lately complete with biting and tearing fur out. Not sure what’s going on there but I took a healthy scratch on my leg breaking up the first one yesterday. The Queen only has one tooth and doesn’t have claws but Old Man Skitters does. Funny thing, The Queen was winning that round. Typical.

I got an early Christmas present from Paperback Writer yesterday. I won a free, autographed book of hers, Afterburner, and it’s delightful! Thank you so much, PBW!

December 4, 2006

A whirlwind weekend that I’m both happy and sad to see go. Too many errands to run to get to them all and not enough time in each ever-shortening day.

I finished the holiday lights in the front yard but because the net lights seemed to have reproduced in their storage boxes over the year and eaten most of the single strings of lights, I’ve decided to forego lighting the backyard once again. Honestly, we’ve got maybe two bushes the net lights would work on. Everything else has outgrown the stage where net lights would work, so guess what else is going on the summer yard sale list, along with a dozen or more strings of white wire/white light sets? I hate this stuff taking up all the room we so desperately need but the last time I checked, yard sales held in the dead of winter don’t work out too well around here. They’ll all have to wait.

I didn’t get to cleaning up the backyard either and boy, oh boy, does it ever need it. I have to face facts: The raccoons are not the least bit interested in the four dozen rotted quinces lying on the cement. And for as much as the wind has been blowing, the leaves off all the deciduous trees aren’t blowing out of the yard. I love the rain and all but I really could use a week of dry weather without bone-chilling wind.

Speaking of wind, my face is wind burnt from putting up the rest of the lights today. And I was only outside for about an hour. My hands feel chapped too even though I was wearing gloves. At least they aren’t frostbitten like a shot of a climber’s blackened hands shown on the Everest show I’ve been watching on and off on the Discovery Channel lately. Icky. I’ll stop complaining about that now.

I didn’t get our bedroom Christmas tree up but we did a bit of Christmas shopping this year for ourselves. That in itself is rare. We don’t usually do Christmas shopping. The people and the parking and the silly ads for silly items no one really needs and the traffic; who needs it? And of course, we didn’t wrap the professional set of knives, the $150 worth of spices, or the new down pillows we bought for ourselves to place them under the tree. We were both there when we bought everything, us being co-dependent and hardly unable to go or do anything without the other along. There is no surprise gift giving around here, no sir-ree-bob so no point in buying wrapping paper, ribbon, or bows here either.

As for the items purchased, we’ve been using a mish-mash ‘set’ of poorly made knives for the last 17 years we’ve been together. For as much as we cook at home, a decent, reputable set was long overdue. We’ll probably never have to replace them again.

The pillows are replacing the crushed, permanently dead ones. You’ll have to ask WS about how that happens.

And the spices? Well, that’s a long story and one that I’ll probably go off on a tangent about. It’s been a few days since I’ve done that so bear with me here.

We keep our cupboard stuffed with various spices; easily three dozen or more kinds of this and that. The problem is most of them were bought over a decade ago. We use spices a lot around here but not that much. The other problem is that I used to have a habit of buying spices in bulk. Who needs five pounds of fennel seed? Apparently I thought I did once.

I’ll let you in on a little known secret: When I am extra highly stressed, I organize the kitchen spice cabinet and take mental notes on what the house is ‘low’ on. Thankfully, this doesn’t happen anywhere near as much as it used to when I worked.

Then, every fall, I buy spices, dried fruit and nuts in anticipation of using them for holiday baking. The problem I have is we rarely do holiday baking anymore and every fall I buy too many different spices. Sure, the dried fruits and nuts are used throughout the year but even I can’t use eight pounds of dried marjoram and four pounds of allspice.

*Tangent Ahead Warning

And all that jerk chicken seasoning? We rarely eat chicken anymore and to be honest, that seasoning isn’t all that great. I ought to toss it out, along with the five pound container of dried ground mustard that I bought in 1982. And the wasabi powder hand delivered from some guy WS met from Japan back in 1993? I probably ought to toss it too, unless there is a market for aged wasabi on eBay. And the baking powder with aluminum; sure, it’s in a pretty can but we can’t use it due to WS’ MS. It’s just taking up space. Those ancient cookie sugar sprinkles? Again, taking up space. Bulk coconut I don’t even remember buying (it’s been that long)? Taking up space. A container holding about a cup of orzo pasta from 1990? Taking up space. A bunch of unidentifiable beans? Taking up space. Ditto for dried tomatoes, ditto for blanched almonds, double ditto for all that white corn meal.

And then there is the pantry where empty bottles reside, flashy tins and fancy cardboard boxes that used to hold specialty coffee, cookies, and candy. The entire shelf of Torani syrups most of which make me break out if I look too long at each bottle. The containers of body building powders and wafers, all of which make me wheeze at some point. All taking up space. The boxes of Atkin’s Diet bread mixes – those things are nasty-tasting! The muffin mixes we keep putting off baking because we really don’t like the flavors

Then there are the baking items never used: Pizza stones, broiler trays, tea kettles, glass bowls and plastic tubs galore. Bottles of soda pop from Mexico, bottles from when soda was stored in glass, and from when Starbucks thought they were going to take on the likes of Coca-Cola. A forty-year old Sake set with forty-year old Sake still in it (it tastes REAL bad as you might be able to imagine and kerosene’s got nothing on this stuff). Antique hand meat grinders, the kind you clamp onto a countertop, plastic party cups, bags of confetti, and older than old, rock hard Halloween candy. Glass clamp-top jars, Tupperware from the early ‘80’s, and a full piece china set from my first marriage in 1976, back when a bride-to-be picked out a pattern before her wedding thinking her and her husband would eat off it every day for the rest of their lives. He hated it from square-one and I think I’ve used it less than half a dozen times ever. A shame but all taking up space.

