2005 Archive – July-Dec

2005 Archive – July-Dec – 172,604 words total. Not responsible for broken links.

July 1, 2005

Tomorrow’s chapter of Cabin 4 has entered serious questionable grounds. Because it’s a grim and powerful chapter, it’s giving us more grief than we expected and its posting may need to be delayed until we can get it right. We apologize for the holdup but I can assure you that 3/4ths of my brain will be working on it while we slog through the rest of this U.S. holiday weekend.

The Nice Competition Boy and his wife want to join us here for our neighborhood’s annual Fourth of July firework extravaganza tomorrow night. Yeah, I know tomorrow night isn’t the fourth of July but the fourth is on a Monday this year and nearly everyone has to go to work the next day. Every year, a young couple who lives down the hill behind us and around the corner spends thousands of dollars on big, probably illegal fireworks because they make obscene amounts of money and have no kids to spend it on and put on a show for the development that easily, that’s right: EASILY, out does our local city-run fireworks show. Last year was absolutely spectacular, so spectacular; we literally wept at the sheer beauty of it.

The best part of the show is we can sit in our own backyard beside the fountain sipping wine and watch them go off almost directly overhead. It’s like having your own personal fireworks show without the cost or worry! Everything begins around 9:30 p.m. on Saturday night. On that day, I’ll point the backyard webcam in that general vicinity and perhaps speed up the refresh rate on the remote window shot and hopefully it will capture a few nice fireworks going off.

The Nice Competition Boy and his wife will be joining us for a pre-fireworks barbecue which means we’ll need to clean wipe the house from top to bottom because I think she is allergic to pets or something. Won’t matter, she’ll be drunk and snoring on the couch within an hour after eating anyway as usual. The weather looks like it’s going to be cool and cloudy Saturday. Last year, I remember needing to wear long pants, shoes and socks, and a sweatshirt PLUS I was wrapped in a blanket as we sat out back. This year, I’ll plan to do the same and have blankets close by for everyone else. I really wish now that I had gone ahead and bought one of those copper fire pits. It’s probably going to be a perfect night for one.

They will be arriving shortly after a big car show, one I am certain he will win. If not, well, it might be a long, quiet night together.

Sunday afternoon, we’re expected to join a Tacoma car club picnic up in Gig Harbor, Washington. After that, it’ll be time to skedaddle back home to finish up that Cabin 4 chapter and comfort the pets amid all the firework explosions that I’m sure the rest of the neighbors will be setting off by then as the lead up to Monday’s official holiday.

July 4, 2005

Happy 4th of July to all you U.S. holiday celebrators. Since most of you have already fired off your ear-deafening fireworks and done so in my neighborhood usually in the wee hours of the morning on every day OTHER than July 4th, I’ll expect you to fire off the remainder of them this evening and promptly cease at midnight as the law in our county dictates, thus giving some of us whom you have kept awake for nearly a week with your bricks of lady fingers and black cats, your cherry bombs and M-80s, your roman candles, bottle rockets, and jumping jacks, some much needed and uninterrupted sleep.

In return for your cooperation, I promise not to dump the spent rockets, the parachutes, the blown up scraps of paper, all million and a half tiny bits of them back in your respective yards after picking them up from mine, digging them out of my gutters, and precariously snagging them off my roof.

Oh, and if I hear about anyone else trying to get a dog to swallow a lit firecracker, I will personally hunt you down and shove one up your parent’s asses in your presence.

I really hate the 4th of July. And if past years are any indication, I’ll hate the 5th of July, the 6th of July, and every day up until about the end of August when everyone around here should be officially out of fireworks. Whomever thought selling fireworks to the public was a great idea was a moron. Probably a rich moron, but a moron nonetheless.

Have a good one and for the love of god, have a safe one too!

July 5, 2005

I don’t know which is worse: Hearing a neighbor loudly telling a crowd of people that he just blew his monthly medication budget on fireworks, or living next door to that same neighbor. Good thing I’m paranoid security conscious enough to keep all my windows and doors locked 24/7. Mr. Dimmer is wildly bipolar with a touch of schizophrenia thrown in as a side dish. I’ll bet he didn’t dip into his beer budget though. He brought home another keg yesterday in the back of his truck, his fourth; one a week, he consumes them alone.

Mrs. Dimmer isn’t happy in the least but there’s little she’s willing to do about it. She’s currently suffering through pneumonia with little care or support from him, I found out after she handed me a beautiful bouquet of blue hydrangeas over our shared fence and then promptly fell into a coughing fit that had to have sprayed everything and everyone within a twenty foot radius.

MsEars is indeed moving. She was very quiet and low key about her explanation saying just that “it was time” to move. They held an open house this past weekend but didn’t get many visitors probably because of the holiday weekend. Still, she said they weren’t in too much of a hurry to move and for that reason they are trying to sell it themselves as opposed to using a realtor.

MsNoManagementSkills got the keys to the house she bought over the weekend and she been cracking the whip across DorkMaster’s back ever since with moving boxes, scraping old wallpaper, and painting the kids tiny bedrooms. He isn’t too happy about that – it’s how his ex-wife treated him; as though he were the plow horse and never got a moment to himself and over a three-day weekend no less. It sounds like they are going to take the entire month of July to move out from just up the street here to the new house about four miles away. I want to be able to afford to pay for a moving company to get her out TODAY. Maybe I’ll send a bouquet of dead roses to her new address instead. It’ll be cheaper and get the point across without needing much interpretation.

July 6, 2005

Yesterday morning, hours after WS left for work, I looked out from our front window as I usually do when I’m headed upstairs and saw something that looked like a squished squirrel in our driveway. It took me a few minutes of peering at it from the thirty-foot distance before heading out there to do what I hate to do but know that I have to do – dispose of a body.

It was a large gopher, a healthy one from the sizeable, fur-flecked red mess it made when WS backed his car out. It must have been sitting under the bushes along the driveway and darted out to hide behind a tire as WS got in. If you were a person who could identify brands of tires from looking at tread marks, you could have identified ours from the very visible pattern in what remained of the gopher’s plush fur.

As I was bending over scraping it off the pavement with a flat-nosed shovel, a Northwest Natural gas van slowly drove by, the driver staring at me through his thick, black-rimmed glasses with his mouth partly open. The van was there on its yearly natural gas sniff of the neighborhood. The gopher had only lain there for a few hours but in hot morning sun, it was…fragrant and the flies hadn’t wasted any time finding it. I couldn’t help but think of the firemen who hose down accident scenes as I was hosing the detached bits down to the gutter storm drain. I needed to use a bit of 30-second cleaner to get the blood stain out of the cement.

A little later in the day after I had been outside in the back snapping off dead daylily flowers, I came back upstairs to wash my face in our master bedroom bathroom. As I’m standing at the sink looking into the mirror, a splash of red hits the window glass behind me. Startled, I raise the blind and see bits of pulp and red fingers running down the glass. It’s cherry juice from a neighbor’s tree. Or more accurately, from a bird who was eating cherries from a neighbor’s tree.

I’m working on Cabin 4, the scary novel we’re writing about something that lives in the woods. The chapter I’m working on has been less than cooperative up until now. Did the gopher give his life to help me write this difficult, gory chapter? Did the bird purposely splatter our bathroom window just as I was in there? Who know? But I’ve gotten the point and I don’t need anymore signs.

July 7, 2005

Not a thing going on today…except bouts of house cleaning in between bits of writing and attempts to get back into some kind of workout schedule. The yards are beautiful and don’t need any work although if you know me, you know I could always find something to do out there. Things are blooming, berries are ripening, its finally summer. The bird and squirrel feeders are full and the squirrels have finally given full approval to the new peanut feeder. The fountain is running reasonable clean and clear. Later today, the sun is expected to make its last appearance until next week. We’ve got cool rain coming in for the entire weekend, just the way we like it, and we’re debating whether to take a quick, cheap trip out to the coast or not for a few hours.

Both SportsOrNothing and the Howler Monkeys are preparing to go on vacation. One guess as to what kind of accommodations they will arrange for Limpy, their ignored outdoor cat but I’m sure someone will be taking care of their little dog, the creature responsible for the Howler Monkey sounds that fill the air randomly throughout any given day.

Next door at the Dimmers, Mr. Dimmer is removing the broken concrete patio he created last year and replacing it once again with grass. Last weekend, Ms. Dimmer told me they had been spending a lot of time cleaning up their flower beds and were working on getting their lawns in shape. I still think they are planning on putting their house up for sale and I think it will be sometime before the end of the year. SportsOrNothing on the other side of us may be doing the same but we haven’t heard definite word yet on when that will happen. How awful will that look if both houses, one on either side of us go up for sale at the same time?

July 8, 2005

Just when we think the MsNoManagementSkills saga is winding down given her upcoming move out of our neighborhood, she stirs things back up as a result of yesterday’s bombing in London. Not that it really has anything to do with MsNoManagementSkills directly. It’s just in her universe where EVERYTHING revolves around her, she’d like everyone to think that terrorists are out to get her alone and everyone else just happens to get in the way.

MsEars stopped by yesterday evening as we were winding up our pasta alfredo dinner out in the backyard. After inviting her inside, she sat down and set a key on the coffee table and gave us a bewildered look. Immediately, I thought she was giving us a key to their house, that perhaps they were moving out already and wanted someone to have a key to perhaps let perspective buyers in or something. It’s funny how fast a person can sum up a situation without knowing all the facts. But that wasn’t it at all. The key was to MsNoManagementSkills house. The new one MsNo just bought.

Early yesterday afternoon, MsNo rushed over to MsEars house and pounded on the front door. MsEars, thinking something was terribly wrong, opened it to find MsNo in tears. She had just heard that bombs had gone off in London. MsEars invited her in, put an arm around her shoulders, and asked if she had relatives or friends over there, assuming that someone close to MsNo had been hurt or worse. But that wasn’t the case at all.

After taking a few minutes to calm down, MsNo explained that she was flying alone to Chicago next week for a week-long trip she confessed she didn’t even want to make, and she was certain her plane was going to be bombed because the U.S. has decided to heighten security for ground transportation and not for the airlines. “Everyone knows the airlines and Chicago is next!” MsEars says she squealed over and over as she riled herself back up into near hysterics.

MsEars asked MsNo why she felt she needed to fly to Chicago at all if she didn’t want to go. The trip is the annual convention for the kitchen utensil party business that MsNo sunk money into earlier this year but has since given up all interest in. “Two reasons,” MsNo instantly composed herself and replied with a huff causing MsEars to wonder if it was all just an act. “First, I’ve already paid for the trip back in February and I don’t want to go through the hassle of trying to get a refund. Second, it’s perfect timing for my new house! While I’m gone, I expect [DorkMaster] to get us all moved in! He hasn’t done anything to help so far and I spent two days painting kids rooms. I shouldn’t have to do anything else. I deserve this trip and he needs to get with the program!”

Earlier this week, WS learned at work that DorkMaster had been complaining fairly loudly to coworkers and bosses alike about re-injuring his shoulder that he says he hurt during his three-week stint in the Army. He says he was “pushed out of a plane” during training [Editor’s question: ” At three weeks??] resulting in him choosing to go AWOL to which he received a dishonorable discharge. There’s lots of speculation over that whole story. A coworker of DorkMaster who has known him for years keeps making wise cracks at work about the validity of both the original injury and the re-injury now; suggesting nothing could be further from the truth. Everyone who knows DorkMaster knows that he’s a master at conveniently finding excuses not to have to do much of anything if manual labor is involved. And since he’s gone out of his way to express his distaste over MsNo buying a house in the first place AND expecting him to make the mortgage payments, no one is surprised to hear of some kind of excuse out of him as to why he isn’t able to help.

“But why did she give you a key to her new house?” I asked MsEars. Other than the usual “I’m the center of the universe” attitude of MsNo, I didn’t understand why she gave MsEars a key. “She said that if anything bad happens, [DorkMaster] won’t know what to do and someone will need to get him and his kids into the new house. I thought you could do it for me.” MsEars had tears in her own eyes when she told us this. “We’re trying to sell our own house.” She said. “We plan on moving soon. I’ve got three boys. I can’t move someone else too!”

MsEars says she flat out told MsNo all this yet MsNo either didn’t or chose not to hear any of it. MsEars says she asked about MsNo’s parents and family, why couldn’t they help if the worst should happen. MsNo said that her parents and family won’t lift a finger to help DorkMaster do anything anymore because they don’t like him or his uncontrollable kids, and besides, they lived two hundred miles away.

MsNo wouldn’t take no for an answer and left shortly thereafter, leaving the key on MsEars counter. I looked at the key sitting on our coffee table as though it were a venomous snake. I didn’t want to hurt MsEars feelings but I had to tell her that we couldn’t, didn’t want the key and that I hoped she wasn’t giving it to us because we didn’t want it. “No, I’m not giving it to you. I don’t know what to do with it.” She said.

WS and I told her(again) how sorry we were that she got caught up in MsNoManagementSkills’ world and tried to convince her that once MsNo moved away, it wouldn’t be so bad here in the neighborhood. We were really trying to make MsEars feel better and maybe hoping a little that she would tell us that they had decided not to move after all. But that didn’t happen. Instead, MsEars said, “She gave us her key. As long as she knows where we live, she’s going to keep coming back asking for this and that. We can’t take it any more.”

She left shortly after that and I had to admit that at the time, I hadn’t seen anyone looking so dejected and mentally beaten down in a long time. Then it hit me. She looked like I did for most of the six years MsNo and I worked together and it pisses me off to know that MsNo has shredded someone else’s life as badly as she tried to shred mine. One can only hope that none of her new neighbors in her new neighborhood have to go through this.

July 9, 2005

Chapter 22 of Cabin 4 is up and can be found under Projects over on the left sidebar.

We’ve decided to take a day trip over to the coast, about two hours away, as a stress reliever and for a bit of scenery research for Cabin 4. It’s expected to be rainy here and there today and that suits us just fine. See you back here on Monday possibly with pictures. Have a good weekend!

July 11, 2005

A year ago, my doctor discovered my large uterine tumors which I promptly named Emil and Hubert (pronounced Ooo-bear) and thus began the interesting second half of last year’s summer. I’m sure they (the tumors) are in a better place, perhaps vacationing off the warm, sunny coast of France. I only hope Emil, the larger of the two weighing in at 23 pounds at the time of their removal, isn’t blocking Hubert’s sun.

Since March, I haven’t done a thing really to lower my weight but I was surprised recently to find it still around what’s been the norm for the past three or four years – 173.8 pounds. To lose twenty of them would make me happy – to lose forty would make me ecstatic and would put me within five pounds of my weight throughout high school. Funny how I used to believe I was fat at 125 pounds; a true monstrosity at 145 pounds, or at least that’s what my parents, a sister, and an ex-husband always said and I came to believe it with all my heart and soul. I sometimes ask myself if I ever reach two hundred pounds, will I look back on 173 fondly and think I was thin as I do now thinking about 140? Probably, so the answer is to do something. Either keep sitting on my ass and continue wasting brain cells thinking about how awful I feel at this weight, or start working on a lifestyle change that includes slowly reducing the amount of food I eat (I mean really, no one needs to eat half a pan of enchiladas at one sitting) and slowly increase my activity level while getting my head into the right frame of mind (think of that photograph that will be plastered on the back cover of my first published book).

I’m not looking for an unrealistic result. I know I’ll never be 125 again. My body type won’t support it but I don’t have to be 173 either. I’ve been lazy, very lazy. Sure, I’ve got excuses – don’t want to walk in the neighborhood because of MsNo’s presence, worried about mosquitoes and West Nile virus, worried about crime, hate looking at my myself on the elliptical machine, hate the sore back from rowing, hate the pet fur that collects daily on the weight machine, hate the hot flashes on top of being sweaty when working out – but what I really have is lack of motivation. I could get over all those excuses because that’s what they really are, excuses. What I’ve never been able to find within myself is motivation when it comes to staying in shape. I don’t understand it myself especially since I seem to have lots of motivation when it comes to other things – car shows, gardening, decorating, reading, writing. Motivation is a state of mind I think and if I can get my head in the right place as I do with other things, there should be no reason why I can’t do it for this either. But where to start? Anyone who mentions motivational speakers or video tapes will be promptly sat upon.

Then I happened upon this article out of the blue entitled “Installing a new habit and breaking an old one” by Stephanie Burns. I’ve started my new habit, of getting some dedicated exercise in every day, at a very small level and I will build it from there as is discussed in “the core strategies for building new habits” section. There are several good motivational tips near the end of the article and some of them actually make sense and have me thinking, “Hey, I can do that.” So far it’s worked for four days.

Of course, that five pound bag of salt water taffy we bought over the weekend at the coast will need to be eliminated soon. I’m rowing twice the amount of time I normally would at this stage until it’s gone. Shame on us.

Tomorrow, coast day trip pictures.

July 12, 2005

Last Saturday, we headed for the northern Oregon coast. WS surprised me by actually getting up when the alarm went off and not going back to sleep. Neither one of us are morning people in the least but if we wanted to do anything like this, we’d have to get our butts out of bed first.

We were on the road before 9 a.m. heading south first on I-5, then west and had our first glimpse of the ocean in Seaside by 10:30. After breakfast and a stop at Mo’s for a family-sized bucket of the clam chowder I just can’t get enough of, along with a visitor who really liked WS’ garlic cheese bread, we headed south on Highway 101. We stopped at a few beaches that are usually nice in the off-season. Not today for they were all packed, overcrowded, and smelled of wet dogs, suntan lotion, and too much garbage, so we decided to drive to Netarts and Oceanside on the Tillamook headland, an area we had been near before but never actually stopped in.

Oceanside is pretty with a long, sweeping beach and calm, rolling waves. The cliff side is covered with homes off all shapes, styles, and colors rising up from the public parking area near sea level to several hundred feet up not too unlike many of the houses clinging to the rocks in small towns on the western coast of Italy. I thought it was absolutely charming but I don’t think I would want to live there. I like easy access to the water. Walking back up to a house from the beach every day wouldn’t be fun. Maybe a Vespa would work out well in this case, but only if it had the power to get up the steep hillside.

Part of the rocky hill continued onward into the ocean, but in the middle of it, carved out of the rock is a narrow, sandy-and-rock floored tunnel that led to the flipside of the Oceanside beach, one that is completely different from the calm side. This one has a narrow strip of sand with a ribbon of rock hauled in to prevent erosion of the rising cliff. Large rock formations rise out of the waves and several of them house protected seals and their pups, puffins, and various other sea bird colonies. The waves here look treacherous and wild as they rip and crash at all angles against the monoliths. Yet for us, this side seemed more peaceful and serene. Perhaps it was the lack of people (we only saw five or six on that side compared to the few dozen on the other, more public side). I took a picture of a young man who had come through the tunnel with us with a book under his arm. He climbed the furthest rock and sat for a while, watching the waves, before he leaned back and opened his book. I couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to sit in such a place for a long period of time, taking in the sight and sounds, let alone spend enough time to read a book there. I could only imagine that this was something he did every day in this northern paradise. What a life!

Too short of a time later, we left this beach and Oceanside for the uneventful, 90-minute trip back home. Once there we found the Nice Competition Boy had been calling here on and off most of the day (and well into the nighttime hours) to let me know how he did at a big car show I recommended he attend up in Leavenworth, Washington over the same weekend. I still haven’t called him back but regardless of how he did at that show, I think we had the better weekend.

July 13, 2005

I had a different day yesterday than usual. By different, I don’t mean it was a Tuesday as opposed to the previous day that had been a Monday or like today which is a Wednesday. Different as in I learned something new, I met someone new, and I didn’t sit around on my butt all day trying to find words in my head to write down.

Yesterday evening, I washed my car. It had needed it for several weeks now and I’m pretty proud that last night’s was only the third washing it’s gotten this year. At this time last year, the number of times I’d washed my car would already be in the high double digits. Backing off of the car shows has really helped in keeping the personal finances in check as well as kept the mileage down this summer, and that always makes me feel good.

While I was finishing up drying it, our neighbor from kitty-corner across the street came over and gave us a key to their house. This is the neighbor I mentioned about a month ago and whom I rarely see or talk to, who isn’t doing so well health-wise. She has a rare form of cancer that only has two possible cures – death or a new experimental double lung transplant procedure that is only being performed in Germany. She has been put on a fundraising thing to help raise the money needed for the trip and her surgery because no insurance will pay for it. It sounded like the remainder of what they needed (33K)came through and so her and her husband left this morning for Germany and will be gone until late September. The recovery time is horrendously long but the surgery sounds horrendously worse. Multiple surgeries, one lung at a time, plus expected complications; I didn’t think it sounded good at all but really, what’s a person to do in that case? I’d probably go for it.

In the meantime, her sister and mother will be taking care of the house and kids but just in case, she wished us to have a key. That was nice. She also wanted to give us information about their pets in hopes that if anything happened to their house, we might be able to be of assistance. Would I run into a burning house to save someone else’s cat? Stupid as it sounds, you betcha I would.

Our neighborhood has a new cat running around loose, like this place needs another one. I haven’t named it yet. No tags, looks like he might not be neutered yet, and I’m guessing he’s about six months old. Cute, extremely soft fur, looks a bit like a Maine Coon or Norwegian. He seems to be enamored with Limpy, following him back and forth across the street and I can only hope that Limpy teaches him about cars and traffic. I can scrape up squished gophers, bury dead rabbits and birds, but I can hardly stand to see a dead dog or cat anywhere let alone think of having one in front of our house.

And finally the weather has let up enough to look like it’s going to be dry for at least a week. And you know what that means? All those tough, outdoor summer chores that I have been putting off need to be started now so they don’t continue to drive me insane with worry or kick myself later come winter over not getting them done. First chore up, re-varnishing the fence; a tiresome job consisting of slathering on a thick coat of clear varnish with a wide brush onto a very rough and tinder dry, 6-foot tall cedar fence while bending over, up and down, up and down, and around the multitude of thick trees and bushes that I just HAD to plant right up against the fence years ago for some dumb reason. Let’s not discuss the spiders I’ve found in my hair and on my clothes thus far. And if you thought I was going to pressure wash the fence first to make it look new again before re-varnishing, you’re crazier than I am. Nope, I like the weathered look but without varnish once every two or three years, it looks old, sad, and overly dried out. But persistence pays off and I’m almost done already! Let’s hear it for only having a fence along either side and not one along the back of the property! For once, I’m glad we have a small yard as well as a big bottle of Advil in the house. Ouch! My back!

July 14, 2005

Chicago wasn’t a kind lady to MsNoManagementSkills but then again, neither was her return trip home a day early yesterday. Within hours of arriving in the windy city last Sunday, she had had her first mental breakdown in front of her entire kitchen utensil party group. Later, she lost it again in the hotel suite she was to share with half a dozen other women, all of whom were stay-at-home moms looking to get away from their noisy demanding families for a few days while learning the secrets of selling overpriced plastic items that no kitchen should be without. And that set the tone for the entire trip, not only for MsNoManagementSkills but for everyone around her, said MsEars as we sat together downstairs this morning in my kitchen enjoying Millstone’s Chocolate Velvet coffee over ice.

MsEars looked a bit more rested and cheery than she did last week at this time when she had come by with the new house key MsNo had given her before leaving for Chicago and instructions on moving DorkMaster and his kids in should the plane she was flying out on be bombed. There were definitely times I thought MsEars sounded just like her old self and told her so. She smiled and continued telling me what happened yesterday afternoon when she was surprised to see a very red-faced and sweaty MsNoManagementSkills standing on her doorstep and a stack of suitcases on the sidewalk.

After getting off the plane in Chicago early Sunday morning and meeting up with her kitchen utensil cluster group, she was shocked to find out they were not heading to the hotel to check in but were scheduled for a walking tour of the city’s downtown area first! Thirty-eight women, all carrying and pulling various sized suitcases and travel bags struggled to keep up with the face-paced and fast talking national conference kitchen utensil representative as they “toured” the city on foot. And no one struggled more than MsNoManagementSkills as she told of the horror of getting blisters and having to carry and pull all five of her suitcases at once for the first time in her life. What she thought was to be a well deserved vacation after buying a house and painting a couple of bedrooms quickly turned into “a death march” as she called it. I recalled several times over the past years listening to MsNo brag to coworkers about never having to walk long distances and how as an only child, her parents used to carry or drive her anywhere her heart desired, and I could only imagine how often she must have repeated that story to all those women over and over again.

Finally, after what MsNo swears was five miles into the tour, trudging past countless tall buildings “that all reeked of urine,” she could no longer hold back and started blubbering causing the tour to come to an abrupt end. Several taxis were hailed and the group was finally taken to the hotel, and albeit hours early for check in time, the hotel staff took one look at MsNo and the uncomfortable group and ushered everyone into their shared suites.

Having spent many a company trip with MsNo myself over the years, I knew what was coming next. Again, MsNo experienced the horror of having to share not only a hotel suite with six other women but a bed too. “And maybe that’s fine and dandy for you or someone else but the woman I had to sleep with smelled like a fat woman and took up the entire bed!” A large MsNo herself complained to MsEars who said that by this time, she was looking for a way to get MsNo out of her house. And so she asked if MsNo had been home yet to which MsNo replied, “No! I can’t find my keys, I think I left my cell phone in Chicago, and I can’t get anyone to answer the door!”

Tomorrow what MsNo discovered upon getting into her rental house and why DorkMaster hasn’t gone to work all week.

July 15, 2005

MsNo’s Chicago trip, part two

MsNoManagementSkills didn’t want to go to Chicago for the kitchen utensil party national convention she had signed up and paid for last February, especially since she had all but given up on trying to sell the merchandise. But she felt that she deserved time away from the stress of buying a new house and DorkMaster’s kids who were more of a handful than she could have ever imagined. But by day three, she was tired of everyone else in her utensil cluster group getting attention for their individual sales efforts while she got none, and so the first chance she got, she booked a flight home a day early. MsEars never could get a straight answer out of her whether or not she told anyone in the group she was leaving early. MsNo just waved her hand and said, “Those people won’t notice me gone anyway.”

MsEars had heard considerably less screaming coming from the rental house next door while MsNo was gone but had heard from DorkMaster’s kids and DorkMaster himself during that time. According to his kids, there were no plans to move into MsNo’s new house as MsNo had expected to be accomplished. His oldest, who apparently does a mean impression of her father, said in her best DorkMaster voice, “It’s her house. I’m not moving everything myself!” Well, okay then.

Second, MsEars’ husband heard from DorkMaster about his youngest, a boy who went on his first ever weekend camping trip with Ms. Ex-DorkMaster who didn’t really watch the kid too much, preferring to spend time in a sleeping bag with her new boyfriend instead. It wasn’t until the boy was back home did he mention that his ear hurt. Turns out he had a deer tick attached to it which Ms. Ex removed before promptly shipping the kid back to DorkMaster. By Tuesday, the kid’s ear was red, swollen, and infected but only after DorkMaster finished playing his latest round of World of Warcraft, a computer game everyone seems to be obsessed with lately and one that he has been forgoing work for this week, did he take his son to see a doctor. Only time will tell if the kid has Lyme disease now, and to hear about it later from MsEars’ husband myself, only then if DorkMaster and MsNo decide to pay for the tests. Decide? That’s exactly how it was relayed. Apparently, computer games are more important than tests for potentially serious diseases in that household.

Ten minutes later, MsNo came out of MsEars bathroom “looking like she had taken a bath in my sink” and begged her to help carry the pile of luggage next door from the sidewalk where it sat. MsEars agreed only after making sure her kids were still napping, and so, after locking up the house, she followed MsNo outside, grabbed a couple of suitcases, and carried them next door. On the way over, MsEars asked if maybe [DorkMaster] had already moved in to her new house, to which MsNo said she didn’t think so because she could hear the TV blaring inside and if he had moved, the TV would be the first thing he would have taken over.

At the door, MsNo knocked again. MsEars said they both could hear the TV amid thumping and banging noises coming from inside but still, no one answered the door. Minutes later, as MsEars walked down the driveway to return home, the door opened and a much disheveled DorkMaster stood there in his “miniscule and stained” underwear, his hair sticking up in all directions. Confused, MsEars walked back up toward the door but then stopped, she said, when she looked past him. She saw what looked like mounds of clothes, junk, and fast food wrappers and bags completely covering the entryway and living room floors and a “pathway” winding through it from the front door to the TV. On a small section of couch that wasn’t covered with laundry, DorkMaster’s youngest slept as though in a coma. There was no sign of his other two children and it was apparent, DorkMaster himself was still in a sleepy haze. One thing was for certain: He didn’t expect MsNoManagementSkills to come home a day early but if he had, he surely had to have expected her reaction.

MsEars said she stood there frozen as did MsNo for a moment. Then MsNo shouted, “What the hell?” and stormed into the house. Without saying another word to MsEars, she slammed the door behind her and as MsEars turned away, she heard MsNo inside scream, “WHY ARE YOU IN YOUR UNDERWEAR? WHY ARE YOU IN YOUR UNDERWEAR?” and DorkMaster reply, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HOME ALREADY?” Just wait until she finds out he hasn’t been to work all week. As a new contract temp employee, there is no way he was authorized to take time off this early on at his job. Wait until she finds out he spent money they don’t have on more computer games and that his youngest might be at risk of having a health issue. And wait until she hears that he decided he wasn’t all that keen on moving their stuff into her new house while she was gone.

MsEars called this morning to tell me the screaming and yelling has gone on next door at MsNo’s almost nonstop since yesterday, yet when MsEars’ husband walked over with the intent of giving MsNo’s new house key back, once again, no one would answer the door. He left it under her doormat with a note and says he hopes that will be the end of that. We’ll see. We’ll just have to wait and see.

July 16, 2005

Happy Saturday and that means another chapter of Cabin 4 is up! Happy reading and as always, your comments and suggestions are most welcome!

That bad boy of a fence of ours is done! Four gallons of clear varnish have been liberated from the dark recesses of our garage, having only been hidden in there for the past two years. And the fence looks…dark and moist again which was the point. Next outdoor job coming up, fresh wood chips! Too fun but it won’t happen just yet. SportsOrNothing next door wanted us to go in with them on a big delivery of wood chips last month shortly before all their relatives came out for the twins’ graduation. When we asked what it would cost us, Ms. SportsOrNothing told us she’d have to get back to us on it and we never heard another word. Needless to say, we didn’t see a wood chip delivery but they didn’t get one either. Must have slipped off the back burner. To be honest, I hate going in on things with those people. They never actually pay for anything, preferring to “trade” for goods and services but expect everyone else in on the deal to fork over bucks that they line their pockets with. It just always made me feel uncomfortable and like someone was pulling the wool over my eyes and laughing behind my back.

Still, to go out and get wood chips ourselves for just ourselves so soon after their proposal last month makes us feel a bit uncomfortable. We’ll need to put down a thick layer sometime before this fall and I hate the thought of having to spread it when it’s 90-something degrees out, but I think they (the chips) can wait a while longer. Maybe it’s time to turn to another project instead: Replacing our fountain pump with the right one this time around! Luckily for us, that only requires dipping into our savings and no actual labor. It just feels like we’re ripping an arm (and a leg) off and handing it to them. But since we’re doing that anyway, why not have the pump replacement guys relocate a few sprinkler heads while they’re out here? That way, I can finish up that retaining wall project that we decided we really weren’t finished with after all but couldn’t go any further on because the sprinklers are in the way.

Or maybe we should forgo everything and just enjoy the summer with things as they currently are. Even I have to admit that in the end, it’d be awfully hard to lay retaining wall block with only one arm.

July 18, 2005

Hope you all had a good weekend. Yesterday was nearly 100 degrees here and it may hit 100 today, so no outdoor projects for a while. Today begins what ought to be an interesting week where WS works – between 5,000 and 25,000 people will be getting lay off notices worldwide. WS thinks he is safe but things have been so tight-lipped, it’s anyone’s guess. Once again I have to ask, just who is going to do all the work after all these people are gone? Everyone there is already doing the work of two and three people after the last lay off. Geeze, and to think that company was once known worldwide as the lone company that N.E.V.E.R. laid off it’s workers and people would do ANYTHING to get a job with them. Sure ain’t your father’s company or even your father’s job market anymore.

I haven’t any idea what WS might do should he get a pink slip (lay off notice) but he’s very resourceful and overly responsible. Still, I may be looking for work too sooner than I had hoped. You gotta do what you gotta do though and there isn’t much use in crying over it ‘cause it beats living in a car somewhere. Still, it would really be nice if we could just stop holding our breaths, waiting for the hammer to drop, and just be able to breathe without worry for once. I wonder if this is how my parent’s generation felt and my grandparents generation and so on backward in time?

July 19, 2005

Got a birthday coming up? Ever want to know what might have happened on your special day? I found out I share a birthday with Gregory Efimovich, a.k.a. Rasputin, Mussolini, and Wil Wheaton, and the anniversary of the sinking of the USS Indianapolis. Figures.

Today is day two of The BIG One as some of WS’ coworkers are calling it. Sometime today, Black Tuesday as it is already being referred to, the axe begins to fall to the tune of 14,500 employees over the next six quarters as confirmed by CNN, ABC, and MSNBC news broadcasts this morning. A great thing to wake up to I thought. Stress is ruling my head this week.

In other news, DorkMaster is making lots of noise at work about not wanting to pay for the house MsNoManagementSkills bought. She’s got them scheduled to move this coming weekend, or at least that’s what’s she telling everyone in the neighborhood. If I think I know DorkMaster’s thinking like I think I do, I suspect he’s building up to some kind of showdown to get out of any actual manual labor with the move. She barely takes notice anymore when he complains of his 4times weekly migraines, she couldn’t care less when he said his shoulder was acting up again, she did nothing but scream for two days when she discovered he hadn’t lifted a finger to pack while she was in Chicago; what could he possibly do to make it more clear that he doesn’t want to be a part of any of it? Stay tuned. I’ve got MsEars phone number on speed dial.

Another hot day here today, but between the ceiling fan WS installed up here in the library this past spring and an osculating fan downstairs, the heat isn’t too bad, and so, I’m not complaining…just stressed.

The Dry Cleaners across the street from us are having their house pressure washed this morning. I didn’t know the house was actually blue in color with white trim, not streaked grey trim. The problem with pressure washing vinyl-clad houses is the water squirts up into the little drain holes the vinyl stripes have and mold starts forming. Before you know it, you’ve got a toxic mold house. Yeah, no joke. That makes nearly every house on this street a potential deadly health time bomb for anyone who might live in it later on down the road, be it the current owners or the next, because nearly everyone has hired a pressure washing company to come out and spray their houses (WS prefers to manually brush down our house with a long pole, a brush, and a bucket of Simple Green – he’s a great guy like that). The pressure washers have finally left and if it were up to me, I wouldn’t have paid them. They did the crappiest job ever on the white shake-shingle part of the front of their house which either means that part is permanently stained or they just didn’t feel like putting forth any effort. I don’t think The Dry Cleaners are going to be happy when they see it.

Two more houses on our street have put “For Sale” signs up in their yards in just the last week. MsEars started this round of house selling with all asking outrageous prices probably to take advantage of our area’s newly formed housing market bubble. After MsNoManagementSkills gets the hell out moves out next week, I plan on resuming my evening walks about the development to see who else may be getting ready to hit the road, or may have already moved out. It’s sad really, realizing that most of our neighbors aren’t the ones who originally built their dreams here. Our street was truly something special those first two years when we all came together to build a new community out of each of our personalities and what was an old, over-used cow pasture (you’ll just have to take my word for it – the scanner we have is the biggest POS and won’t scan the picture I have into a format anyone, human or otherwise, can read), when we all cared about one another and looked out for each other. Selling a house in this development has always been a bit like mass hysteria: Once one person puts up a sign, another will put up a sign, and before you know it, half a dozen houses will be up for sale before the month is out, and usually sell fast too. Remember when people bought a house and lived in it for life, no matter how big the family got or how small the house seemed? I do and I kind of miss it.

July 20, 2005

WS survived Black Tuesday at work yesterday. This afternoon, he’s got another meeting with his whole department to discuss what the lay offs will mean to his department. One guess: More work for the survivors. And continued morale in the gutter due to the long period the lay offs will continue (a year and a half). Okay, so that was two guesses. Sue me.