If I’m going to complete one of my last 2006 goals for this year, I am going to clear out a good portion of this stuff and soon!

Gosh, where was I? I guess I had more on my mind to work on this weekend than even I thought I had. And I only finished a fingerbowl full. Guess what I’ll be working on between now and the end of the year. The best part will be clearing all this crap out while listening to the TV in the background pushing for everyone to go out and buy more crap. I should invite them all over to pick through my stuff first.

December 5, 2006

When I was at the OryCon convention a couple of weeks ago (No! Say it wasn’t really a whole month ago!) in one of the writing classes I learned about one of the motivation tricks many famous authors use – Reward and Punishment.

The example we were given harkens back to the days of Oregon’s Lon Mabon and the Oregon Citizen’s Alliance which was a thinly veiled hate group or a message from God depending on who you talk to. Anyway, a famous writer from Oregon who absolutely hated Lon Mabon and what he stood for decided he needed motivation to write his novel. Reward and Punishment only works if both are something that speaks to that person individually. Obviously, it wouldn’t do me a hill of beans if I were to say, “If I don’t write 1000 words today, I’m going to think bad thoughts about Britney Spears for one hour.” The Reward and Punishment has to be something serious; something extra good for the reward and something extra bad as punishment.

This writer vowed as his punishment to send Lon Mabon and the Oregon Citizen’s Alliance a check for $100 for every month he didn’t reach his writing goal. And then he told everyone about it. He stuck to his word and he did send one check for the month he slacked off but he never sent another. He finished his novel and moved on.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this. It’s easy to come up with the reward but the punishment part is harder because it has to mean something to me. WS came up with the idea that either I write 2000 words a day or I exercise for one hour. If I only write 1000 words that day, I only have to exercise for half an hour. In a way its reward and punishment both and either way you look at it, I can’t lose. Well, I could lose weight and that would make me very happy. I really packed the pounds on during November.

I haven’t decided if this is going to be the method I use this month to finish my NaNo novel and into next year where I have a serious writing schedule lined up for myself. It’s easy for me to slack from time to time. I used to have discipline enough to make most Marines groan but somewhere over the past couple of years, I lost it. Or maybe I finally got to the point when I asked, “What IS the point anyway?” I’m too busy right now thinking short term, like a rabbit in a box with no vision or hope for the future. That’s not a good place to be. I need a reward and punishment method to this madness.

December 6, 2006

It’s happened. It’s been a long, long time since I felt this way. Apathy has struck. More holiday decorating is required here both inside and outside. Who cares? I need to get back to my NaNo novel. Who cares? The place needs vacuuming and general cleaning? Who cares? Pumpkins are waiting to be baked. Who cares?

Yesterday I forced myself to put on a happy face and pick up all the rotting quinces out back. Then I got out the leaf vacuum and cleared off half of the cement walkways. Only my back and right arm giving out caused me to quit.

After that, I got down to the business of baking a small custard-filled pumpkin. It takes about two hours to bake or longer but I accomplished that. Only three more pumpkins to go after this. I love baked custard pumpkins but WS can take them or leave them, making me wonder if I really need to eat that much custard. I need to get back into some kind of shape other than round but then again, who cares?

I forced myself to get all the laundry down yesterday and I vacuumed upstairs. Yes, I felt better afterward as I always do but within a few hours, dust bunnies, cat litter, pieces of faux Xmas greenery, and whatnot was scattered about. I guess until it gets up to our armpits around here, who cares?

I didn’t write yesterday other than for here but I did get on the treadmill for ten easy minutes along with two hard minutes on the elliptical machine. I felt good about that but not good enough to squeeze into pants to go out and put up more holiday lights. I mean, really, who cares? It’ll be that much more to take down in three weeks. I’m butting up against a timeline anyway with the weather. Nothing but a solid week of rain is forecast come Friday of this week.

December 6, 2006

This is the second post I wrote up for today’s entry. The first one was your basic pre-holiday apathy piece full of highly effective pity party ingredients. Just add water and watch it bloom into a great big ball of stinky ear wax. It happens from time to time especially when things don’t cooperate and people get annoying.

But then something happened. WS picked up the ball and ran a little with it. Apathy hates it when someone does that. Then I forced myself to reopen my NaNo novel, the one I just worked on last month but haven’t finished yet. Apathy was doing a little more than just looking over my shoulder when I did that; it was sitting on my neck and screaming in my ear not to dare open that Word document.

Then something more wonderful happened. I opened the document and scrolled through my story anyway because I generally have a problem with so-called authority figures and at about the halfway point I stopped and read a few paragraphs. Apathy let out a howl as if I had stabbed it squarely in the balls. I reread the paragraphs again and immediately thought, ‘Hey! This isn’t half bad!’ And at that point, apathy grabbed it’s nether regions and limped its sorry ass away to parts unknown. It left some of it’s stuff here like a moth-eaten sleeping bag and a bunch of half-empty bags of Doritos so if it set up camp at your house, tell me so I know where to forward this stuff.