I worked extra hard to keep our house cool yesterday and not let it get out-of-control hot like it got Monday. Blinds closed, doors and windows shut, air circulating, bought ice cream…you know, all the important stuff. Don’t buy any of that Dove ice cream in the cute, little, overpriced, tubs. Seriously. Once you see that layer of dark chocolate on top with the Dove logo imprinted on it covering the ice cream beneath, you’ll want to keep giving that company your money. Just one more thing added to my ever growing list of food I can’t trust myself with. That and Hagen-Daas’ Macadamia Brittle ice cream. I’m a bad girl.

That reminds me, it’s time to get out our cheap, little ice shaver machine. Every time I remember to dig that thing out of the back of the cabinet, the one that also stores stuff I haven’t looked at since we moved in six years ago, like crappy Halloween candy from 1997, I say to myself, “Self, why, oh why didn’t I get this out earlier?” Fruit juice is great poured over the top of a bowl of shave ice, especially juiced watermelon; what’s better is some of those flavored syrups you see at the grocery store usually around the coffee aisle. Just like a snow cone with more sugar than you could shake a hyperactive kid at. Or, if you’d prefer, the sugar-free, no carb syrups with Splenda that, unfortunately, makes me break with monster zits so big, they keep me awake all night with all their talking. Splenda is a great thing and all, but it and I are barely on speaking terms in this household.

July 22, 2005

I am exhausted. I didn’t get much sleep last night. There was a bit of excitement in our neighborhood late last night that started with a siren wailing in the distance and flashing lights and ended with some of us shaking our heads and wandering back home.

Around quarter ‘til eleven, I was sitting here as usual, fiddle-farting around trying to feel creative enough to work on the next chapter of Cabin 4 without much success, when I first heard the siren. When it sounded very close, I finally stood up and peeked out the front blinds and saw an ambulance had turned into our development and was making its way down our street. When it got to the corner, it turned and stopped right in front of MsNoManagementSkills house. That’s when I stopped everything and we walked down to see what was going on. I know, I know, makes it sound like we’re rubber-neckers which we usually aren’t in the least, but this was MsNo! I had to know what was going on now.

When we got within a house away we could see the back doors of the ambulance open and two paramedics working on someone lying in the driveway. MsNoManagementSkills was standing alone, in tears, nearby in their overgrown yard and the “someone” on the cement was DorkMaster! We walked up to MsNo and asked politely if she was okay. The paramedics had an oxygen mask on DorkMaster’s face and his shirt was pulled up revealing a hairy, bloated stomach as they monitored his heart. Through the air mask which he kept trying to remove, he was trying to say something. A moment later, we heard him protesting, “Nothing is wrong with my heart!”

As MsNo told the paramedics what happened, we stood by and listened. MsNo had been packing stuff in the garage with the lights on and door open when DorkMaster drove up but stayed inside his SUV. He had just come from dropping his kids off at the Ex-Ms. DorkMaster’s apartment. When MsNo looked up, she saw that he had his head leaning back on the head rest with his eyes closed. After a few minutes and he still hadn’t gotten out of the SUV, she walked up to the door and opened it at which time DorkMaster collapsed out onto the driveway, quite a healthy drop of at least three-to-four feet for a large man like that. Even then, he was mumbling, “Nothing is wrong with my heart. Nothing is wrong with my head. My arms and legs just feel tingly all over!” and all the while, he was breathing heavily.

MsNo said she screamed and took out her phone and dialed 911. Then she ran to a couple neighbor houses looking for help. Unfortunately for her, no one was home, or as I suspect, no one chose to answer their doors. Then she dialed DorkMaster’s mother who lives nearby.

As the paramedics checked DorkMaster out, one of them asked MsNo again what had happened and she repeated the story. This time she added, “We’re moving from here tomorrow and I need him to help move!” The paramedic said he didn’t know about that but that DorkMaster’s heart looked to be just fine and other than high blood pressure, they couldn’t see anything irregular. Just then, DorkMaster’s mother drove up and rushed out of her car to her son’s side. DorkMaster continued to reiterate that nothing was wrong with his heart, and that his body just hurt, and he had been hyperventilating. When asked why he had been hyperventilating, he flat out ignored the question and kept repeating his statement about his heart.

By this time, several families had come out of their homes and stood around in groups here and there. MsEars was one of them joined by her husband. Since MsNo hadn’t said anything to us, we backed off from standing with her in her yard and stood with MsEars’ and her husband instead a few feet away from the ambulance. One of the other neighbors standing nearby asked loudly if maybe DorkMaster was having an anxiety or panic attack, and DorkMaster clearly heard the question and loudly declared, “NO!” One of the paramedics agreed, talking more to DorkMaster’s mother than to anyone else, and said that if that were the case, his heart would be racing instead of what it was doing which was beating slow and steady and since they couldn’t find anything physically wrong with him they recommended rest instead of a trip to ER. DorkMaster agreed. We were only mildly surprised when MsNo, standing no less than five feet away, looked downright pissed at this point.

A half an hour after making sure he could stand on his own and his breathing had returned to normal, the paramedics left. We clearly heard them give instructions for him to make an appointment with his doctor to get completely checked out as soon as possible and to head to the ER immediately should he feel “tingly” again. His mother agreed and drove off behind the ambulance. The whole time she was there, she didn’t speak a word to MsNo, who just stood there shaking her head the whole time.

As most of the neighbors wandered back to their homes, MsNo then turned as though nothing had happened and without a word, resumed packing in the open garage. MsEars, her husband, WS and I were making small talk and when we noticed what MsNo was doing, we became silent for a moment, then started heading off toward home. MsEars’ husband called back to DorkMaster, “Take it easy and get some rest!” and we all waved in his direction.

Clear as day, we all heard MsNo call back, “There’s no time for him to rest. We’re moving!” I think all of us stopped at once and looked back and saw her turn around and storm into the house. Without saying a word, DorkMaster followed and hit the automatic garage door button on the way in, leaving us all bewildered. All I could do was shrug my shoulders and MsEars did the same.

Perhaps I’m a horrible person for even thinking it but something sounds very fishy to me. I don’t know how or why I even think it, but I’m certain DorkMaster is a big, fat phony. I think he’s looking for a way to get MsNo’s attention and for a way to get out of doing the work of moving. He’s got to be under tremendous stress right now with her buying a house he can’t afford to pay for alone, his kids all signed up for summer sports programs and ADD/AD/HD therapy that he can’t afford to pay for either, and with a wife who refuses to get a job but keeps buying stuff. Perhaps, it was a panic attack, perhaps not, but whatever it was, it sure gave everyone something in the neighborhood to buzz about for a few days.

July 23, 2005

Chapter 24 of Cabin 4 will be posted later this evening. Sorry for the slight delay.

It’s official. MsNoManagementSkills and DorkMaster are finally moving out of our neighborhood. What began six and a half years ago as a nightmarish working relationship and ended with her divorcing FatHead, marrying DorkMaster, and moving into my neighborhood, a mere five houses down “to keep an eye on you” she said half-jokingly, only then for us to be laid off from the company we both worked for with her yet to still have her living down there, watching our house from her upper floor windows from time to time as we would often catch her doing; today is a momentous one for both WS and I. (nice run-on sentence, don’t you think?)

It means a return to a careless ease and freedom we have not experienced since she moved in up the street over a year and a half ago. It means long walks in the neighborhood again. It means I can feel comfortable working in my own front yard again and we can both feel comfortable sitting out on our neglected front porch. It means the end to the dramatics and rumor-mill that was the hatred-filled side of MsNo, the perverse side of DorkMaster, and his sad, over-medicated and oft-publicly embarrassed kids (the latest is over bedwetting that the whole neighborhood knows about now). Unfortunately, it also means the coming of the close for our relationship with MsEars, MsNo’s next door neighbor who got caught up in and ground down by MsNo’s “My world and my entitlement” machine. She may have sold her house as of yesterday, and if so, she and her family will be moving soon. I wish her luck and peace wherever she goes.

Apparently, MsNo believed DorkMaster’s academy award-winning performance the other night when he collapsed in his driveway for she has hired a moving company for this weekend’s move. Three burly men are moving furniture after piece of furniture left and right. Looks like everything that hasn’t been packed into boxes has been thrown or tossed into the garage which is stuffed nearly six feet tall and twenty feet wide with piles of clothes, computer parts and enough wires and cables to start their own computer store, games and toys, kitchen items, broken appliances, car parts, garden implements, and pile after pile of flattened boxes. From the looks of it, either they were living in total crammed squalor inside (highly likely from what MsEars reportedly saw last week) or no one has packed much of anything. This is exactly what I expected to happen: They will move all their furniture out but either leave the piles of crap that no one wants to box up or will come back everyday for the rest of the month and take a little bit here and there. You’d think that if a person were going to pay for a moving service, they would want all their stuff moved. All I can say is just hurry up and get out! For once, I can’t wait until new renters move in and I know she is permanently gone from our ‘hood.

Of course, that doesn’t mean she is entirely out of our lives. Remember, DorkMaster works with WS now, or at least until we find out when the lay offs begin and who’s being affected.

July 25, 2005

A day in the vacation of WS:
(guest post by WS)

(11:30 AM)
So here I sit on “vacation” in my living room waiting impatiently for a package from UPS. Of course, last week when I placed the order, I was certain that this would not be the case. I made sure to place my order in planty of time to get it shipped on the same day and have it arrive last Friday. I guess we can see how well that went. So here I sit in the living room with a sneezing cat over my shoulder while I toy with our home theater receiver to see how good I can make Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 sound. Everybody say it with me…wOOt!

B is out on a cruise around Mt. Hood and back down the Columbia River Gorge in her very spiffy show car. A club is up from California and spending a couple of days here before heading on to Whistler BC for an upcoming show and the local club that B’s a member of is showing them around a bit. I was eventually able to assure her that I felt there was no point in both of us having to sit around all day and that she should go if she wanted to. Last night, after dinner with the club, we told them we wouldn’t be able to make it today because of our need to wait for this delivery. Then on the way home, we talked and I think B resolved to go. Late last night, it was back off due to something resembling exhaustion, but this morning she woke up bright and bushy-tailed (quite a vision, I might add), and she decided to go. I’m sincerely hoping she’s having oodles of fun.

So my list of things to do (that I felt would make today valuable for me to be here) is sitting woefully incomplete. I’ve written a princely sum of about 250 stinking words those were the ones that came easy. Now I’m blocked and while I have plenty of other things to do, I can’t leave the sight of the door because our doorbell doesn’t work and we’ve had incidents of notes left without the requested knock on the door. I definitely do NOT want to lose any more of this week than I already am today. I ordered a Canon Digital Rebel XT along with a zoom lens and a small boat-load of accessories last Tuesday and really want to have fun with it over the remainder of this week.

B does have the camera I borrowed from work that led me to make the purchase of the one that should arrive today (though it doesn’t have the zoom lens), so I fully expect she’ll be coming back with pictures of her cruise today. Further, the group is heading up to Mt. St. Helens tomorrow before continuing on to Canada and I’m hoping we’ll be able to accompany them with the new camera as I’d love to get some zoom shots of the volcano.

(12:15 PM)
Excellent! I realized while typing that I could mow the front lawn without losing sight of the front door. A couple minutes later and one of the other things on my to do list is complete. Of course, I feel mighty special to know that I’m zipping through the mowing of our front lawn while (nearly) everyone else is at work and while MsNo is eating her Bon Bon’s in a house miles away!

(12:21 PM)
HA! UPS arrives and the box looks in good shape. Time to open!

( 2:30 PM)
Okay. Two hours later including a phone call from the Nice Competition Boy (recapping EVERY moment of his car show weekend as only he can), the camera is charged, assembled, and safe in its camera bag home. We have been wanting to get closer to the wildlife we’ve been wanting to photograph. My guess is that this will make B very happy. Now it’s time to get back to work on my to do list.

( 7:22PM)
B is home after an extended cruise. It turns out that some dork driving a big truck with a trailer attached backed into one of the cars of the visiting club. Welcome to Oregon. What an ass. I got more of the things on my list done. I vacuumed and spot-mopped upstairs, re-applied polyurethane to parts of the master bath window frame, scrubbed out the trash can (because I got tired of it smelling like something out of our story every time I opened it) and re-mounted the curtain-rod in the master bedroom. Now it’s time to enjoy the return of B. Thank you for joining me in my oh-so-exciting day. Am I one for drama or what?

July 26, 2005

Whew! What a past couple of days! But before I dive into what I’ve been doing, a BIG thank you to WS who filled in for me yesterday and who got up at the crack of dawn this morning and rode along with me on today’s sightseeing trip. Thanks, WS! Yeah, treats for you later…later…

(For the next few days, I’ll be posting pictures from the Columbia River Gorge and Mt. St. Helens. And maybe a few from some other stuff too. WS’ new camera is pretty neat.)

Since Sunday evening, I have helped play town ambassador for a group of six couples from a sports car club in the central coast region of California who are slowly making their way up to a big car show in Whistler, BC this coming weekend. Yep, the same car show I originally thought about going to but stopped when I saw the room rates. When I heard the club I sort of belong to (I say sort of because I’m slowly extricating myself from them and rarely go to meetings) was going to play host for a couple of days and show these out-of-towners the local sights, I was all for helping out. The problem was I thought it was going to happen NEXT weekend, and because I had other plans for NEXT weekend, I didn’t sign up to help.

Late Sunday afternoon I finally checked email for the first time all weekend and found our club needed people to help escort the six couples in their fancy cars into town. And we were supposed to meet up with them in a half an hour. Oh, I so wanted to go and so, I begged, pleaded, demanded talked WS into the two of us going. Five minutes later, we were hauling the proverbial beast of burden across town. Twenty minutes later, there they came in their not-so-shiny cars, a bit sunburned and very, very tired having driven hours and hours up through half of California and all of Oregon. After a dinner of overpriced seafood and crappy service (another story to come), we got them checked into a local hotel and that was supposed to be it.

Surprise! It wasn’t it. Sunday night, I was begged to help show off some of Oregon’s beautiful Columbia River Gorge country. Vista House, Multnomah Falls, Mt. Hood, they wanted to see it all and so, at 9 in the morning, off I went in a string of a dozen sports cars, all the same style but in different colors, through Monday morning rush hour traffic down into Oregon and east to the gorge.

Things looked to be going well until one of our club members suggested we eat at Char-Burger, a very popular spot along the Columbia River for lunch. Oh, the lunch was fine with the exception of them forgetting to make mine (which didn’t bother me in the least since I was having fun anyway) but then we all came back out to our cars to discover a very elderly man backed his 45-foot RV trailer over one of the sports cars from California, the fanciest car to be exact. And to add insult to injury, once we tracked down where the RV owner was, inside eating, he refused to come out “until I’m done eating.” Let me tell you, he nearly got dragged out of the restaurant by his nose hairs (and he had LOTS of them). Turns out, he shouldn’t even have been driving in the first place. He had elephantitis of his right leg, was legally blind, legally deaf and had left his hearing aids at home that day, AND didn’t have a valid drivers license or registration. Typical.

The car was still drivable but the hood and entire front end is horribly scraped up. It probably would have only had half the damage if the RV trailer’s license plate frame hadn’t been….(and get this) made out of BARBED WIRE. No kidding. Okay, you go out and run a solid line of barbed wire up your car’s hood with enough force to dig grooves deep into the metal and you’ll get a sampling of how badly that looked like. Now add a couple of dents, some rubber scrapes from a trailer tire, and then let someone hit it with a baseball bat once or twice. Now, you’ve got how badly the owner and his wife looked after they discovered the damage. Still, they were troopers and wanted to go on with the trip and so we did, although things were much more somber.

Today, WS decided after some prodding to join me to escort the couples to Mt. St. Helens before they left for three nights in Seattle, followed by the weekend in Canada. Lucky them. And lucky me! For today’s trouble, I got a cracked windshield. But it’s all good. I was due for a new windshield anyway. The thing’s so pitted with rock chips, when I clean it, it barely looks like I’ve ever touched it. That’s what I get for driving it so much last year to all those out of town car shows.

I’m not in any big hurry to get my windshield fixed so car show season is over for me this year. The weird thing is that I’m perfectly okay with that decision. The “Nice” Competition Boy is winning everything and then some anyway. The last I heard, people were making up awards just to give something to him, his car is so well liked. I am old news. But next year, he’ll be old news, and the year after that, I’ll be “new” again because I won’t have been showing for a while. God only knows what he’ll have done to his car by then, maybe cut it up to make a stretch limo out of it or add a disco dance floor to the inside of it with neon lights and a monster sound system. Those things just aren’t me and I enjoyed my fifteen minutes of car show fame while they lasted. It’s time to move on.

Oh, and don’t let me forget to tell you about overhearing a waitress getting fired from a new restaurant we tried out today. Insert uncomfortable pause here.

July 27, 2005

Let me enter a blurb here about the waitress firing yesterday, then it’s on to the pictures.

Yesterday, we decided to check out a Hawaiian restaurant across town. It’s a few doors down from our favorite Mexican food place and every time we’ve thought of checking them out, the Mexican food place calls to us more strongly. So we finally go into the place and it looks nice. The menu was posted outside and everything sounded really good. Huli Huli chicken, teriyaki this and that, mahi mahi fish and chips, pork stuff, coconut and pineapple shrimp; it all sounded good. We both decided on the mahi mahi and coconut shrimp fish and chips dinner. Service was good, we were the only other people in the entire place for most of our meal.

Halfway through, a young woman came into the place and our waitress, also a young woman started talking. It became clear quickly that they were good friends and the friend took a seat in one of the booths as the waitress walked around filling condiment containers and setting tables. While she worked, they both chatted, nothing risqué sounding or anything, just girl talk.

All of a sudden, we heard a man’s voice from out of sight telling the young woman sitting at the booth that she would have to leave and wait outside for her friend. Then he repeated it since the woman had given him a “You’re kidding, right?” look and hadn’t moved. The woman then got up and walked out. A moment later, the man started in on the waitress telling her that she should know better than to have her friends inside the restaurant while there were customers inside, that this wasn’t any way he planned on running his place and that it was unprofessional and unacceptable.