Today I have a lot of work to get done. I’ve already finished potting up 24 Paperwhite Narcissus, our favorite winter flower. WS got me a bunch of Christmas lights last night to put up in the backyard before the rain comes back Friday. And he set up our bedroom tree last night. I’ll work on decorating that a little today too. Then there’s Christmas cards to send out and writing slash exercise. And if no one claims apathy at their house, I have to drag this stuff out and cram it in the trash can. No way is it sticking around here.

December 8, 2006

I just finished watching one of our Christmas traditional shows around here: The 42nd TV broadcast of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, a delightful Christmas oriented stop-motion animation. And for the first time ever and probably with no surprise for those who know us, I’m confessing that for the past 18 years, WS and I have added our own running commentary. Most of it is based on long thought upon theories grown and established over the years we were exposed to the TV show as children (like to chicken pox) and only now are able to express as adults living in the comfort (and safety) of our own home.

First off, Santa isn’t a nice guy at all. A bit of a bigot actually and let’s not get us started on Rudolph’s parents, his father in particular. Obviously, this guy was a Marine or dreamed of being one. If Rudolph’s parent’s cave had a closet, you can be sure they would have forced Rudolph into it.

Is it just me or does the doe Clarisse seem a bit forward? And shouldn’t that have made her a misfit back in 1964 when this cartoon was new to the world?

Have you ever noticed that right from the very start, Hermie’s ears aren’t pointy like the others? He’s not an elf! Yet everyone is trying to force him into the elf slave labor camp. Why? Can’t the rest of them see that he isn’t an elf? Hermie shouldn’t have wanted to be a dentist; he should have wanted to become an optometrist. He would have made just as much money!

And speaking of making money, Yukon Cornelius. This guy has given me nightmares since I was a child. I want to scream at the TV, “Shut UP ALREADY!” He’s a dolt too, proven when he switches from wanting to find silver instead of gold. Let’s see, gold hit $600 an ounce this past summer and has risen since. Where is silver sitting today? $13 an ounce. Yeah, no wonder he uses a poodle and a wiener dog as part of his sled team.

Now, the most controversial part of the show: The island of misfit toys. Maybe a better term would be the island of toy diversity. Seriously, look at the toys there. THEY ARE NOT MISFITS, not a single one of them. The train with square wheels on its caboose? Hey, they don’t even use cabooses anymore so what are you whining about? The spotted elephant? Oh sure, be plain boring grey like all the rest. The bird that can’t fly but swim? Um, it’s called a penguin. Hello? Penguins are all the rage now. OOooo, and how about the boat that can’t stay afloat? Ever hear of a little boat called Titanic? Huge movie, huge cast, huge profits.

The Charlie in the box. Sure be named Jack like the billions of others . . . who were all sued by the Jack-In-The-Box fast food company at one time or another. I’d be willing to bet every last one of those Jacks wish they were named anything but Jack. Next up, the cowboy who rides an ostrich. From what I understand, that’s a big tourist draw in Australia.

Then there’s the king of the island, the lion with wings. Hmm, isn’t that the same as a Griffin? That royal symbol embracing both the king of beasts and king of the air? What’s his problem? Thankfully, we don’t have to hear him whining about anything except that he won’t let the trio stay longer than a night.

Finally, there’s the little girl doll who doesn’t say what her problem is. What? Isn’t she wearing underwear or something under that short skirt? Britney does it, Paris too. It’ll be the all the rage shortly, just wait and see.

And let’s not miss the part where Rudolph exits the island cabin and leaves the door hanging wide open. In the real world, Hermie and Yukon Cornelius would have died from exposure and hypothermia. How many kids grew up thinking it was okay to leave doors hanging wide open in freezing, snowy weather due to this little screw up? Plenty, I’d be willing to bet.

Then we come to the next contentious part, one we both like because of the story of Rudolph we read in the book of Politically Correct Christmas stories about a decade ago. When Santa asks, “Rudolph, with your nose so bright, won’t you guide my sleigh tonight?” (a line I once heard in a bar and if I hadn’t laughed, I would have slapped the guy), we always reply in unison, “Not without concessions!”

To wrap things up, there’s always the wish that Rudolph will demand Yukon Cornelius will be thrown back out into the snow to freeze to death, the wish that the toothless Abominable Snowman will gum the elves to death because he would surely have eaten them if he still had teeth combined with the sad realization that he’ll most likely have to eat soft foods like mashed potatoes, tofu, and Jell-O for the rest of his days, and the wondering if all the toys dropped from Santa’s sleigh with umbrellas will make it to the right ‘white’ neighborhoods. And how many children would have found more fun in those umbrellas instead of the toys themselves? Who knows? Growing up in the desert, as a child I barely knew what an umbrella was or how to use one. I never owned one until I moved to the Pacific Northwest but even so, I still hardly ever use it. Maybe the umbrellas should have had their own place on the island of misfit toys. Along with pet rocks and Chia Heads.

December 10, 2006

I hate it when people aren’t mentally aligned. or emotionally either for that matter. It can certainly be key in starting on that miserable road to funk-dom, a place I hate above all else.

Today I felt I wanted to see the world. WS wanted to clean the house. I saw the world on a short trip to and from the local grocery store. WS got his house cleaned from top to bottom.

WS’ plan worked better because when I’m out seeing the world, I spent money. Always. When WS wants a clean house, we don’t spend money.

That’s the end of that story.

I’ve felt off lately. I don’t know what it is exactly or really when exactly it started but I feel like I’m rubbing everyone the wrong way. I think it’s time I sit back and shut my mouth for once. Ought to make for a peaceful Christmas.

December 12, 2006

Shh, did you hear that? It was the sound of me being quiet. Clack-clack, clackity-clack is the only sound I’m making while I’m trying to get back to finishing up my NaNo novel. There is comfort in the clack.

Ms. Wall Street’s baby, sprog number three for those keeping score, is overdue by a day. Mr. Wall Street has grown a goatee and shaved his head in preparation for the event. It’s not a pretty visual. They have lived here for one year almost to the day, each having moved in looking like models straight out of a Gap commercial. Those days might as well be years in the past. The tans, the streaked hair, the thin bodies and fashionable clothes, all gone. Even the tasseled shoes are missing. Naw, we didn’t need any of that California stuff up here I guess. They dived headlong into the Pacific Northwest look with roof-racked SUVs, knit caps, Columbia Sportswear jackets, jeans, big Docker’s style boots, and flannel over t-shirts. He looks nearly the same and if it weren’t for the pregnancy, it’d be hard to tell them apart.

On the other side, it’s becoming a regular heavy metal Christmas at The Dimmers. Last night’s selections were completely unidentifiable . . . and I know lots of heavy metal artists so I was flummoxed. The pleasant part was when Mr. Dimmer decided not to crank the volume to eleven. Apparently, somewhere between nine and ten suited him just fine. He was ‘working’ in the garage again with the door wide open most of the day yesterday. Looks like he’s still sleeping in the garage but hey! At least he fixed the door finally . . . well, mostly fixed the door.

And here’s the season of icicle lights. You know, those long dangly light strings that hang nice for about a day or if you live around here, about ten minutes until the wind whips them up into the rain gutters? I’ll hand it to Mr. Dimmer this year though. The wind has taken its toll on his icicle lights twice and twice he’s put up the ladder and fixed them. Never seen that happen before but then again, he’s got a little more time on his hands this year. He has given up looking for a job this year.

The Dry Cleaners have their usual ‘Charlie Brown’ decorating look going on and somehow, for some reason, this year I’m comforted by it. I think after almost two years of trying to find my place in the world of the unemployed, of weighing taste versus expense, and struggling with self doubt versus self loathing, I’m finally settling into seeing the routine of life around me, and I’m okay with it. For now.

Back to writing and observing. Back to the quiet.

December 13, 2006

It’s a blah day, or at least a blah day to someone trying very hard to be quiet. WS has been called out of town for work purposes and to say I’m not happy about it would be an understatement. I used to get asked to go along (well, actually, that lasted for about four months even though we’re allegedly accumulating credit card air miles for me to do just that). The asking part doesn’t happen anymore, and although it’s is reasoned that it is because we’d have to make pet/house sitting arrangements and pet vet lodging arrangements and the whole thing would add ridiculous expense to the trip, it would still be nice to be asked. Boo-hoo. I’m feeling decidedly like I’m not wanted around much anymore.

Hang on. Let me stick out my lower lip even further.

A big wind storm is forecast for our area tomorrow night with promises of downed trees and power lines. Good thing I’ve got five different kinds of cocoa, three different kinds of marshmallows, and a big ol’ cabinet of liquor, isn’t it? The pets and I might be partying it up like it was two thousand ninety nine and watching all those neighboring icicle lights do the annual holiday swing that I just referred to in yesterday’s entry.

I made Buffalo Bourguignon yesterday, another annual event around here and although we’ve talked about it, I’ve yet to make any holiday cookies. We have a lot of sweets sitting around here from a trip we made to Cost Plus a couple of weeks ago. Do we really need cookies too? Maybe. Seems wrong without any but who’s got the time?

Apparently I do, though if I really put my mind to it, I could get into a writing/exercising mode, kind of a killing two birds with one stone thing that could go on for hours on end. Or I could just sleep for the next three days.

Boo-frickity-hoo.

December 14, 2006

Since WS is out of town, I went shopping. Not in a ‘you’re going out of town so I’m going shopping out of spite’ kind of way; just a ‘I hardly ever go shopping for clothes but I need some’ kind of way. I was actually looking for something or several somethings to put in our shared stocking but since to date we’ve never used it, it’s not surprising that things didn’t go as planned. I’m facing facts: We don’t need or want much of anything anymore, and you know, I’m okay with that.

Our area is about an hour away from the start of the big wind storm. Or four hours away if you listen to the other channel. It was fairly breezy I noticed when I was out and about. The rain has stopped momentarily but it really came down like a mother early this morning. Luckily, I missed rush hour traffic coming back from the airport; less than an hour later, there were several pile ups on the freeway route I took home.

So I did find X for WS which I will wrap and put under our bedroom tree and of course, I bought a T-Shirt for myself in return. Ten bucks for a Chipotle t-shirt is some righteous bucks! And I’ll wrap that too. And since I was there, uh, at Chipotle’s, I brought home lunch. Sorry WS. I’m sure your lunches and dinner in SD will be better. I might also have found something WS was looking for but I’ll have to take him along to see if it’s the right thing. Don’t worry, WS, it’s not in downtown Portland.