It probably could have ended there but the waitress pressed the issue saying she didn’t see anything wrong with it, it was just one friend, the customers were on the other side of the room, and they had been talking quietly. The man, obviously the owner, never raised his voice but it was stern and he stuck to his guns. After pleading her point, we heard nothing for several minutes. Then the waitress crossed the room, purse tucked under her arm, and looking visibly upset, she walked out of the restaurant. Less than half a minute later, a new perky waitress that we hadn’t seen before approached our table and said, “Well, I guess I’m your new waitress for good now.” Okay then. Talk about feeling uncomfortable. Had there been other diners in the place, maybe we wouldn’t have noticed how frosty the atmosphere had gotten so quickly but we were and it was. Good food though, and we’d like to go back. Only time will tell if we do. BTW, we did leave a nice sized tip. The new waitress seemed to go out of her way through the rest of our meal to make the best of the prickly situation.

July 28, 2005

Since WS is on vacation this week, Tuesday, we drove to Mt. St. Helens with the California sports car people. The whole time up there I was directing my thoughts toward the mountain in hopes it would put on a little show for our visitors. It steamed a bit for them but no real puffing. Jokingly, I told them that as soon as they left, the mountain would probably start up again and apparently, I was right.

Still, Tuesday was a good day, nice although a bit hot weather. They got to visit and see all the main lookout points and the Johnston Ridge Observatory which is the furthest in, the closest you can get to the volcano and the best stop to visit. The wildflowers are in full glory right now and I caught a shot of a ground chipmunk that had been scampering around with its family.

Wednesday, we did absolutely nothing. Took a two hour nap in the middle of the near 100 degree F. afternoon and made chicken and fresh mushroom enchiladas for dinner. WS wants to go to a couple of wildlife preserves with his new camera Thursday up Highway 4 here in Washington that runs along the Columbia River heading west towards the ocean. So it looks like I ought have more pictures to post in the coming days than I could shake a extra media memory card at.

July 29, 2005

Today is my birthday and I didn’t plan a thing. WS kept asking me yesterday what I wanted to do and frankly, I haven’t a clue. Sure, if money were no object, I’m sure I could think of a bunch of stuff. But that isn’t the case. Besides, I already have so much stuff, much more than I ever thought I would have, the thought of running around town to buy anything else seems silly to me for some reason. What I’d really like is the weather to not be so hot. Birthdays in the dead of summer have always sucked for me. 100 degree heat sucks a person’s will to live after a while and this entire week has been close to doing just that. So, happy birthday to me. I guess I really did get what I truly wanted and that was for MsNoManagementSkills to move out of our neighborhood. This should be her last weekend here and that’s a great birthday present! (WS is reading this over my shoulder and said, “Yeah, now if she would just get run over by a truck…hey, there’s always next year.”)

Yesterday, we drove up Highway 4 which runs alongside the Columbia River in search of things to take pictures of with WS’ new camera. We drove through a white tail deer sanctuary but didn’t see a thing and upon driving back out, and since I was driving, I headed toward the ocean…not what WS had in mind, but like I said, I was driving. Should let me drive if he had something else in mind but it turned out he didn’t, so through a misty, cool morning we headed to Ilwaco on the Washington coast.

Ilwaco is a small fishing/cannery town on the far southwestern corner of Washington state where the Columbia River meets the Pacific ocean. It’s got a rough charm feel to it, a working town with not so much tourist-y touches just yet, just how I like my fishing villages. But they do have technology. If anyone had been looking at this webcam around 2 o’clock yesterday, they would have seen us standing about right in the middle there. I’m such a sucker for looking at boats. And cool weather? Oh, we were in short sleeves and shorts and while we weren’t freezing, we were pleasantly chilled. I could have stayed there all day but we needed to get back home before rush hour traffic ruined our day.

So off we went across the long, long, long bridge between Ilwaco, Washington across the Columbia River to Astoria, Oregon to take Highway 30 east back to I-5, then back across another bridge in Rainer, Oregon to the Washington side, then back home. We did miss most of the traffic but not the heat. It was 87 when we arrived home. Oh, to be back near the ocean.

July 30, 2005

The Bombe that ate Vancouver (subtitled: What kind of idiot I really am)

Next year on my 50th, I plan on living it up, but this year was nice and subdued, a good choice for a day that was nearly 100 degrees F. I drove WS insane with not having much of clue on what I wanted to do for the day so we winged it. I did know that I wanted to have Mexican food at our favorite spot for dinner, which sure beats Taco Bell most of the time, and although I had casually mentioned my birthday to the waiter we’ve known for years, I didn’t expect that to go any further. In the end, they brought me a small plate of flan with a candle in it and sang to me in Spanish. Sweet touch!

I should have left the sweetness at that but I’ve never been known to let things lie.

Today, we treated ourselves to a big grocery trip at the gourmet store we used to shop at constantly when we had three jobs going between us, before the ugly layoff. It has been a while since we “did it up” at that store and I should have just stuck to the first gourmet thing I saw on the shelf and just HAD to purchase for some selfish reason – Macadamia Nut Pancake and Waffle mix. But NoooOOoooo…I had to top off our full shopping cart with a little something from the bakery called The Chocolate Bombe.

Basically, The Chocolate Bombe is a micro thin layer of milk chocolate cake as a base onto which three pounds of chilled chocolate mousse is mounded. Then, chocolate sauce mixed with crispy bits is poured over the top forming a thin, hard shell. Add round, crispy chocolate wafers around the base and you have enough serious chocolate overload to make half of Hershey, Pennsylvania jealous. When I asked the bakery girl how it tasted, she replied with, “Uh…it’s mousse-y.”

I like mousse, but I’m not really a chocolate person. Oh sure, I like a good white chocolate piece every couple of months or so, and as for regular chocolate, I go through a spurt of chocolate cravings about twice a year. I guess today was one of my spurts ‘cause I was convinced I really wanted this chocolate thing that stood nearly a foot tall as a belated birthday cake.

Three bites into a slice and I was thinking, “This is really good. I love mousse!” Five bites in and I had changed my tune a bit, “Uh, this is really chocolate-y and not in a good way.” Two bites from the finish and I was thinking, “Okay, I’m dying here. Why am I eating this? WS is going to have the entire rest of this because this is too rich and chocolate-y for any normal human to consume.” Luckily, nothing is too chocolate-y for him. I don’t know what I was thinking but I know what I’m thinking now: Never again, and I really hope this thing freezes well.

In other news outside of chocolate death, that new, sweet little kitty that had been hanging around does have a home in the neighborhood. This evening, we were out front changing a light bulb with the kitty at our feet when an older woman walked by looking for her cat. Instantly, we pointed to the kitty and sure enough, it was hers. Yesterday, I had finally given him a name – Slinky, because he likes to slink around in the low bushes. Turns out his name is Scruffy. I had the name close. The woman and her family had gone to the beach for a few days and left him outside while they were gone (WHY, OH WHY do people do this???) and they had been looking for him since yesterday. She didn’t sound too happy that he had been hanging around here. In fact, she sounded like she just wanted to take the cat and run away. About as friendly as a mousetrap, no matter how much we tried to convince her the kitty was welcome.

Other news in the neighborhood: Ms. Dimmer may have left Mr. Dimmer (I’ll know more tomorrow), MsEars’ house sale has fallen through and it’s back on the market, SportsOrNothing has left a teenager to house sit while they’re gone on an extended vacation (after they had just told us the day before they weren’t going anywhere this year – odd) and while the house sitter hasn’t had any parties yet, he does come and go at all hours of the night and has allowed their lawn to die. MsNoManagementSkills and DorkMaster still aren’t out of the rental house up the street, even after the moving company moved most of their stuff out a week ago. She’s complained to neighbors about all the trips to the dump she’s had to make and how much cleaning she’d had to do before the landlords come to inspect it so she can get her rental deposit back. Apparently, the talk got disgusting when she mentioned washing the walls to get “the boogers off”. Ewww. Good thing I hadn’t eaten any of that chocolate bombe before I heard that. I would have lost it right then and there.

August 1, 2005

The post I had created for today is being deferred due to a breaking news account from WS, but here’s a picture of me in my tiara as promised for Mary Lou…

From WS:

I really should have known better than to have been outside washing my car at all before, say, the 5th of the month. B warned me about what would happen, but in the classic form of husbands that know better, I just HAD to have a clean car for next week’s return to the office. Chalk another one up for B (BTW, I’m not to proud to admit she’s got a lot more points in this department than I do.) I’ll note here that all dialog are paraphrased as accurately as I can. I’m an engineer and obsess about the accuracy of things in quotes, so there it is.

I almost made it. I had finished the washing and was about halfway though drying the car when MsNoManagementSkills saunters up to the end of the driveway. “Hi! Where have you guys been? We’ve been dying to tell you the great news!”

“Oh, hi. I was just wrapping this up to make a run to the store.” Of course that was a lie, but I had to have an out set up…it would have been no good for me to just run away into the house and leave the rest of my car to water spot. The real problem though, was that the typically diplomatic WS didn’t really want to talk to this person. Meanwhile, the little WS (the um, LESS tactful one) was instantly awake and plotting.

“We’re moving! We’ve got a great new house closer to where you both work. Oh! And [DorkMaster’s] working where you do now! Isn’t that great?”

“Oh. Congratulations. Did you find a new job already?”

“No! I haven’t had to! I’m staying at home with the kids now. [DorkMaster] makes a lot more at his new job.”

“That’s a gutsy move. Buying a house on a contract job? Do you know how long his job is going to last?” The surgical precision of the strike squarely hit its intended mark as her mood instantly deflated.

“What?”

“I had heard he had been working there from some colleagues. It’s a contract job for an outsource vendor. Those have been pretty precarious in the past. You know that…right?”

“He’s not contract! He’s at the same place you’re at!”

“Oh sure, he’s in a building not far away, but he’s not being paid by the same employer. You might want to ask him to clarify that one. Most of those jobs don’t last more than a year. Is that what had you looking for the location of your house?”

At that, she seemed to perk up with the potential of gloating some more. “Well, that was only part of it. We love the neighborhood. The home prices have gone way up and it’s just beautiful.”

“Oh. Where is it?”
“It’s in the neighborhood right behind where you work.”

“Oh, yeah. We looked at those when we were looking for our place. Those were built around ten years ago, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Oh nothing. Those are nice neighborhoods. But aren’t those a bit smaller than what you’re moving out of? Weren’t you already just a bit cramped?”

She looked cautious as she answered, perhaps wondering exactly how I knew so much. I made a mental note to watch that and not push it too far. It was weird though. I could see the little gears turning behind those beady eyes as she searched for a way to turn the question to her advantage. She seemed to find what she was looking for after a moment.

“They’re a bit smaller, but each of the kids will have their own room and the landscaping is so much nicer. Oh! And the value had gone up so much that it was a lot more than any of the houses here have sold for. We should be getting set with a great investment!”

That wasn’t exactly what I was looking for, but I could work with it. “Good lord! You paid 300k plus for one of those houses?”

“Oh no! Not anywhere near that much.”

“Oh. Good for you. For a minute there I was worried.” Another lie.

“Houses aren’t selling for that much here. I thought the last one here sold for about 250k.”

“That was some time ago.” I said. “Have you seen your next door neighbor’s house [MsEars’] for sale at 374k? They might not get as much as they’re asking, but if your landlords put the home you’re moving out of up for sale, they could get at least 275k and possibly closer to 300k for it and it’s much smaller than next door.”

“You’re kidding! I hadn’t gone over and picked up one of their sale flyers yet.”

That didn’t surprise me. MsNo rarely made an effort to be aware of anything outside of her little world. As long as she thought she was scoring points, nothing else – certainly not fact – mattered one whit. “Well, value only really goes up once someone buys, so until someone signs the papers, it’s purely speculation.”
“The neighborhood is great though. The neighbors walk around in the evening with glasses of wine. Talking and being neighborly. It’s so charming.”

I couldn’t suppress my chuckle at that. “I’m sorry. It’s just funny that you should say that.”

“Why?”

“You could have described this neighborhood the same way a couple of years ago.”

“You’re kidding! Well, what happened to change that?”

“You moved in.” I said.

If you could have seen the little WS inside, you would have seen him do a celebratory jig similar to Dr. Evil’s in “The Spy Who Shagged Me” after describing his plan for the giant laser. Outside, I was without a hint of emotion as I continued to dry my car.

After a few moments of no reaction, I looked up to see her trudging home. For a second, I almost felt sorry about my actions. Fortunately, the little WS (still celebrating, I might add) stepped up to remind me that I had pushed for years to remain constructive about our relationship with this woman. Every time she’s ever announced anything to us in her life, it’s always been to celebrate her glory alone or to get pity heaped upon her. If she’d ever shown a half interest in any of the events in B’s life or anyone else’s life for that matter, it would have been different. Given the ongoing escalation over the past nearly seven years that my diplomatic course had done nothing to avoid, it was perfectly understandable that I was tired of her – tired of her self-absorbed, self-entitlement attitude and of her one-upmanship games. I’d like to think that she might learn the lesson that there are times when things don’t have to be shared, but I know better. She has surrounded herself with clones that think just like she does. She’ll undoubtedly harp to them about what an ass her old neighbor was and they’ll console her, assuring her it was just her neighbor being an ass.

I’m sure she won’t learn her lesson next time either.

August 2, 2005

I finally got off my butt yesterday and went to pick up the mail from the P.O. Box. Along with twenty or so mail order catalogs, most of which went directly into the recycling bin, a few bills which sadly could not follow the catalogs, I found a birthday card from Mary Lou which I waited to open until I got back upstairs here, in front of the computer, and with my tiara, last year’s birthday present, firmly planted upon my head. (Please see yesterday’s picture).

If you haven’t been blessed with one of Mary Lou’s homemade creations, you’re missing out on a true life’s treat. Her cards are personalized and very pretty and if they don’t make you feel downright cared for and special, then your head is dense. I particularly like how she labels them on the back, saying it was created just for me by Mary Lou who is owned by all her animals and includes her journal URL. I also like how they come addressed with big, open handwriting – the sign of someone with lots of confidence; unlike my own which tends to lean a lot more to the side of a tiny, miniscule, you-can-barely-read-me style. Serious warm fuzzies. Thank you, Mary Lou!!

Yesterday, the same Mary Lou requested a picture of WS and so, here he is…also wearing the birthday tiara. Don’t say I never listen to my readers.

I also wanted to wish Kristy a belated birthday. She shares hers with me (although I knew that, I completely spaced out on it – BAD me!) and I hope she had a good a day as I had. I also want to thank all of you very, very much for the birthday wishes!

Today is the last of the “cool-ish” days for a while with the high supposedly going to hit near 90 F. Everything from here on out for the next two weeks will be near 100 degrees or higher. Ugh, ugh, triple ugh. So, I took advantage of the cool morning today and started in on cutting, trimming, and cleaning up our front yard that has been woefully ignored for the most part ever since MsNoManagementSkills moved in down the street, over a year and a half ago. Nothing said, “You don’t need to be working out here under a microscope” more than to glance up and see her standing in her yard watching me (how odd!) or standing in front of her windows doing the same. Now that she is gone, and I’ll gleefully add here that THERE IS A FOR RENT SIGN already up in the window of the house she was renting, I need to seriously get that yard back into shape. Although, I suppose I could just take a flame thrower to it like JimBob says he does. But somehow, I think that might upset the neighbors, me wielding a flame thrower, though personally, I think WS wielding one would be scarier.

There’s nothing quite like trying to hack thorny barberry bushes into some kind of reasonable shape while sweating up a storm during a hot flash, though for the most part, I didn’t mind because I knew if I was being watched, it wasn’t by MsNo. I should have lost five pounds in sweat alone but I know I didn’t. I also trimmed the creeping phlox from off the sidewalk, making it accessible to pedestrians once more. Only a dozen more bushes to hack back into shape out there and we might have a decent looking yard again.

But I’ve got to save some energy for later on this afternoon when I plan on making our infamous Buffalo Bourguignon. Traditionally, this is a fall and winter dish in our house but a meat market up the street from us had fresh bison for sale over the weekend and we never let an opportunity like that to pass us by. So I’ll be cranking down the air conditioning, lighting the apple spice candles, and whistling away in the kitchen come 3 o’clock or so. Here’s the recipe:

Buffalo Bourguignon

2 ½ lbs buffalo (or lean beef if you must) top sirloin steaks or chuck roast cut into cubes
4 tbsp butter
1 tbsp fresh thyme
1 can tomato paste, 5 ½ ounce size
1 cup small fresh mushrooms, left whole
1 cup pearl onions, peeled
3 tbsp potato starch or flour
2 cups beef bouillon or ¾ cup beef demi glace with 1 ½ cups water
1 cup ruby port wine
1 cup dry sherry wine
2 cups burgundy wine (we substitute a bottle of Pinot Noir)
3 cups water
1 cup small baby carrots, cleaned but left whole
2 cups or a dozen tiny red potatoes, left whole
2 bay leaves
1 tsp black pepper
1 cup chopped flat-leaf parsley
Salt to taste

Melt 2 tbsp butter in large stock pot and add fresh thyme. Immediately add buffalo cubes and brown, stirring often. Do not cook all the way through. When browned on outside, remove meat with tongs and set aside in large bowl. Leave any remaining liquid in pot. Add 2 remaining tbsp butter to pot and add peeled pearl onions. Stir over low heat until onions brown slightly. Stir in mushrooms and cook for an additional three minutes. With a slotted spoon, remove onions and mushrooms, leaving any liquid and cooked bit behind in pot. Remove pot from heat.

Stir in pot tomato paste and potato starch until blended. It will be thick. Stir in burgundy, port, and sherry wines, and beef broth. Return to medium high heat. Bring mixture just to boiling, stirring often. Add baby potatoes, browned buffalo cubes, baby carrots, browned onions and mushrooms, stirring each item into mixture. Mix in pepper and bay leaves. Add water and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to a very low simmer, place lid on pot, and set timer for 1 hour. Stir occasionally. Yes, your house will smell very wine-y but the wine is cooking off.

After 1 hour, check buffalo cubes and potatoes for tenderness. If they are not tender, continue simmering for an additional half hour. If tender, remove from heat and sprinkle chopped parsley over surface. Wait 5 minutes, then stir parsley into mixture and serve. Makes six to eight servings or makes three meals for one hungry B and WS. Best served with buttery croissants or a hearty peasant bread (you’re on your own for that recipe). Excellent served the day after making it.

August 4, 2005

So hot and so tired. For the past couple of days I’ve played being super woman and today, my body is paying for it. Today, however, I’m staying indoors and out of the broiling heat for the most part. I think I deserve it given all I accomplished:

Started trimming and shaping bushes in front (5 done – 7 to go)
Planted pots of cone flowers
Watered everything, twice
Vacuumed AND moped (unfortunately, it needs it again already)
All laundry done
Made Bourguignon
Cleaned kitchen twice
Hand washed pots and special glassware
Started trimming and shaping bushes in back yard (6 done – 4 to go)
Washed car, fixed license plate frame, repacked cleaning supplies in trunk
Changed sheets
Straightened computer area
Cleaned up countless pet accidents

If I can get through shaping all those bushes, I’ll have really accomplished something this summer. Unfortunately, the rest will have to wait until this heat dies down which should be weeks from now. Maybe I’ll work on one or two early every morning and see how far I can get. I can’t believe how out of control they have gotten but it does feel good to become reacquainted with plants I haven’t pay much attention to in so long. Like this little guy. This is a red daylily, variety Chicago according to the tag, but the special thing about it is that this year, it also sent up this guy, variety unknown. I love it when you get two plants for the price of one! And what beauties!

I’ve also made the decision not to drive up to Tacoma this weekend for the car show I’m pre-registered for. As far as I’m concerned, I’m done with shows this season. First off, I’d have to go alone because the heat tends to bring on WS’ MS and it’s expected to be 90-something up there Saturday. Second, I have yet to do anything about my cracked windshield. Yes, I have a guy to call. Yes, WS already talked to our insurance people. I’m dragging my feet because I can, plus it’s just too hot. As for the show, I could drive WS’ car up there, leaving at 5 am to get there by 7 am and ask if they have anything I could do to help out since I didn’t bring my car, but I think that would be a bit uncomfortable for everyone. The car club that is putting the show on is so organized with everyone having specific jobs and duties, I’ll be liable to throw a monkey wrench into the mix. Add the thought of standing around for 8 hours on a hot asphalt surface to watch The Nice Competition Boy win everything anyway just doesn’t sound like much fun to me. Does it to you, or am I just being a crybaby?

The following weekend is one of the biggest car shows of the summer down in Portland. Since I’ve already seen the projected weather forecast for that day, I don’t think you’ll see me at that one either. The weather people, who we all know are hardly ever right, are saying near 100 degrees every day for the next two weeks. Nope, I just don’t feel like roasting over an open blacktop parking lot this summer. Odd how I did last year though. Maybe the hot flashes have something to do with it. I feel hot most of the time now so why on earth would I want to go stand around somewhere and be twice as hot? All I know is that I had better get over being hot all the time or else I might not ever show my car again, and I think I’d regret that later on in life.

August 5, 2005

We’re working on Cabin 4, trying to get the next chapter ready to post. If it’s not up by tomorrow morning, expect it sometime over the weekend. I’ll add an update when it’s ready.

If you squint real hard at the front webcam, you’ll see an orange blob up at the end of the street. That’s a big Allied Moving van. MsEars is moving out today, though she no longer lives there. I was so wrapped up in my own life last week that I hadn’t gone down to see what the latest was on her house that’s up for sale. Apparently, they still haven’t sold it, it being the most anyone has asked for a house in our neighborhood to date (374K) but MrEars said that didn’t matter, that they had time and money to live off of in the mean time. After their first buyer fell through, MrEars decided to accept a job transfer to Atlanta. MsEars, her kids, and her mother have been there for nearly a week, getting an apartment, and looking for a new house. I got the feeling he wanted to say more but the movers were waiting around for him to start directing them here and there and so, I told him I was sorry to see them go and sorry they had to go through so much with MsNoManagementSkills and DorkMaster living next to them for the past year and a half. I gave him a hug, told him to pass it on to MsEars, and walked back home.

The Dimmers next door have been arguing and fighting loudly ever since the Fourth of July, it seems. On that day, Mr. Dimmer proudly told half the neighborhood that he blew his monthly medication budget on fireworks instead, something Mrs. Dimmer didn’t like in the least and probably rightly so. Mr. Dimmer suffers from bi-polar disorder and mild schizophrenia (yeah, and he’s our next door neighbor too), and quite possibly a mild case of Tourette’s syndrome as is apparent from the sudden outbursts coming from their open windows whenever anyone walks in front of their house.

Two weeks ago, as I was sitting up here in the library which looks down onto the street, a huge motor home slowly made its way past The Dimmers house and parked in front of the Howler Monkey’s house kitty corner across the street. A minute later, Mrs. Dimmer ran out of her house, barefoot and in her pajamas, with a couple of pillows and a blanket under her arm, toward the motor home. A moment later, the motor home pulled away, taking Mrs. Dimmer with it. The next day, the motor home was back, and this time, Mr. Dimmer wasn’t home. Less than five minutes later, the motor home pulled away, taking with it the two Dimmer kids and their bicycles. A couple of hours later, Mr. Dimmer came home to an empty house and started his keg drinking and his bad, loud singing again.

We’ve noticed the Tourette’s for the past few months but noticed that while Mrs. Dimmer was gone, it was considerably worse. They don’t have air conditioning next door so they keep all their windows open. Mr. Dimmer isn’t normally a quiet person anyway, heck, NO ONE over there is quiet, but it seems that he’s got extra sensitive hearing too because the moment anyone or anything starts heading up our street, Mr. Dimmer starts in with his “HEY! DOG! DAMN! LOOK OUT!” outbursts. We’ve gotten to the point of just shaking our heads and ignoring it, but you should see the looks on most people’s faces when they are out for a stroll down our street.

A few days ago, Mrs. Dimmer and her children came back. The kid’s bicycles were in the back of Mr. Dimmers’ truck and earlier, Mr. Dimmer had been gone most of the day. Rumor has it that he finally tracked his wife and kids down and brought them all back home.

Wednesday morning, as I was out in the yard working, The Dimmers had yet another loud argument in which Mrs. Dimmer clearly said, “I don’t have anywhere to move to. Where do you think I should go?” Mr. Dimmer yelled back, “You can go to hell for all that I’m concerned!” Moments later, Mrs. Dimmer sped off alone in her mini van and almost creamed one of her kids who were out in the street riding their bicycles. She never even slowed down.

She’s come and gone several times since then and Mr. Dimmer has been sitting out in his back yard, in the baking sun, smoking cigarette after cigarette nearly every waking moment ever since. At least, it looks like they are keeping their dog inside during this heat wave. The kids on the other hand, have been playing outside, unsupervised since Wednesday morning and occasionally whining about being hungry.

As of this morning, it looks like everyone is home, inside, and quiet. I don’t know what it is about that house, but the previous owners, Drunktank Willie, his wife Leona, and his young, screaming, foul mouthed daughters (BIT1 and BIT2) had a rough time living there as well (see September 2001 thru October 2003 archives). Maybe there really was an ancient burial ground there or something. It’s too early to tell really but all I know is two separate families have lived there and within months, they all take up the same habits of each other – heavy drinking, shouting obscenities, asshole behaviors, shaky marriages, over-the-top screaming children.

August 6, 2005

Chapter 25 of Cabin 4 is up! Thanks tremendously for your patience! And now for some fun…

Last week when we went to Ilwaco (remember: I was driving), we took WS’ new camera and got some decent coastal marina shots. We were hoping for wildlife shots, you know, birds, deer, old women in pink boots…uh, hold the phone. Pink boots?

Yep, and the minute I laid eyes on the scene, at 11:36 in the morning no less, I just knew I had to have a picture of her. All we need now is to set a good caption to the picture and this is where I’d like to ask for your participation. Write a good caption to go with this photo and in return, a week from today, WS and I will go through the entries and post the results. One entry per person, please, so take your best shot. (Please see disclaimer posted in January 2005 archive for complete provisions.)

The submitter of the best caption, chosen by WS, myself, and an undisclosed third party, will receive his or her choice of a 2005 Blogeois.com/URL t-shirt or large coffee mug courtesy of CafePress.com (item pictures to be posted next week) or $10 in Baskin-Robbins ice cream gift certificates redeemable at any local Baskin-Robbins ice cream store.

August 8, 2005

For a few weeks now, we’ve been trying to learn how to use WS’ new camera and having a ball to be perfectly honest. We’ve got weekend day trips planned on places to go to capture wildlife, a hobby WS is burning to get into, and one that frankly, I’m a bit surprised at. A gentle man, his interests have always leaned more toward technology and couch potato-ing and without much care for animal life around him. But something has happened over the past few years, he’ll say it was born from the realization that technology isn’t all that and a bag of chips anymore, and the job he’s doing isn’t doing anything but making a few people rich beyond all our wildest dreams.

We’ve started our wildlife photography in our own backyard where more than half a dozen different birds visit every day, rain or shine, through all the seasons. Then, there are the bugs: Bumblebees, honey bees, butterflies, and katydids. Squirrels, frogs, raccoons, and stray cats make appearances here and there and we hope to get some of those too.

Yesterday, we drove south into Oregon and over to Sauvie Island, an old Indian island that was used for hunting and plant gathering, and today is mostly agricultural and contains a 12,000 acre wildlife preserve. This preserve is a wintering over place for thousands of birds like tundra swans, Sandhill cranes, eagles, ducks, geese, etc. and a permanent home to red fox, black tail deer, raccoons, and beavers.

We didn’t see any of these yesterday but it wasn’t for lack of trying. We ended up spending hours hiking nearly three miles around the perimeter of a wildlife viewing area that was recommended by a book, “Wild in the City”. Only later, after near exhaustion and lots and lots of whining (dear lord, are we ever out of shape for any walking further than the refrigerator), did we get back to the car and WS read the rest of the fine print that stated that August is the worst possible month for viewing any wildlife in that area because it’s too hot. Yeah, we need to learn to read everything first before taking off for parts unknown in the 90-degree weather.

August 9, 2005

We’re looking for a good caption to go with this photo for the first Blogeois Caption Contest ! The submitter of the best caption, chosen by WS, myself, and an undisclosed third party, will receive his or her choice of a 2005 Blogeois.com/URL t-shirt or large coffee mug courtesy of CafePress.com (item pictures to be posted next week) or $10 in Baskin-Robbins ice cream gift certificates redeemable at any local Baskin-Robbins ice cream store.

Contest ends Saturday at noon, Pacific Daylight Time when WS and I will go through the entries and post the results. One entry per person, please, so take your best shot. Several great captions have been entered via Comments but don’t let that stop you from adding yours. Or if you prefer, you are welcome to email them direct to blogeois@blogeois.com.

Fall weather is teasing us this morning with a thick layer of marine clouds and cool temps hovering around 57 degrees F. The local weather people have promised us a week of this sort of thing and once more, it conjures up thoughts of crisp apples, foggy mornings, the return of fall birds to our backyard feeders, and the hint of wood smoke in the air. I’m sure to change my tune later in the day when the clouds burn off and the temps shoot up around 85 degrees. Sure beats 100 though and I ain’t complaining.

I’ve got a whole day of working in the yard planned for today. The daylilies which are long past finished blooming, will be cut down to the ground and I’m planning on trying out my new electric hedge trimmer. Yes, I heard you this morning, WS. I promise not to cut my leg off. I’ve got about a dozen straggly bushes left to get into some kind of ball shape and a row of boxwoods that are finally ready to start trimming into an actual full hedge. I hate cleaning up all the cut branches and leaves after clipping bushes back like this, so I think I’ll try using a sheet of plastic to catch most of the debris. Hopefully, that will make the job go much faster and easier on my back.

The glass guy came over last night to see my car’s windshield and driver’s side window and to make sure the shop was ordering the right kind of glass. My car goes in for glass replacement in two weeks. The Nice Competition Boy called me last night too to tell me of all the car club websites his car is featured on for winning so much this year. He barely mentioned last weekend’s big show. Turns out he only took second place and that’s as good as winning nothing to him. He did go on to tell me some of what he plans to buy and put on his car for next year’s season though. It’s pretty safe to say that he and I won’t ever be in the same show class again but don’t get me wrong. I’m not disappointed in the least because it’s not me who is cutting up my car to keep up with “the Joneses.”

August 10, 2005

Yesterday, the new hedge trimmer worked out well and no, I didn’t cut my foot off. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the extension cord I was using. Hey, cut me some slack! The cord was a favorite green-colored one we used for everything, and I’m going to place most of the blame on the color. Hmm, green cord, green bushes…yeah, it could happen.

Fortunately, I didn’t electrocute myself thanks to the double insulating quality of the hedge trimmer. Instead, it tripped the outlet’s circuit breaker and the garage door opener stopped working, rendering it closed and useless until WS figured that one out. Fortunately, we have dozens of long extension cords, mostly bright orange in color, obviously a plus. Unfortunately, they are all packed away nice and neatly in Christmas light boxes five feet above my car in the garage because we are anal about keeping that stuff up and out of the way until the holidays. Or apparently, until I hedge through a cord.

But at least in the meantime, I did get four more bushes trimmed into globe shapes, leaving only eight or so to go. Good thing we’ve got lots of cords…

For the past few weeks, a beautiful Western Tiger Swallowtail butterfly has been tempting us to photograph it. Yesterday, I finally captured it in pictures. It was practically posing, begging for me to take its picture, and stuck around for nearly ten minutes on a little sprig of Verbena growing out front. I couldn’t believe how close it let me get to it. I guess that verbena is really yummy.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been using some of our backyard flowers and the bumblebees as a learning tool with the camera. We’ve got a reasonably fast lens on it, nothing really, really fast, but fast enough that I think I ought to be able to capture a bumblebee in flight. This is much harder than it sounds which probably sounds downright silly to most people but I do feel that if I could accomplish this, I’d make a much better wildlife photographer in the long run. Just don’t ask me where I came up with this notion. Try as I may, I haven’t gotten anything crystal clear yet but I’m not giving up yet.

Yesterday, before I hedged the crap out of the extension cord, Mr. Dimmer from next door was standing in front of his open upstairs bedroom window, on the phone yelling at whom I could only imagine was his boss. Whether it was or wasn’t, I and anyone else who was wandering by, got an earful and probably the notion that he might soon be out of a job again. You know, my dad used to go through jobs about as fast as Mr. Dimmer does only my dad always lost his due to his violent temper. Nowadays, that would be called assault and battery. Back then, it was called ‘You’re fired!” What I heard coming from Mr. Dimmer could be called bullying and psychological abuse. Maybe it was a good thing I didn’t spend too much time outside working because just after I finished and came inside, he started slamming doors and took off like a bat out of hell in his truck, only to come back an hour later and the whole thing started back up again. Good times, I tell you.

This morning, WS graciously took down the extension cord box and I pulled a bright orange cord out of it for today’s adventure in hedge trimming. I’ll need to keep the cord out of the way at all costs, and to drape it up and over my shoulder if need be. Now, if I can only manage to keep from looping it around my neck…

August 11, 2005

I’m having a bit of a slow start this morning mostly due to getting a horrible night’s “sleep” probably mostly brought on by remembering I have a dentist appointment tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn to remove all the bad silver/mercury fillings in one side of my head to be replaced with good, white filling material. That means something like five or six fillings, both crowned and not will be popped open, drilled into, cleaned out, and replaced. Without nitrous even which seriously screws with my asthma so it’s the needles for me. I only hope I get the woman who is good with those and not the woman who seems to get a serious twitch in her arm right about the time she’s stabbing my open mouth.

Sounds like too much fun at 7:30 a.m., huh? The reason why I scheduled it for so early was so that I’d only be half aware of what was being done while it was happening. I simply can’t stand going through half a day knowing I have a dentist’s appointment later on as I tend to get crankier than usual as the thought of any procedures, big or small, seem to build up to gigantic proportions in my mind.

Last evening, an odd thing happened. I was sitting out front watching the traffic go by, and down the street I noticed a SUV drive up and park on the sidewalk next to MsNoManagementSkills’ old rental house. And who should get out, but the very large MsNo herself who then walked across the weedy lawn, through the wooden gate, and into the backyard. I thought, “Maybe they forgot something and she came by to get it?”

Approximately three minutes later, she returned empty handed to her SUV, a big silver behemoth of a thing, and she started to drive down our street. But when she got with two houses, she stopped in the middle of the road. I was looking her dead in the eye with no expression on my face and she was looking at me back the same. Then she slowly did a U-Turn and drove out of the development. Through the back window, I could see someone was sitting in the back seat; a large someone and definitely not one of DorkMaster’s kids. Within a half an hour’s time, I saw from where I was sitting what looked suspiciously like her SUV driving very slowly past the entrance to the development twice, almost as though the driver were thinking about turning down the street but saw something and changed their mind.

By this time, WS had come outside and I told him what I had seen. He seemed to be interested in whether she had anything in her hands or not, and then later, if I had gotten a good look at who might have been in the back seat. Since I hadn’t but knew that it was someone considerably larger than any of DM’s kids, we began to wonder if maybe DM was up to his usual wireless Internet hacking practice, something he did regularly when he lived right up the street next door to neighbors who don’t secure their networks.

Whatever their purpose was to be back over there two weeks after moving out, it was an odd sight and odd behavior.

August 12, 2005

My dental trip went as good as any dentist visit could be. I got the good needle nurse and now I have half a movie star mouth. All those old, yucky black filling on the right side have been replaced with tooth-colored material. In October, I get the other side done which needs even more work.

This morning, the landscaping company is coming out to replace the pump in the fountain back to the higher water flow one that we wanted in the first place. The fountain has been pathetically trickling water since last summer when they swapped out the old original pump and replaced it with some weak low flow pump. WS told the landscaping company that he wasn’t happy with it but they seemed to think that we would get used to it or something. I hate it when companies/people think that way.

In about 24 hours, we’ll be announcing the winner of the Caption Contest. Have you entered? If not, you should. Oh, c’mon, it could be fun!

Yesterday at work, WS told me about DorkMaster’ latest antics at work; it seems he’s got people believing in his ability to do work at home now since he gets so many caffeine headaches or has some kind of child issue and “needs” to come in late (we know that he uses the time to play World of Warcraft instead). And so, he’s been “taking” home work to do in the evenings. Fine, that’s all good, but out of the side of his mouth to a few coworkers, he’s been saying that he could do much better work than any engineer there could and that all the engineers are suckers, that he’s really the one with all the power. We could only hope he mumble that to the wrong person because, if and when he does, he’ll be given the permanent Express Voucher to the front door.