Then I drove across town and braved the dreaded mall to see if I could find anything else. Surprisingly, the place wasn’t crowded at all. Even the parking lot was nearly empty. Of course it was two in the afternoon. I found a couple more shirts and a silvery sweater that I hope will look dashing for a dinner I have to attend next week. No dresses, no new shoes that I’ll only wear once or twice, and no grandma stretch pull on pants. I’m not quite there yet. The dining establishment is going to have to accept me in levis (reasonable new-ish looking) and the new sweater or turn me out onto the street which would be just fine with me since we tried to have dinner there once before and they wouldn’t let us in. Weren’t dress codes all the rage back in the ‘70’s and ‘80’s? Ris says it’s the hippies fault. How I wished to be a hippie back then. Anything other than what and where I was at the time. Heh, another story for another time perhaps.

Today, I’ve also had a disproportionate number of people decide to put their cars in reverse in front of me. I don’t know if a bunch of new drivers are out there today or what, but when semi-trucks do it, not once, not twice, but three times, it’s time to get home as fast and as safely as possible. And stay there. Oh, if only Chipotle delivered . . .

Storm update: It’s closing in on 5:30 p.m. and other than a little breeze and on and off rain, we haven’t been hit with the high winds yet.

December 15, 2006

Well that was a great little storm we had last night. I wasn’t scared here by myself. I wasn’t even terribly worried. What I was, in all honesty, was annoyed. Annoyed that the lights flickered every five minutes: If they are going to flicker all night long, just go out all ready and be done with it! Annoyed that the local news at eleven kept saying it’s all over yet our house shook in the wind until six this morning. Annoyed that we’d have to pay to have our roof shingles fixed . . . only to discover early this morning that we may yet again have survived without losing a one (how does that happen – wait! I’m not going to question it). Annoyed that our wreaths and ribbons blew away early last night, and relieved to have found them this morning. And annoyed that WS had to be out of town on business to miss the storm, the big storm fan he is (yet still doesn’t think e-kits are a good idea). All I can say is summed up in this Haiku I created especially for the situation:

Town to town and back.
Traveling for an ego.
His boss is a jerk.

So, to wrap up news on the storm front here, we didn’t lose power at all, I found the wreaths and ribbons, shingles look fine upon first inspection, it’s currently pouring rain and breezy, the pets are fine, Limpy is fine, laundry and vacuuming is almost done, WS due back soon, I’m exhausted and not writing, and my car has a problem.

December 18, 2006

I felt tired all day today. Tired as in go back to bed and sleep tired, but why? Sure, I had lots of stress last week, sure it’s the holidays and the commercialism always gets me down, sure I put on weight during the month of November and lately that has really gotten me down, but is all this enough to make me wish I didn’t wake up this morning?

Yes, and then some.

I’ve heaped a lot of projects onto myself over the past couple of weeks and I can say in all honesty, I’m not going to come close to accomplishing half of them. Just acknowledging that should make me feel better but somehow it doesn’t.

Thankfully, I’m not suffering from insomnia or night sweats. I just feel down this month and anxious for December to get over with. How do I know that I won’t feel the same way about January? I don’t. In fact, January’s have been notoriously bad depression months for me. In a pre-January attempt to counteract that this coming year, I have some home decorating changes I plan on making utilizing things we already had on hand. Instead of burying my head, wailing “Woe is me,” and waiting for spring, I’m going to embrace the winter months and decorate the place in white, silver, and blue; the colors of snow and frost.

I’ll still be on my organizing kick and plan to clean and clear out some cupboards and closets. Storage space in our house is at a premium because of the structural changes we asked the builder to make when construction was going on. As a result, we lost a large closet and I didn’t have the foresight to request additional cabinetry where I should have. Short of paying for an expensive ‘California Closet’ job in the remaining closets we do have, a good clearing of stuff we never use might be enough to do the trick.

Well, that and a good garage sale this coming April. Yep, we’re going to have one this year regardless of whether WS wants to or not. We have to. No one needs this much stuff, no matter what all the Christmas advertising says on TV.

December 19, 2006

We went shopping last weekend at Cost Plus World Market because we have always loved the place and because we had some money in which to shop with. It’s our Christmas gift to us. It is easy to get lost in the crowded aisles filled with things from around the world and we, being very globally minded (we’ve often been accused of being more European than American, whatever that means) fill our basket with spices, knick-knacks, and food from the planet’s corners.

I was looking for yet another Christmas-y food to add to our already large collection when I found a can of Golden Pudding from England. Now, in the U.S. when we refer to pudding, a thick, creamy dessert usually comes to mind. Not so in England. It is more of a bread or cake-like thing. And if you recall from Dicken’s ‘A Christmas Carol’ movie, particularly the 1951 version with Alastair Sim, Tiny Tim begs his siblings to come and listen to the pudding singing in the copper, meaning the cake-like food was steaming in a pot. Just try to convince kids nowadays to put down their iPods, cell phones, and gaming controllers long enough to listen to food steaming! Ah, for the simple joys of an era long past.

I snatched up the can of Golden Pudding and put it in the basket with the rest of the treats and didn’t think another thing about it. But when we finally made it to the cash register, there was a problem. There was no bar code on the can or at least not one anyone could read. The cashier, a strapping young man, made several attempts to find a way to scan the pudding but to no avail. The can was from another country after all. Not everyone includes bar codes on their products.

After several minutes and with a line of impatient customers rapidly forming behind us, he called for a price check over the intercom. Another young man came to the register and the un-priced can of Golden Pudding was held up for him to see. Our cashier said something to the affect that it was back with the food items which meant it could be anywhere in more than a dozen aisles and we could all be standing there for another ten minutes. Luckily, I remembered exactly where it was and said so. Loudly.

“It’s right next to the Spotted Dick!” I hollered.

The guy going for the price check stopped in his tracks, turned back around, and said, “You know, you’re right.” And then he headed off again.

WS looked painfully embarrassed (yet again because I have a habit of doing things like that when he’s around), our cashier’s face looked red and pinched, and the cream of the crop? Every customer in line behind us had a look of shock and disgust on their faces. I’m not 100% certain but it’s possible that all the mothers and fathers standing in line simultaneously clamped their hands over their children’s ears in sheer horror. I do know that in that exceptionally busy store last Saturday, December 16th at approximately 2:05 in the afternoon, everything and everyone became incredibly quiet all because someone yelled the location of an English suet pudding called Spotted Dick.

In England, this would be no big deal. Spotted Dick is a steamed pudding with currants and the like and is commonly known from how I understand it. But here in the U.S. mentioning Spotted Dick in only done in quiet whispers, behind hands with downcast eyes, and usually is followed by everything from small titters to full on guffaws.

No one laughed when I said that. The price checker who I am certain didn’t go as far as the fourth food aisle from the end, halfway down and at eye level right next to the cans of Spotted Dick, came back with a price a full two dollars less than I knew it was. Whether he was just overworked or tired or just wanted me, an outspoken old woman out of the store, who knows but I did get my can of Golden Pudding. Merry Christmas to me.

The moral of this incident? Don’t be afraid to say what’s on your mind in a public place, be it something big and politically driven or something as insignificant as telling someone the location of a can of something from another country. Be comfortable and secure enough with yourself to do so. Often, that security in yourself comes with age but it doesn’t have to be. Eccentric, stupidity, or senility based? Only you can make that decision but either way, be comfortable because life’s too short to not enjoy it.

December 25, 2006

We here hope you and yours are enjoying a wonderful Christmas. Today we enjoyed getting up late in the morning for once in a very long time, we had peppermint coffee and cookies for lunch and are considering doing something else we haven’t done in a very long time; something that harkens back to our roots of living alone, without many friends and fewer family and of being painfully broke; something that seems to ground us in some odd sort of way and reminds us of where we came from. And of which completely and totally baffles others. What is it?

We’re going to have Christmas dinner at a Jack-In-The-Box fast food restaurant.

Yes, it wasn’t that long ago that this was our pinnacle of gourmet dining for the both of us who lived at one time or another on nothing but popcorn (out on his own, WS lived on this for months) and Meow Mix cat food (I lived on this for 30 long days after my divorce). Before we met, either of us would have chewed off our own arms to feast at Jack’s back then. And for the first couple of years of scraping by together, every Christmas eve we would cash in our collected pocket change, returned bottle money, and lots of found pennies to have a ‘nice’ meal the next day. Being as I worked for Jack’s one year, I knew they’d be open and always would be. And I have always felt for those who had to work Christmas day.

It’s been a few years and our Christmas dinners have included everything from steak, caviar, and fine wine to Poor Man’s soup and cheap day-old coffee. The coming year will see us working hard to reduce our personal financial debt and getting joy from all we already have. It’s time to remember our roots.

December 26, 2006

It’s Tuesday, the day after Christmas and all the wrapping paper and ribbon has gone into the recycling bins for pickup, most of the Christmas-looking goodies have been eaten, and the last of the red Christmas candles are currently working their way down into wickless melted blobs. It’s very rainy outside and toasty inside. What better day would suit our need to get back to writing than today? None. It’s time to get busy.

But first, let’s catch up on a few things.

For the past two weeks, DorkMaster’s kids have been out of school on Christmas break (they actually pull their kids out a week early for some reason; we suspect it’s a tradition MsNoManagementSkills grew up with.) And you know they can’t stay at home alone, not with the oldest who steals money, medication, and eats any and all sweets including whole spoonfuls of white sugar straight out of the bag . . . with her therapist’s blessing, not with the middle child who threatens to kill himself every week, and not with the youngest who at age seven purposefully wets himself and his surroundings for attention.

No, those kids needed supervision and apparently neither MsNo nor DorkMaster could afford to pay for it, especially since DorkMaster had a reduction in pay and loss of benefits last month. So what’s a parent to do?

Quit his job, that’s what! Right before Christmas too. Good thing MsNo got that quasi-legal $100,000 HeLoc loan this past August to help pay for everything since she still refuses to work a full time job and he sounding like he’s not going to be looking for another job anytime soon. Of course, never the ones to look forward, they’ve already blown through half the loan money but I’m sure they needed that Wii system, DS systems for everyone in the house, new carpet and kitchen appliances and makeover sessions and the countless other Christmas presents she so brazenedly reported on in her gawd-awful annual Christmas family letter. Merry Christmas indeed.

To catch up on a completely different front, we were invited to a pre-Christmas gathering of car people, people who are still part of the old car club we originally belonged to a few years ago, long before the nightmarish Monkey Club (from which I still receive email from begging me to attend this and that – not on your life, I always say to myself as I happily delete their email.) I don’t know why I wanted to go; I’m confused about it as well, but we did.