I can’t believe MsNo actually sent me an email saying she had an emergency and begged everyone on the mailing list to have an overpriced kitchen utensil party because “if I don’t make any sales by the end of August, I go into Inactive status and lose all my career sales when I start back up.” Uh, and that is my problem exactly how? Her lack of preparation and drive do not necessitate an emergency on my part. I’d be willing to bet I wasn’t the only one thinking that either.

Next door, nothing but loud arguing from The Dimmers; apparently he took off yesterday while she was away, leaving their young kids to wander the neighborhood on their bikes. He didn’t see any problem with that and at one point, yelled back, “They’re your responsibility. You’re the one who wanted them!” Well, okay then…

August 13, 2005

Yippee! Its noon on Saturday and we’ve got our winner of The Pink Boots Caption Contest! First though, just so I don’t lose anyone right up front (Oh, okay, fine, go ahead and scroll down if you must!), the entries which all were great (Yeah, yeah, get to the winner already!) and made us chuckle every time we read through them, especially when looking at The Pink Boots picture simultaneously:

1 – “My god Mother! The 80′s are OVER!! And I could care less if Keith Richards said you were the best”
2 – “I got my big gurl panties and my pink boots on , let’s get this show on the road!”
3 – “Sorry ’bout all that noise last night folks! My boyfriend likes to make Tarzan noises before he jumps in and takes a swim, don’t ya know, by the way, have ya seen him this morning?”
4 – “Mum! It’s pink elephants you’re supposed to be seeing – not slippers!”
5 – “The sailer told me that the pinks ones turn him on.”
6 – Body language in the photo speaks to me though! Looks like a case of two supervisors and an Indian though. Err – make that chiefs!
7 – “Now, just hold on, George! Take a look at your feet… are you wearing the Pink Captain’s Booties for this trip, or am I?!”

We want to thank everyone who entered, and even those who didn’t but who are daily readers none the less (GET ON WITH IT!), and now without further adieu, the winner of The Pink Boots Caption Contest is (Who, darn it, WHO?):

Splendid with entry #2 – “I got my big gurl panties and my pink boots on , let’s get this show on the road!”

But WAIT! The winning entry was so close with another, we just HAD to recognize entry #1 as well – 1 “My god Mother! The 80′s are OVER!! And I could care less if Keith Richards said you were the best” from Lostdawill…

…and so we’ve got two official winners. Both Splendid and Lost will get their choice of a 2005 Limited Edition Blogeois/URL t-shirt (in the size of their choice), a 2005 Limited Edition Blogeois/URL coffee mug, or $10 in Baskin-Robbins gift certificates. Congratulations!

And congratulations to the other entrants as well for taking the time to enter. Your comments were very appreciated and continue to be so every day. Thank you, readers. You all deserve a big THANKS!

Chapter 26 of Cabin 4 will be uploaded within the hour. It’s a short one but the tension is building. Oooo…scary!

For all the things I could do today, nothing is planned. HUGE car show going on down in Portland and from which I have already heard my absence is making small talk. My car’s windshield gets fixed next week, nothing I can do about it, and I have to admit I wouldn’t want to be out there anyway. It’s going to be 96 degrees F. out there today; probably more like 105 on the hot asphalt. Tomorrow is the show’s counterpart, the sports car autocross at the local race track around a sea of tall orange pylons and something WS might get into some day in the future. The autocross would make for an interesting photography event, but it’s supposed to be even hotter tomorrow. Um, I don’t think so. The Portland Bite of Oregon is running downtown (also too hot and WAY too many people), the Street of Dreams home show is running for another two weeks further south(again, too hot and expensive), and that leaves maybe driving some place cooler to play with the camera. Or maybe we’ll just hole up inside here and get some more writing done, maybe install the ceiling fan in the old office, putz around, and do basically nothing but stay cool.

And your weekend plans? Whatever you do, have a good one and thanks for reading!

August 15, 2005

The middle of August; not a month I’ve terribly fond of. Hot, dry, and full of grasshoppers and ants. The near 100 degree F. temps over the weekend nearly wiped us out even for as much as we tried to stay cool. Today was supposed, SUPPOSED to be cooler, and I suppose at 89 degrees it is a bit. I won’t complain. I used to live where 118 was the norm.

Yesterday, we spent the cool, early morning hours out photographing birds in both in our backyard and just across the border in Oregon in the Janzten Beach Mall parking lot on Hayden Island. Yes, in the parking lot. More on that later. J.D. over at Folded Space got a few good shots of flying birds that I’ve taken on as a personal assignment and I hope to have something worth showing off here in a few days. I’m learning about fast lens and not-so-fast lens and since we have a not-so-fast lens so I’m also learning about the frustration of sitting here, deleting hundreds of pictures in the search for the one good shot.

I’ve also been working on another kind of photo/Photoshop art. Occasionally over the past couple of years, I’ve run across close up photos of flowers against a black background yet have found no information on exactly how it’s done. It doesn’t take much to imagine that someone just cut a few flowers and took a picture of them against a black backdrop, or used some kind of software technique to create the effect. Easy enough, unless you really don’t know what you are doing and so, you choose to play with Photoshop.

I think the white roses picture is my favorite at the moment and it’s currently being used as my computer’s background screen.

Today, I’ve got to take our oldest pet to the vet to have a look what is either an upper respiratory infection or a bad case of allergies. He’s been sneezing for over a week and luckily, no one else has caught it which makes me think he’s developed allergies instead. Last night was a bit rough on him, gooey eyes, bubbly exhaling, hair-caught-in-the-throat coughing, not fun.

He’s just turned sixteen from what we and our vet can figure and has been slowing down considerably over the past year. From the very start, he’s been a great companion and we hope to get him back into tip top shape, health-wise, soon.

Other than that, it’s just laundry, vacuuming, writing, and staying cool. No yard work, no hedge trimming although I am really anxious to finish the job I started.

We’ve decided finally to pay for yard debris pickup and are waiting for the 96 gallon can to be delivered. Once that monster is here, I’ll probably be looking for excuses to hack and whack things around here.

August 16, 2005

Weather-wise, it’s gorgeous outside; that is, if you like cool, cloudy weather in the summer. 60 degrees F, overcast sky, and the feel of humidity in the air – the exact weather that I expected to see every day and looked forward to seeing every day before I moved here over sixteen years ago. Birds filling the feeders, squirrels chasing each other around the yard, peace and quiet from every house on the block; in a nutshell, paradise Blogeois style.

And the really good thing? Tomorrow is supposed to be almost exactly the same except…cooler! JOY!

I’m waiting for a call from the vet to get the blood test results for the pet that had to go in yesterday. Today, I think he sounds and looks a whole lot better. I’m also still waiting for that yard debris can to be delivered. Five-to-seven business days, they said. Today is day six technically and I don’t understand why it should take so long anyway. What? Has there suddenly been a run on yard debris cans and you don’t have enough people to deliver them all? Possible but I seriously doubt it.

We’re also waiting for a special postal delivery of a book WS bought on eBay. More on that when it gets here, but I do have to say I think it’s the coolest thing he’s ever taken interest in and bought. We are not usually eBay watchers or buyers. We look for things here and there, two or three times a year at most, sometimes just to price out something we already own. I’m not sure how he found this one item for sale, and I’ll admit that I got up early the morning of the final minutes well after WS had already gone to work and watched him online outbid others right down to the final ten seconds, and I squealed loud enough to scare the pets when I saw that he had won it.

Okay, enough about that. Time to make a cup of wild blackberry tea, grab a biscuit, and go sit outside and watch the world go by.

August 17, 2005

It sprinkled overnight! The first rain in the area in twenty-some days and that makes me and the lawn very happy. High temperature today should be 70 degrees F. Delightful!

No yard debris can or book delivery yet. I‘ve become very impatient for either though I suspect the book won’t be here until Friday. When it does arrive, I’ll explain our excitement and will post pictures of it. I doubt I’ll bother taking pictures of the yard debris can. Sorry.

We got the blood tests back for our pet yesterday and everything looks normal and good. He continues to improve from his respiratory infection and is quite lively this morning. Not bad for a sixteen year old cat. Next week, we take in Maxx, a.k.a. Jaws, for his first full yearly checkup since we rescued him last summer. I’ll be interested in knowing how much he weighs now compared to what he did when we first took him in. He’s got a little pot belly but in looking up Chinese Bengal cats, it seems that’s normal in cats of his particular short and stocky build. Oh, how I wish I could get my hands on whomever dumped him, de-clawed and so young, in our development last summer, a neighborhood with coyotes that regularly patrol the next street over. And speaking of the coyotes, they were so loud the night before last we could hear them over the sounds of our bedroom fans and the running fountain outside the window. I’m not complaining in the least though, it’s nice to know that we do still have wildlife close by. Too much talk of trapping and killing everything around here.

…which is why I think we’re going to start photographing all the visiting wildlife we get here at home to add to “Tales from the Garden” section and naturally, we’ll start with the birds. We have regular summer visitors and winter visitors. WS likes the chickadees and juncos and I’m enamored with nuthatches after seeing my first one here last winter. My life will be complete if I’m able to get a picture of one hanging off the suet feeder and if any future nuthatches that visit are like the brave, unfazed one I saw last year, I’ll be able to walk right up to it and snap away to my heart’s content. The key will be to have the camera in hand, of course. So far, I’ve not become one of those who seem to have a camera surgically attached to their selves.

Here are a few recent shots taken in our backyard while I was vying for the elusive birds in flight photos.

August 18, 2005

I finally, FINALLY, captured some birds in flight photos this past week that I think aren’t terribly bad for the slow-ish camera lens we have with WS’ new camera. First, let me set the scene: Our backyard which you can see most of via the backyard webcam over on the left sidebar there, isn’t big. But what it lacks in space, we have more than made up in dense plantings and of course, there’s the huge fountain that runs 24/7. The fountain attracts wildlife, mostly birds, from miles around. Because we don’t chlorinate it (a splash of bleach every month or so in the summer is all) or have fish in it, the birds, squirrels, and raccoons drink, wash, and bathe in it. And it combined with the bird feeders make for some great bird watching, even if you couldn’t give a hoot about birds like we used to be.

Summer meals around here for the birds consist of two (2) niger/nyger sock feeders, one (1) suet feeder, one (1) Yankee Droll sunflower chip feeder, and the top fly-thru feeder which gets a combination of sunflower chips (NO WHOLE SEED), millet, and peanut pieces. While the sunflower seed isn’t used much, the goldfinches, red house finches, and the pine siskins wipe us out of niger seed at least three to four times over the summer months alone. And we buy that seed in 25 lb. bags. During the winter when hardly any niger seed is consumed and we switch over to mostly other seed feeders, we go through countless 50 lb. bags of sunflower chips. But it’s all good, and we continue to get a lot of enjoyment out of watching what visits.

Over the past week, the sock feeders have been crammed full of goldfinches and pine siskins. So many, in fact, that often there are bird squabbles between two or more looking for the same space to land on. The result: The perfect setting for capturing birds on the wing.

The next couple of days are going to be very busy for me around here. My car glass is being replaced tomorrow – both windshield and driver’s door, THE book WS bought should be delivered today or tomorrow, car window gets re-tinted (for free!) Saturday, something special will be picked up at noon on Saturday for WS, the birthday boy, who’s special day is technically Monday and the first day for a week vacation from work for him, and I’m working on getting a Blogeois merchandise store at Cafe Press up and open for business.

I’ve got a yearly check up appointment set for Maxx next week and potentially a car show next weekend up in Issaquah, Washington which means I really should put a coat or two of polish on the car since I haven’t touched a polish bottle since…oh, last April? And then September will be here shortly and the schedule doesn’t look any less full. But it’ll all be worth it come the end of that month because it looks like we might be going on a real live vacation to Lake Quinault!

August 19, 2005

Happy special book day! It has arrived and I think we both only sweated a little bit. After all, we just spent $1600 on an out of the ordinary, numbered AND authentically autographed copy of what I think is the best work ever written by the author. And who is the author? Stephen King, that’s whom.

(I can feel droves of readers clicking elsewhere right about now…)

Okay, let me explain; I used to be a big Stephen King fan back in the late 70’s and throughout the 80’s. But somewhere in the early 90’s, I discovered a formula to all his stories and I got very, very tired of reading his stuff. Add in his overblown popularity, something that has always chaffed me no matter WHO it is who’s popular at the moment, and a serious drop of finances coming into our world, and I stopped buying him just after the release of “Gerald’s Game.” I still thought most of his earlier works were good, but the book that stood head and shoulders above the rest was “The Stand.” That book was revised and re-released in 1980 and yes, I own both copies. The first verion I read back in the late 70’s, before I knew anyone else who liked his stuff. I bought the revised copy after WS showed an interest in trying to tackle the 1153 page giant. I found the revised parts boring, to be honest with you, but I was happy to read it again especially since I thought he had ‘sold out’ in most of his later works. Face it, the man could shit on a piece of paper and sell it for millions. That’s how popular he became and yes, I helped support him in his early years. He was a struggling writer and I wanted to be a struggling writer too.

Fast forward to almost a year ago: We taped an episode of “Power Players” off the Biography channel back when we were first considering getting serious about writing fiction. The episode was about Stephen King (we also taped one about Tom Clancy just for the fun of it), and during that Stephen King episode, a bookstore owner proudly showed off a special numbered edition of “The Stand” that came leather-bound with gilded edges, hand tinted illustrations, hand signed by both Mr. King and the illustrator, and stored in a black wooden box with a metal faceplate.

We both looked at each other and said, “OOOooooo…” in an awed tone. I never knew anything like that existed, being as I was ignorant to the world of special editions. Afterward, I didn’t forget about that special edition, but I didn’t think about it either.

WS, on the other hand and without my knowledge, did think about it, and apparently, he searched far and wide online for one of those special editions and learned what the going rate was for one in good condition – between $1000 and $2500. Oh my! Out of our price range…or so I thought.

WS jumps in: “I wish I could remember what I was doing when I jumped on eBay and ran across this book up for sale. All I know is I was looking at Stephen King books, sorted by price – most expensive first and there it was. Copy number 551 of 1250 The Stand – Limited Edition. For a moment I figured it couldn’t have been the same thing we had seen on the television episode as there were no pictures immediately visible, but there were URL’s to photos. When I viewed the pictures, they confirmed that this was a chance to obtain a copy of the book we had practically drooled over when we saw it on TV – and there were just under 48 hours remaining in the auction. I fired off one bid, expecting the high bidder to have an automatic bid placed and I wasn’t disappointed. I was immediately outbid by the previous high bidder. I came home that evening and asked B what she would pay for a copy of that book. We came up with a figure that I wasn’t sure would necessarily win the auction, but that might give us a chance.

The next day, the bid was significantly higher and there was a new highest bidder. I did another round of research to find out what the book might be worth in the condition described by the seller – not that this would be the deciding factor, mind you. We both have a special place in our hearts for the story and this was just a magnificent limited edition of it, binder not bent, looked like it had never been opened fully and probably never read (meaning the pages would be in perfect condition). We talked again about the maximum price we would pay to own this book and came up with a figure high enough that I was certain it would win the bidding if played correctly. I must have checked the item a hundred times that night to see if anyone was bidding it up.

I also checked the profiles of the competing bidders. The high bidder at the time had previously bid over $4500 to win another Stephen King limited edition book and was a regular purchaser of fine collectible books. The only negative feedback this person had involved situations where they had complaints with the seller that the description of the item’s condition was not accurate when they received the item. I concluded that they would not be bidding the item up this high without good reason.

The next morning was the last of the auction, ending a little past 10:45 in the morning. I had teleconference meetings at work from 9 to 10 and from 10 ‘til 11:30 and the entire time I had the eBay window open, watching for any changes. Our highest comfortable bid would be over $900 higher than the current bid, so I felt comfortable that we could win the item if the bidding were handled well, but I did expect a run-up towards the end of bidding as a couple of people took a similar approach to mine. There was also the matter of not knowing how much additional room the high bidder had placed in their bid for automatic bidding. So I waited, and waited, and waited…

Finally, with one minute left in the auction, I entered my bid and went to the confirmation screen. There I waited another 30 seconds before submitting the bid. I knew I would not be leaving much time for anyone’s notification that they had been outbid (assuming my high bid was the highest). What I did not expect was that I would only have to bid a little more than $25 higher than the previous high bid. I refreshed the screen three times and it was over. While I considered letting out a loud “WHOOP!!” I settled for a little fist pump there in my work cube. I waited until the end of the teleconference and called B, who upon answering the phone, could hardly contain herself. That was when I found out she had been watching from home and that she had figured I was otherwise pre-occupied or had changed my mind about bidding for the item.

So now we have a collectible book. It’s truly just as advertised – in beautiful shape and obviously hasn’t been opened at all more than a couple of times and never read. The spine is in absolutely beautiful shape and deeper examination showed that the back cover has never been opened at all. I would be even more excited if it was a lower number or, better yet, one of the 52 lettered copies, but number 551 isn’t bad at all. We should explain here that this book was NOT purchased as an investment. Rather, it marks a special story to both of us and a special time in our lives when we decided to get serious about writing. We still have the Stephen King biography TV episode on the DVR upstairs and watch it when we feel ourselves weakening in our resolve. It always recharges our batteries and I have no doubt that this book will serve to charge them further.

August 20, 2005

I got my car’s windshield and driver’s door glass replaced yesterday and I can’t believe how much better I can see out the front now. I guess I didn’t realize how badly pitted the windshield had gotten over the past three years. Chalk that up to the “soft” glass GM uses for their sports cars where those boneheads obviously think everyone is going to tuck theirs away in the back of a garage somewhere and never actually drive them.

Today, I got my driver’s door re-tinted, free of charge, thanks to my extra $25 purchase a year ago of a “No Fault” re-tinting policy when I had the two doors done the first time. All I had to tell them was a gravel truck has it’s way with my car and they took care of the rest.