At this gathering none other than the not-so-nice Competition Boy was there along with Drill Sergeant Dave. After the expected rounds of ‘look what the cat dragged in’ we easily fell back into the fast paced, half-friendly half-mean spirited banter that the group is famous for. What was meant as an hour visit turned into four hours and by the time we left, everyone had laughed hard enough to evoke tears or headaches depending on what was being consumed. And for some, that meant a lot of libations being consumed. Nothing new there.

We were surprised naturally at the seemingly good time had by all and chalked the evening up to one of those rare events not so different as to spotting Haley’s Comet or Bush apologizing publicly or Mr. Dimmer next door going an entire day without singing off key loudly, or just not singing loudly at all. Every get together with these people in the past has resulted in a 1 in 90 percent chances of us having a good time. That’s a lot of crappy time spent with people I wouldn’t trust as far as I could throw them. But we made the best of it and that was all.

Today I got an email from Drill Sergeant Dave asking if we would join him and a few others for New Year’s Eve. Same format, same people. Now, we hate going anywhere for New Year’s Eve especially since our neighbors tend to revert to 8 year olds with fireworks. Plus the aforementioned chance the evening will turn ugly. We’ve spent a couple of New Years Eves in the past with these people and we can say with all certainty the following things will happen that evening before midnight:

At least one couple will vow to split up.
At least one couple will refuse to speak to one another all evening.
At least one spouse will get drunk and attempt to touch another spouse’s nether regions.
At least one spouse will already be drunk upon arrival and will fall asleep hours before midnight, and usually will take up the entire couch.
At least one attendee will spend the evening puking. Let’s hope it’s in the bathroom this time.
And no later than ten minutes after midnight, everyone will be rudely shoved out on their asses to go home.

Intersperse the evening with a shortage of non alcoholic beverages, people screaming to be heard by one another, and a couple of seafood platters left out too long and you have all the makings of what will later be considered a ‘great’ party. If this were a Monkey Club party, it would go down in history as a boring, polite party. Monkey Club New Year’s Eve parties are so horribly bad I can’t even talk about them.

So do we go or do we stay? What do you think we’ll decide? Yeah, I think we’ll pass. Let’s let it end again on an up note.

December 27, 2006

I was good yesterday in that I worked more on organizing areas of our house that needed it (only two cupboards and two closets left) and I got back to the business of writing. I printed out my entire November NaNo novel to allow WS to begin reading it and offering editorial suggestions for change. Then I wrote half a chapter that has had me stumped for over a week and added more dialog to another chapter that I am certain must end differently from how it currently sits but that different ending just did not want to come out. As a result, my good guy character is still too sugary sweet. Yet anything else written for him sounds obviously forced. I think he’s going to have to stew for a while longer while I work on filling in some gaps with other lesser characters.

Anyhoo, I felt good about my accomplishments last night but then this morning, I woke up with a sinus headache that neither caffeinated green tea nor aspirin have eased. My eyes feel slow reacting and my face around my eyes and nose is painful to the touch.

I blame the cheese.

It’s the holidays, no, it goes deeper than that, it’s the rainy season in the Pacific Northwest and that is the perfect time to enjoy a bit of cheese. My problem isn’t with the weather or the season or even with a bit of cheese. It’s with the amount of cheese I tend to consume during this time of year.

You see, to me, a bit of cheese is something stuck under your fingernail and who could live with consuming such a tiny amount alone (other than Naomi Campbell)? No, I must consume cheese in mass quantities as if it were all going to be gone tomorrow . . . and often it is unless I’m either very, very smart or very, very stupid and buy more than I could possibly eat in a single day. This has led to the development of what I call my own Simple Mass Allocation Cheese Kit or S.M.A.C.K. for short. This is also easy for me to remember because I tend to relate cheese consumption with having a heroin addiction. One must continue consuming it or else death may pay a visit.

The ‘kit’ is comprised of a minimum of five different slice-able cheese varieties – Caraway Havarti, Smoked Gouda, Smoked Cheddar, a painfully sharp aged Cheddar, and something previously untried in a while – an Amsterdam or Gruyere perhaps. Add to this pile at least one spread-able cheese, usually a sharp cheddar something rolled in sliced almonds, a soft cheese usually a Brie either with herbs or mushrooms or plain, and upon occasion, a canned cheese food. Yes, although considered a food faux pas by most, Cheese Whiz sometimes has its place at the table.

Ideally all are eaten with a wide assortment of crackers or thinly sliced rye bread and sometimes with Dijon mayonnaise or horseradish cream but these are just guide lines. There is nothing wrong with carefully and meticulously placing each cheese on a large cheese board using a delicate hand to make each cheese texture and substance play off of and compliment each other and one can even go to the effort of labeling each and taking notes on the subtle taste variations. Then pour yourself a fine glass of pear nectar, sparkling water, or wine if you must to go along with the feast. Settle in, count to ten and then downright scarf the whole mess down, eating right off the board while ignoring the crackers and bread and the cute little name tags, and not forgetting to lick up any and all residue crumbs that might remain. Heavy belching may follow and should be viewed as a necessary risk one must endure in the name of true cheese satisfaction.

Eliminate the eating off of and licking of the board and you can picture our Christmas Day evening. We had chilled pear nectar with that if you must know. Then, because it was so good and amazingly, we still had cheese left because I was a champ last week in supplying my S.M.A.C.K. stash, we did it again today for lunch and washed it down with Bolthouse Chai sprinkled with fresh ground nutmeg.