While I was there, I noticed car show flyers hanging EVERYWHERE for a short little show they are putting on tomorrow afternoon. Being as it’s their first show thrown ever, the owner is nearly convinced that no one is going to show up at all. Eh, I thought, it’s only a six eight and a half hour show if you include time getting there early and setting up the car, cleaning it, re-cleaning it, and cleaning it once more just so I can lose hours later to some young Intel engineer who paid cash last weekend for a pre-built, Chip Foose-painted, 1934 trailer queen coupe with a blown Viper engine dropped in it “just for fun” but if I’m lucky, it’ll be a show that The Nice Competition Boy won’t know anything about and won’t show up to.

Then, after I pre-registered, I remembered two three things: This was WS’ birthday weekend and how would he feel about me taking off for an entire day to do my own thing at a car show? Then there was that whole thing about us supposedly going to drive to the coast tomorrow. Then worse yet, I had just signed up for a car show in which I CAN’T ROLL DOWN my newly tinted window because it’ll screw it up. What a moron I can be sometimes…but somehow, I continue to live and breathe everyday.

So, WS’ is okay with my going to the car show. In fact, he shelled out half of the ten bucks. We’ve decided driving to the coast would be better on a weekday rather than a weekend when we’d have to deal with all the extra weekend traffic coming back home, and we have the entire week off this coming week to do it in. And as for my window, I can always roll down my passenger window instead AND take my top off too. Er, my CAR’S top, you pervs. NO ONE would want to see me take MY top off. Trust me on this.

August 22, 2005

Happy Birthday, WS, you young 39 year old pup, you. I hope you have a wonderful day. Heck, a wonderful week, since you’re on vacation and do all the things you want to do. And let’s hope Mr. Dimmer next door finally, f.i.n.a.l.l.y., stops pressure washing his house. Last night just before dark, Mrs. Dimmer yelled out over the sound of the compressor for him to stop for the evening and he yelled back, “I’m roaring drunk and I’ll stop when I’m good and ready to!” He must have been good and ready around 10 pm, well after dark, because that’s when he finally shut the thing down. It’s been five straight days that he’s been spraying that place and I’m about ready to go over and shove that loud compressor right up where the sun don’t shine just to shut him up. All for you, dear. Happy Birthday.

For WS’ birthday today, he thinks he wants to drive down and over through the Columbia River Gorge area to play with his camera. We’re off to do that shortly and then maybe a nice dinner later on. His cake is in the ‘fridge, mostly still there along with ice cream in the freezer.

Yesterday’s car show was… interesting. I like open car shows because of the diversity of people along with the diversity of cars. I like talking to people with different makes and models, from old hot rods to pickups to new imports because I like learning new things about them. I also have an unrealistic dream that all people from every walk of life can get along if they’d just try a little bit. I realize that Dr. Martin Luther King had a dream sort of like that too, and we all know what happened to him. Anyway, the show turned downhill halfway through the day after a guy with a mini supercharger was goaded into starting up his car so a group of people could hear it run. The guy revved it several times and this prompted a different guy in a Pontiac grand prix a few spaces over to start and rev up his car too in a kind of show of “I’ve got a beefier exhaust sound than you.”

That in turn persuaded one of the members of that local car club I foolishly joined recently to start up his car and rev it even louder, except that it wasn’t all that loud and more on the overly irritating side of racket; the kind that makes you get a sour look on your face and feel that your ears are bleeding.

Just about then, someone shouted that the police were on their way because of all the noise, called by some people who lived in the apartments behind the business complex that the show was being held at. The two original guys who were revving their cars shut them down but this other guy, the guy in my car club – let’s call him…Dick for the sake of this story – kept on revving his car despite everyone shouting and waving their arms at him. After another minute of clamor, Dick finally stopped, stepped out of his car, and loudly proclaimed over the voices of everyone else, “I WIN!” Apparently, he thought everyone was yelling at him because he was “the loudest and the best!” What an idiot, but it gets better.

In response to Dick’s loud “I WIN!” statement, the Mustang club, of which there was a disproportionately large number of members present, started calling all us similar sports car owners, of which there was a disproportionately tiny number of members present, a bunch of people with “small penises” and that guy, Dick, was our leader. Okay, the first time I heard the “small penis” comment, I was in third grade so it didn’t get a chuckle out of me. What did was that I knew that Dick, the guy who probably has a small penis, is in fact, running for president of my car club come next month and is expected to win by a landslide. And so, in fact again, he actually is our “small penis” leader. Luckily, the situation didn’t come to anyone getting up in anyone’s grill and the name calling slowly died down.

Anyway where was I? Oh yeah, well, I didn’t win anything at the show, losing my class to a Dodge Viper who was supposed to be on display only and not entered but I’m okay with that. And normally I wouldn’t say this but at least I didn’t lose to a Mustang, one of those Mustangs in particular. Dr. King I’ll never be, I guess.

While I was getting called names, WS was here at home yesterday cleaning and writing. We’re going to try hard to wrap up all the final chapters of Cabin 4 this week. National Novel Writing Month is rapidly coming up in November and this year, I plan on using October to plan and outline a story that I hope to write. What story? I haven’t a clue, but I know something will probably come to me after Cabin 4 is done.

August 24, 2005

Yes I know it’s been a couple of days. I’m on vacation. No, I’m not exactly anywhere else on vacation, just off from doing the norm around here and flitting here and there, wherever WS feels like going and doing this week. It was his birthday Monday and I’ve given my approval to him to celebrate his special day all week if he so desires.

Monday, we drove through the Columbia River gorge and ate lunch at the Multnomah Falls lodge. For once, the service didn’t suck which was surprising given the place was packed, mostly with families and their riotous kids. We both wonder how it is that so many people can afford to take their 3.5 children to restaurants whose tiny bowls of soup and house salads alone start at $9.99 each but there they were and afterward, there were all the waitresses and bussers vacuuming up the explosion of messes under each table from kids who emptied salt shakers and sugar packettes and smashed crackers into near oblivion while their parents talked on their cell phones and looked the other way.

Tuesday, we went to the Portland Street of Dreams home show to be herded like cattle through roped off sections of fantasy homes that average around two million dollars each. It was nice to see that decorating styles are still similar to what we’ve worked hard to achieve here in our very modestly priced home – the wall colors, décor items, etc. – but I can certainly live without a “rain curtain” showering down from under my second floor bedroom window into an Infinity pool spread out before my outdoor kitchen and entertainment area filled with electronics and appliances the likes of which one alone would set us back several thousand dollars. I can also live without having my own personal full sized basketball court off my own poker den. Just give me the vast brickwork driveways, the landscaping, and the extra acre or two (or five) of land and I’ll be pretty happy.

Today, we’re staying here at home with the pets who have missed us the past couple of days and are concentrating on writing. Tomorrow, however, we’re planning on heading up the Washington coast to the Olympic National forest area, partly to get a feel for the area to help us finish Cabin 4, the area the story is set in, and partly to escape the 90+ degree heat we’ve been forecast here at home.

Friday is vet visit day for Maxx, the cat and errand running day. Rinse and repeat for Saturday. Sunday, however, sounds downright charming so far, weather-wise, with rain promised for the day. We need the rain here badly, not only for the plants but to wash things down. Everything, houses, trees and the air, has a dry, thick dust smell, look, and feel to them. Sunday I promised the car club I’m in that I’d drive up to Issaquah with the group of them for a sports car show at the XXX Root Beer drive-in restaurant. If it rains, half the people will probably bail out of the show, but I’ll still go, and being as it will be cooler weather, WS will probably go with me. Ought to be fun and as long as I can prevent my new windshield from getting whacked again, I think it will be fun.

August 25, 2005

Just when I think I’m having fun, I realize I’m not. And if WS could predict lottery numbers as well as he can predict how car club meetings will go, I’d be a very, very rich woman.

The car club people nominated me for an office, secretary (oh, the crappy stereotypical role images that brings to mind for me), for their upcoming elections come October. I don’t want to do this, but on the other hand, I know I can do it and would get a bit of a kick out of it for once. If only someone else were nominated for the same office, I feel I could bow out gracefully, instead of flat out refusing to have anything to do with it. But that didn’t happen, at least not yet. There’s still a month and a couple more meetings to go so technically, someone else could be nominated for the same office. For once, I’m damning my overly strong, outward personality because I’ve already heard I’ve intimidated people in this club (makes it sound like I’m a bully or something, doesn’t it?) and its possible no one else will chose to run against me. If they only knew…

Having a strong personality isn’t always a good thing especially in office. I suppose I could go for the impeachment ticket…nah, not my style. I go ahead and do this. It’s only for a year and it’ll be a learning experience…just like sticking a Taco Bell spork in one’s eye is also a learning experience. I’m sure I’m making too much of the whole thing and so I’ll just shut up about it now.

We’ve decided not to go to the coast this week and instead, focus on getting Cabin 4 finished, or at least, as close to finished as we can. This was WS’ decision and one I highly approve of. The beach, the upper Washington beach area to be exact, would have been nice but we’ll be there in a month and in a month, we’d like to have Cabin 4 behind us for a while before we consider doing our re-write on it prior to trying to get it published. The night before last, I dreamed of the story I’m fairly certain I’m going to be working on for the National Novel Writing Month in November and I think I found my opening chapter. It’s going to be a psychological thriller, and no, I’m not going to indulge what about just yet. Access to it will be password protected come November but anyone who wants access to read it will just need to ask. Just like last November. No biggie.

I’ve also been toying with writing a book of short stories about stuff that happened to me and around me as a kid growing up. No, they won’t be pretty, happy stories for the most part like something you’d read in Lake Wobegone, though if I had had a pretty, happy childhood, they certainly would be. But I’m hoping to find a silver lining to most of the tales and not dwell on the abuse. It’ll be a challenge to be sure, but I don’t do too badly with most challenges, especially if they are self-imposed ones.

August 27, 2005

We’re making good progress on Cabin 4 and chapter 27 is up and posted. As of right now, the following two chapters have been written and are finished as well. One of the most satisfying and frustrating things I love about fiction writing is wrapping up loose ends, making sure everything fits, and the ever present clichés that want to be used but that we refuse to allow entrance into the house. You know what I’m talking about: Woman falls down and sprains her ankle, rendering her helpless, strong handsome man comes to rescue and standing with hands on hips, kills the bad guy with a sexy grimace and a flick of his thick eyelashes, all actions that guarantee he’ll be signed to a five-movie contract immediately.

Today, we need to run to the bird food store for peanuts though I’m thinking that can wait until next week. I need to load my car for the three hour drive to the Issaquah car show tomorrow. WS is going with me and we’re thinking of heading up an hour earlier than the car club plans on driving up. With that bunch, they’ll be lucky to pull in around noon or so. We’d like to be there no later than 9 a.m. though that is considered fairly late for car shows and we’ll be parked in the back forty. Still, it’s better than having to be parked in an overflow lot elsewhere or god forbid, not even make it at all after everyone decides halfway up to go bar hopping instead.

Next door at The Dimmers, it’s tent city in the backyard and they have farmed in about a dozen 8-10 year olds for a weekend sleep over. At 10:30 last night, I finally closed all the back windows because it was apparent these kids weren’t going to sleep anytime soon. This morning, before 8 a.m. they were once again bouncing off the walls with their croquet mallets and plastic light sabers, and a very haggard-looking Mrs. Dimmer was cleaning up the ant-covered pizza and soda mess from the night before. Too bad our raccoons couldn’t have made a stop in the neighborhood last night. They would have eaten well over there.

Over on the other side of us at SportsOrNothing, the house has been relatively empty for the past month…and looks it. The SportsOrNothings are gallivanting around eastern Washington state where the twin SportsOrNothing teens will be attending college shortly. The house has been forgotten with newspapers piled high, the grass burnt brown and dead, weeds are poking up over our shared fence in the backyard making them over six feet tall. Any takers on when they will put their house up for sale? I think it will be shortly after school starts. Those people think they are nothing if they aren’t attached to the hip of their son, the Sports King, screaming his praises for all agents to hear.

But if they do sell, they’ll have to list their house much less than everyone else around here is selling their house for. We’ve got three houses on our street alone up for sale, the same three from a month ago including MsEars house, and although everyone has had lots of bites, no one is buying. Looks like things rapidly changed from a seller’s market to a buyer’s market around here and everyone else is convinced these three are asking way too much.

August 29, 2005

Issaquah is a long way from our house. Longer than I thought it was and by the time we got to the car show yesterday, my right hip was killing me. Sometime between when I took my car in to get the windows replaced and getting the window tint redone, someone had readjusted my seat and for the life of me, I couldn’t get it back to the way I originally had it. It took halfway home before I found a halfway decent position that I could sit in without my hip feeling like it was being ripped out of its socket. What I really think I need to do is to sit on a pillow or several folded up towels to raise my flat ass up out of the bucket-style seat that seems as though it was made for someone with substantial padding back there, something I don’t have much of at all.

Anyhow, we got to the Triple XXX root beer restaurant before 9 yesterday morning after leaving in the dark at 5:30 a.m. Right from the start, we were “escorted” by highway patrol and it seemed as through everyone one of them were out on our journey route the entire way. Really, if you were anywhere other than on I-5 heading north in Washington state yesterday morning, you could have driven 112 miles an hour all day long and probably never would have been pulled over for anything. It was like they all knew a bunch of sports cars were heading up to a show up north and they were determined to make sure none of us got there a minute too soon.

Lots of cars there, around 200 was the final tally. The weather had promised rain for Issaquah and the whole Seattle area and I think that kept the other 200 cars that were expected to be there away. But it didn’t rain at all, in fact, it got downright hot as the temperatures pushed upwards to 86 with about 60 percent humidity. Sticky, sticky, sticky.

But it was all good. WS and I got right to work cleaning the car and joking with some of our friends who were there from Tacoma. Then three cars from the club I belong to here finally showed up and once again, the guy who is running for president started revving his engine for anyone who showed a bit of interest in his “custom” exhaust. Finally, I went over to him and told him flat out that I was tired of picking bark dust off my car that he was blowing over there and that if he didn’t stop it, I wasn’t going to vote for him in his class. Of course, he thought I was kidding and really, I wasn’t, but it worked and he didn’t rev his car for the rest of the day. Did I really vote for him? Hmm, what do you think?

Regardless, he did place 2nd in his class, another one of that group placed 3rd, and they were happy. In my class, I placed 3rd, losing to a supercharged beast and to a Z16, a very limited production car also with a monster engine. Being as I don’t have any horsepower additions like those two, I feel pretty good about how I placed. And the best part was that the “Nice” Competition Boy didn’t show up, which surprised everyone. I suppose I really should have called him last week to see what he had planned for last weekend, but deep inside, I was afraid I would jinx myself if I had.

On the way home, we saw gas prices in Renton at $3 a gallon so if it isn’t that where you live, it’s coming. I filled up in Issaquah at $2.92 a gallon and topped off here at home at $2.82. Here at home, the gas stations around us were packed full of cars waiting to gas up, making us believe that someone during the day Sunday announced that prices would be going up sharply soon. This morning on the news, there was no word of gas going to $3 yet but maybe that’s because the news was all about hurricane Katrina instead. Once again, I’m thankful I live clear across the country AND that I don’t have to drive everyday. Chances are very good that the gas I have in my car right now will last me throughout the rest of the summer and probably through the early part of winter.

August 30, 2005

WS went back to work yesterday after a week off and found a few of his coworkers buzzing about the latest DorkMaster charade. Last week, DorkMaster came into work visibly upset over something his ex-wife did that he felt was done purposefully to compete with a trip to the coast that he, his kids, and MsNoManagementSkills had planned for the same weekend.

Ms. Ex-DorkMaster discovered that MsNo was going to use the very last of her savings to take DorkMaster’s kids to a hotel at the beach for a few days simply because “can you believe that at their ages, 11, 9, and 6, they have never stayed at a hotel before??” (I never stayed at a hotel until I was well into my 30’s so I’m not sure what the fuss there is all about.) MsNo had gone out of her way to let everyone, old neighbors, new neighbors, DorkMaster’s coworkers and friends, know that she would be using the last of “her money” to do something nice for the kids because they didn’t get much from anyone else. Ms. Ex-DorkMaster decided this was a personal slight to her inability (and willingness) to spend money on her kids and so since it was her Saturday with the kids, took them to the very same beach the day before the kids and MsNo were to stay at the overlooking hotel. But it wasn’t to spend Saturday night or really, to even enjoy the beach, it was to do something truly odd.

First a bit of information: Ms. Ex-DorkMaster has been living with her boyfriend for almost two years. She dated him for years while she was still married to DorkMaster without his knowledge although his kids knew and called the boyfriend by Ms. Ex’s brother’s name to prevent discovery. There’s been serious speculation that DorkMaster’s youngest isn’t his but the boyfriend’s but all parties refuse to take paternity tests. Only after DorkMaster discovered his wife’s infidelity (obviously either he isn’t all that bright or she was very good at deceit) did he move himself and his kids out and in with his mother. Months after she literally destroyed the house and DorkMaster let it go into foreclosure, did Ms. Ex finally move out and in with her boyfriend whom we’ll call Billy Bob, or BB for short. BB is illiterate, literally, and has problems holding a job because he can’t read, won’t learn to read, and can barely write his own name. BB is a very young divorced father of two sons, one of whom is mentally challenged. The boy’s mother is completely out of the picture and so, Ms. Ex-DorkMaster has been playing the at-home mom in a rundown apartment that backs up to busy railroad tracks, raising BB’s kids to the best of her ability, even though a court in Washington refused to grant her custody of her own biological children.

That Saturday, BB, Ms. Ex, and her three kids headed off for the beach and once there, Ms. Ex started goading BB into getting his picture taken with her against one of the more recognizable Oregon coast landmarks. But she didn’t just want a friendly, tourist-y picture. No, she wanted BB on bended knee in the sand as if he is proposing to her and she wanted her oldest child to be the one to take the picture with a borrowed digital camera.

I recall reading MsNo’s online journal last year (when she had one) about how much she hoped Ms. Ex-DorkMaster would never be able to talk anyone else into marrying her which I found very odd because at one time, the two women were best friends. All that time, Ms. Ex had been peppering demands upon poor BB for him to marry her, but BB, for as much as he can’t read or write, couldn’t hear either and had turned a deaf ear to her daily insistence, much to MsNo’s delight.