Why? I am asking myself now as I gently prod my tender face and feel the throb of my temples. We hadn’t had cheese in the house since early last summer. I hadn’t missed it. We had learned to live without it. Nachos made without cheese might sound weird but they really are good. Cheeseburgers without the cheese are still good hamburgers, and Mac & Cheese, well it becomes Macaroni without the cheese but ripe for a good tomato basil sauce.

It’s after three in the afternoon now and my sinus headache isn’t getting any better. I don’t even want to think about how much holiday cheese is still left in our refrigerator. All I can say is thank goodness the Havarti and extra sharp cheddar is gone. When those two get together in our household, there isn’t much use in trying to put up a fight. I don’t know if I could ignore those two for very long, headache or no. What I am going to do is go lie down, stop thinking about it, and pray that the chive-laden Cotswold cheddar and the four-year old smoked Gouda don’t join forces.

December 29, 2006

Its official: WS is having a MS exacerbation, and me? I’m just fat. We’ve each suspected WS’ latest MS thing since he came back from his San Diego business trip two weeks ago but the last couple of days have been more stumble-y and clumsy than ever. Good thing this had to happen during his vacation huh? That’s not sarcasm. If he were at work, his boss would probably send him out of town on another trip regardless of how poorly he can walk.

So it looks like the after holiday shopping trips we had planned will go by the wayside and not a moment too soon. We’re jumping back on the ‘Get out of Debt’ bandwagon a little sooner than I anticipated but it’ll only benefit us later on down the road.

As for me being fat, ha! I already knew that! The good thing is I’ve got all this equipment here to work out on. Over the past week I’ve been getting my brain into the right frame of mind for the New Year. One of my goals for 2007 is to take the treadmill seriously and I have little doubt I will. I really do like that thing. Working out on that makes working out on the elliptical machine a whole lot easier too. The real challenge will be 1) To stick with it (thinking of what I currently look like in shorts ought to help with that, and 2) Getting WS to start rowing again which obviously isn’t going to begin until he gets over this MS exacerbation.

I took my car out for a spin today since the weather has been dry for the last few days. We bought a battery tender for it for Christmas to help keep the battery charged but I’ve yet to figure out how to hook it up. The instructions are fairly cryptic in my opinion but I know someone who uses one on their car and I just need to remember to send them an email about it.

I did notice when we were out and about that one of my tire pressure sensors wasn’t registering anything and that’s annoying, as well as expensive to fix. Geesh, even when the car sits it costs me money. Naturally, it’s on the tire that has the very slow leak too so now I’ll have to manually monitor the pressure before I can go anywhere. Okay, I sounded like a whiny crybaby there – Oh gee, I have to manually check my tire pressure. How awful for me! Boo-hoo.

There is a trick that sometimes works using a strong magnet to reset the sensor. Give me a week or two or three to deal with other stuff on my plate first and I’ll try the magnet trick on it. If it doesn’t work, well, I’ll have to look into some other options.

In the meantime, WS is still reading the first half of my novel and making notations in places he feels needs work and I’m s.l.o.w.l.y pecking out the second half. I’m finding I’m thinking a lot about various scenes and character changes at night either before I fall asleep or upon waking up in the middle of the night. Although this is a pain in the butt and borders on my trend with insomnia, it also means I am immersing myself deeply back into the story and there’s nothing wrong with that. I want to finish it completely this year, the sooner the better, and get it sent out to a few places to test the waters.

This morning while flipping through the movie channels on satellite, there was a Motocross movie on and of the five minutes I saw of it, nothing was good which proves, in my opinion, that Hollywood will make a movie out of anything, so why shouldn’t someone make a movie out of my novel about cars? It was Motocross for crying out loud. I’ve been to lots of Motocross events and trust me, there’s nothing compelling enough to make an entire movie out of it yet someone did meaning someone got paid for writing something on it. Oh, you mean the movie was more about the characters than the Motocross part? Hehe, then Hollywood ain’t seen anything until they meet my characters Floyd, Scratchy, and Cecil. Or Jakey, Rob, and Maggie from last year’s novel. Or Ella and Martin from Cabin 4.

December 31, 2006

It’ll be a fairly quiet New Year’s Eve around here. Well, inside it will be. Outside, we can count on both Mr. Dimmer and Mr. Wall Street to light off fireworks for a good half an hour. Let’s hope they point them away from the houses this time around, huh? Mr. Wall Street is proving to not be much smarter or wiser than Mr. Dimmer if the night of his latest sprog’s birth earlier this month was any indication. I’m still surprised their new SUV didn’t go up in flames.

Luckily, the main instigator of New Year’s Eve fireworks is out of town this holiday. He’s spending time with his ill wife recovering from extensive surgery in another state. Things aren’t looking terribly good for her in her latest round with the doctors. Think good thoughts.

We spend last night taking down the big Christmas tree in the entryway, but only after hooking up the new, longer webcam #1 cable so anyone who wanted to could watch from here. That cam is now pointed over the library loft wall, down to the entryway where a bistro table and chairs sit. Later in the week, I’ll move our big, live ‘potato tree’ back down there where it loves living the most. It’s a process though. It weighs over a hundred pounds and maneuvering it down the stairs is an adventure to say the least.

Well, half the world has already rung in 2007. WS and I hope you have a very happy, and safe, New Year’s Eve and thank you for reading here over the past year. Goodbye 2006. Hello 2007!