The trip to the beach wasn’t wasted in, again, persisting with grandiose marriage plans that only Ms. Ex-DorkMaster seemed to want. And upon returning to DorkMaster that night, the kids reported that their mother did nothing the whole drive there but talk about how wonderful a wedding would be and how fun it would be to get their father and his fat wife, MsNo, all riled up over something as beautiful as that. And apparently, it did even though DorkMaster and MsNo knew they were set up.

After a few hours on the beach, a weary BB conceded. Ms. Ex got her picture…and a whole lot more. While BB was kneeling in the sand and DorkMaster’s oldest kid was snapping pictures, BB did propose for real, removing Ms. Ex’s old wedding band and replaced it with a promise to buy her the biggest engagement ring he can afford someday soon. Ms. Ex burst into tears and had to go “walk alone on the beach for a while,” she said. Everyone else went back to the car and waited for her to come back later.

Before they left town to drop the kids back off with DorkMaster, Ms. Ex found a local Internet café, extracted the digital photos of BB’s proposal to her off the camera, and emailed them to DorkMaster and MsNo who were at home, packing for their trip the following day to the beach with the kids. As a result, MsNo did the rest of the packing alone because as DorkMaster described it, “The instant I saw those pictures, I got a raging migraine and had to go sleep it off.” He didn’t get out of bed until minutes before they left for the beach the following afternoon, apparently much to MsNo’s annoyance as another coworker and good friend of DorkMaster told it. “Sunday afternoon, the woman (MsNo) called me in a purple rage! Finally, I handed the phone to my wife who doesn’t know her from shinola and they talked for an hour.”

Naturally during their beach trip, the kids did nothing but talk about how their “real mom” got proposed to on the beach right in front of the same hotel they were staying at…and they never said another word about the hotel; not about how fun it was, not about the indoor pool, and especially nothing about MsNo taking them there. I don’t think I need to say how much that irked MsNo.

August 31, 2005

You’ll have to excuse us, we’re having one of THOSE kinds of days and I’m not sure exactly when it happened; it just did.

WS’ having one of those horrible workdays where everyone demands a meeting and all of them overlap each other. Naturally, WS’ presence has been requested at a goodly portion of them. At the last minute, the higher ups decide to swap an offsite team-building field trip from Thursday to today, leaving all those meetings to be held by invisible people in empty conference rooms as everyone dropped what they were doing and took off to meet in some park thirty miles up the road.

WS is a team player most of the time, but not today. He was already having a hard time trying to keep all the meetings straight and letting his coworkers know he had a doctor’s visit this afternoon. And then there’s the Uber-important meeting with people across the pond that originally conflicted with another meeting of which WS is still going to try to attend. Shuffle, shuffle, it’s like musical chairs and only management can stop the music. The problem is often, management forgets to remove one chair which ends up being okay. It’s the times when they remove two or more chairs that really screws things up.

So after his doctor’s visit and before his meeting at 4, he came home for a couple of hours where he promptly stepped on a cat and then before checking to see if the cat was okay, threw a tirade about how he knew he was going to step on the cat. “Knock it off,” I said as I’m used to him stepping on, bumping into, and generally knocking things over all the time and asked if the cat was okay (it is fine). That’s when he turned on me and got snippy.

I don’t do snippy. Oh sure, I can hand out snippiness, but I won’t take snippiness. And so I came upstairs and started doing laundry. It needed to be done anyway and I needed a third reason today to get overly hot and sweaty.

At 10 this morning and seeing that The Dimmers appeared to be gone, I thought I would take advantage of their absence and the slightly cooler weather to get those bushes hedged in our side front yard – their side of our front yard. And not more than two minutes into shaping those bushes with my new hedger that makes enough racket to wake the dead, did Ms. Dimmer come out of her garage hacking and coughing away and want to strike up a conversation with me. I let her yammer on about how she STILL has pneumonia and how she was amazed her kids had caught it since it’s been four months now (uh, it ain’t pneumonia then but you might want to try cutting back on the chain smoking) but other than uttering a single “Uh huh” I didn’t stop what I was doing and got those bushes wiped into shape. When I finally shut off the hedger and looked up, she was gone and her garage door was mercifully closed.

A short time later and as I was trimming bushes out in the back yard, I heard Mr. SportOrNothing out in his backyard, picking up dog poop and complaining about a bush of ours that’s growing over into their yard. “Fine.” I mutter and the moment he started up his lawn mower, I started hacking away at the bush from my side of the fence. By the time he got over to where the bush had once been, it wasn’t anymore. I hope that threw him for a loop. In the meantime, I think I’m falling in love with our 96-gallon yard debris can. That’s normal, right?

September 1, 2005

A Shameful America

I’ve stopped watching the hurricane Katrina aftermath coverage because it made me so mad last night I was in serious fear of blowing a blood vessel in my brain. Never have I been so mad, so embarrassed, so ashamed of my fellow Americans, from the top government down to the lowliest shoplifter.

As I watched coverage on six different channels with six different spins last night, I got mad over hearing that the IRS was going to give late tax payers a month’s grace period for paying their September taxes. I was struck by how absurd this sounded as the cameras panned across miles upon miles of devastation, most of which was under feet of water. All I could think was, “Where the hell is any of these people tax paperwork? Floating down the Mississippi? Well, they had better find it ‘cause the government is only going to wait a month longer.”

The same goes for GMAC who is giving flood victims up to ninety days to make their payment on their vehicle loans. Where are the vehicles? Most of them are under feet of water, crushed by debris, and pilled one on top of another like children’s discarded toys.

The Louisiana SPCA announced over the weekend that anyone found leaving their pets behind when fleeing the hurricane would have animal cruelty charges slapped on them. It’s about time someone did something about that and good for them! But what’s this crap about the National Guard and other rescuing officials forcing people to leave their pets stranded on their rooftops surrounded by miles of water when rescuing their owners? I sure as hell hope the National Guard is slapped with animal cruelty as well but you know they won’t be. The perfect case of “Do as I say not as I do.” The scene of an old man in tears who was forcibly pulled into a rescue boat from his rooftop but was denied taking his dog with him was heartbreaking, the dog sitting patiently on the only dry corner of the housetop watching the boat and his master leave. People were standing on their rooftops with birds in cages, cats in carriers, dogs on leashes, all left behind. That was early Wednesday morning. The heat index was near 100 degrees F. there yesterday. Where do you suppose those animals are now?

And the looters! Jesus in a hand basket, the looters. Shame on them and shame on those who beat up people who tried to stop the looting. Shame on the government who haven’t given the police who are left the real authority to stop this. The police there are overwhelmed; all they can do is watch and try to keep some semblance of order. That means trying to prevent anyone from outright killing anyone. And so that’s all they can do. That, and watch as people carry armfuls of clothes, boxes upon boxes of expensive shoes, TVs, cash registers, stereo equipment, guns, etc, out and away to whatever rock they were flooded out fromunder. And if anyone thinks these people are just stealing stuff so they can “barter” it later for food, you might also want to know that the words “naïve” and “gullible” aren’t found in any dictionary but you might want to go look them up just to be sure.

Shame on the people who have been shooting at rescue boots and National Guard helicopters preventing them from rescuing people.

Shame on the people who are charging double and triple for rooms at hotels and motels to people who were fleeing ahead of the storm, especially for the reason one motel owner said, “We’re doubling our rates to keep the (finger quotes)”wrong” (/finger quotes) people out”.

Shame on the people who told their employees who left their posts to flee the storm not to come back to work and that they were fired.

Shame on the gas station owners in Atlanta who are charging $6 a gallon for gasoline now because no one is stopping them from doing so. And the lines of vehicles waiting to fill up are over a mile long, two and three abreast.

I’m sure all these things and more happened after the big tsunami last December. I’m sure all these things and more happen after every catastrophe, but c’mon people! We’re all supposed to be in this together! I know tragedy can bring out both the best and the worst in people and I do hope to hear some good news coming from that area soon. But for now, nothing sounds good. Nothing. And I am ashamed.

September 2, 2005

I hate politics and playing the armchair commander in chief so I won’t. But I will say this, once and only once: Please, for the love of God, please make him stop talking especially when he doesn’t have his speech writer along.

Moving on, here’s a cute, feel good site I just had to pass on: Cats in Sinks.

New chapter of Cabin 4 goes up tomorrow morning. We’re in the home stretch now and the finale will be posted next weekend. Again, thank you for reading. We’d love to hear your comments, good and bad.

September 3, 2005

Chapter 28 of Cabin 4 has been posted. Next week: The Grande Finale and the end of Cabin 4. It’s been a long writing project and we’ve learned a bunch of things, the best of which is that we really like writing, both together and separately and we’re not going to stop. Thank you again to everyone who has been reading along, here and on Cabin 4.

Nothing planned for this U.S. Labor Day weekend except finishing up yard work, maybe catching up on some baking I’ve wanted to do, and watch some movies we bought weeks and months ago that we’ve yet to get to.

Banana fruit-and-nut bread was first on the baking list this morning ‘cause god knows those bananas sitting on the kitchen counter weren’t going to get any prettier. So I whip that up and later, as I’m sitting here typing out this journal entry I’m thinking to myself, “My, that’s a lovely beeping sound coming from somewhere. WS must be playing with something. I wonder what that is? Oooo…something shiny!” And the beeping continued unabated for almost ten minutes before it dawned on me that it was the oven timer (at least I remembered to turn that on) and our banana bread was ten minutes past done.

Okay, it’s still edible and only mildly crunchy around the edges. Since when do I trust oven time and temperature recipes? Ah, since never! Home Ec in grade school taught me that.

Biscotti may or may not be next on the list. I had planned on making it for this three day weekend which was supposed to be positively Autumn-like outside, but has instead clung to summer. Biscotti may have to wait.

Cleaned out the pet room closet last night which was doing double duty in storing pet food and home décor stuff (and you all know how much home décor stuff I have). Priorities, woman! So pet food and supplies get top billing as it should have all along and the décor stuff is neatly packed away, yet easily accessible.

Soon, I’ll head out and tackle the rest of the bushes with the hedge trimmer (which I love nearly as much as my Dremel). Got some seriously thick branches to cut out and trees that have finally gotten some height to them to thin out and trim in the back yard so you might see us here and there on the back yard webcam. And maybe if we’re lucky, we’ll finally be able to hack our way back through the thick brush to get to that last blueberry bush which I saw was LOADED with berries earlier in the week.

Wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, have a good weekend and thanks again for reading!

September 5, 2005

I can tell things are starting to get to me. That’s normal when I start to pile things to do on top of my usual list of things to do and then scary and traumatic things happen elsewhere that I read about or see, regardless of whether this is anything that affect me personally or not, things I can’t control.

I’ve dreamt twice now over the past two nights that after waking up in the morning, a glorious sun shiny day with perfect wisps of clouds and perfect cool temperatures, I go out to sip coffee on our front porch and admire our perfect lawn. I dreamt I waved greetings to passing neighbors and decide to take a walk down our short driveway, coffee cup in hand, to more closely admire our yard, and then I turn and I see something out of the corner of my eye and it makes me sharply catch my breath in my throat. I dream a dead cat lies in the gutter right in front of our house.

The first night, I dreamt the dead cat was in pieces, having been torn apart from traffic, and I recoiled in horror when I saw that at the end of a detached, long, grey, mangled arm was a white paw that moved as if it were kneading like cats sometimes do but something about it said something else as though it beckoned me to come closer. And when I did, I dreamt I saw the rest of the cat under a bush in our side yard and it was one of ours.

I think I woke up right after that one, sweating as usual because I’m a hot sleeper and the hot flashes don’t make that any more pleasant. The second night I dreamed that the dead cat was a brown and black tiger striped cat, not one of ours, that was lying on it’s back in the gutter, back legs outstretched in an unnatural pose that said that it’s spine had been broken when something ran over it. Its front paws were crossed over it’s face as though it were shielding it’s eyes from the light as cats sometimes do when they sleep. This time I dreamt, the cat was lying in the gutter across the street from our house, in front of The Howler Monkey house and The Howler Monkey children were out front playing, completely ignoring the body lying just a few feet away.

Analyze the dreams all you want, I know I have, but I don’t generally read too much into them. I am stressed a bit knowing I’ve committed to playing secretary to a car club I don’t really like, have got a list of things to do a mile long before winter, have got a 50,000 word National Novel Writing Month challenge coming up in November, am worried about the economy and WS’ job, and now, all the coverage about everything in the wake of hurricane Katrina and the drowned people and abandoned animals left for dead of which the latter is the one item I’m certain is most responsible for my horrific dreams.

I feel too much, especially when it comes to animals. Someone who believed in past lives, once told me the reason I feel more for animals than people was because my current life is not too far removed from once being someone’s beloved pet who met with a tragic end. I think it’s because I’ve had much better success in forging lasting relationships with animals than with people. I hate to place blame and try as I may to get over it, this is a direct result of my less-than-ideal childhood.

Anyway, last year a relative of mine tracked me down after a bit of difficulty to let me know that my paternal grandfather had passed away and that he left a small inheritance to me of one thousand dollars. To be honest with you, I didn’t want the money which I see as tainted given my grandfather’s vile view of life, of what was acceptable and what wasn’t, of how he treated me in particular – his firstborn grandchild and what he saw as the definitive ruination of his favorite son’s life upon the very moment of my birth. But we were far from not needing to take the money.

My grandfather wasn’t fond of animals though he had two Airedales that he and my grandmother hand cooked food for twice a day – a combination of oatmeal, beef suet, grains, and chopped vegetables. The dichotomy of that they cooked and fed these dogs human food, as good if not better than anything they ate themselves, but kept the dogs tied up in their parched dry backyard without shade, water, or shelter for two years before the animals succumbed to the 118 degree heat of the Arizona summer was not lost to me, nor how terribly cruel these people, who’s blood coursed through my veins, truly were. I remember never once being allowed to touch these magnificent dogs; “They aren’t for petting,” my grandfather said. We never knew what the dogs were for, as crime in the area they lived in was absolutely nonexistent.

I am not one for donating money to charity as I am skeptical of most after witnessing the terrible downfall of a few families I once knew who gave away everything to charities that turned out to be bogus. Lots of people lost a lot in that fakery and it left a lasting impression on me. However, seeing and hearing all the heartbreaking stories on TV of pets being forcibly left behind has prompted me to remember that one thousand dollars which remarkably for us is still sitting untouched in the back recess of our bank account like a badly outdated and woefully contaminated carton of milk hidden in the back of an unused refrigerator, and to consider giving it to one of the animal rescue leagues in Louisiana or Mississippi.

But herein lies another point of stress for me: How awful is it that I might feel a strong enough call to donate money for the possible rescue and improvement of a pet’s life rather than to help that of fellow human beings? How much of a cruel monster might I be to think that way, purposefully choosing one over the other? And what must people think of me when and if they were to ever find this out? I guess I just never learned that one form of life is any more important or less important that the other and as a result, my internal battle rages on – do I or don’t I?

September 7, 2005

Yesterday, we started assembling our own personal emergency kit. We had to do grocery shopping anyway so I thought it would be a perfect time to lump in a bunch of the stuff the Red Cross, and Phyllis, recommends for a preparedness kit in case of emergency or disaster.

Most of the stuff is easy to find. A huge local grocery store here which also sells stuff like clothing, garden stuff, and home improvement also selling camping gear and that’s where I found a lot of good things. Between e-kit stuff and stocking our own cupboards which were a little bit bare, we overfilled an entire shopping cart and as was to be expected, caused the guy’s eyes to widen at the register line we chose. I’ll bet that if he could have quickly figured out a way to go on break right about then, he would have done so.

Halfway thru ringing up our stuff, he asked what all this was for. “Well,” I told him, “our cupboards are bare and we’re also putting together an emergency disaster kit.” He stopped swiping our purchases over the red electronic beam and looked at me as though I were absolutely, certifiably insane. Finally, he said, “WHAT FOR?” in an incredulous tone. “Oh, just in case.” I replied and smiled to myself. I knew that I was doing something that is very unpopular, probably with most people, even after hearing about what’s going on in the southern part of the U.S. I half expected him to laugh and point at me and call me “Chicken Little” for fear that the sky was falling and gratefully, he didn’t. But he didn’t talk to me the rest of the time it took for him to ring up the other half of our items either. I’m sure everyone back in the break room later got a kick out of it though.

After we returned home, I mentioned what the cashier said to WS who told me that he noticed lots of other shoppers looking in our cart and then looking at us oddly. I was also looking at people while we were shopping yesterday and I thought I detected a tightly-pulled, weary-look to most of the shopper’s faces similar to what I saw eight years ago after Princess Diana was killed. I’m sure it was that last minute rush to get back-to-school stuff and not anything else. Why would anyone here be worried that anything bad could happen to us? Why would anyone here do anything as odd as buying a bunch of stuff that’s only going to be stored in a garage, in a closet, or in our probable case, under our tall bed? Perhaps it is as one person I overheard yesterday said, “It (the hurricane aftermath) is too depressing to think about so I haven’t turned on TV in a week.”

Guess who I won’t be letting into my house should anything “depressing” happen here…

List to date of emergency kit items and cost:
(yes, I have a long way to go still)

Mountain House dehydrated dinner $4.24
Mountain House dehydrated dinner $5.51
Mountain House dehydrated dinner $6.79
Mountain House dehydrated Rice w/Chicken $5.09
Mountain House dehydrated Rice w/Chicken $5.09
Mountain House dehydrated Chicken $5.09
Mountain House dehydrated corn and peas 4 @ $2.54 each
Red Turkish lentils, 1 ½ lbs $2.74
Couscous, 1 ½ lbs $2.93
Minute rice $5.99
Ready-to-eat cereal $3.99
Sea Salt $2.39
Season Salt $4.99
Ibuprofen $11.99
Kaopectate – 2 @ $4.69
Lip Balm $.99
Cold Ease – 2 @ $4.49 each
Toothpaste $3.49
Mosquito Wipes $5.99
Neosporin $4.49
Antiperspirant $2.39
Liquid hand soap $5.59
Ivory soap $3.99
Sterno $5.99
Hot Hands – 3 @ $1.39 each
Snap light sticks – 6 @ $1.99 each
Whistles, brass – 2 @ $2.49 each
Wet wipes – 2 @ $1.99 each
Dust masks $5.49
Waterproof Matches in container $2.99
Strainer scoop $1.49
Duct tape – 2 @ $5.09 each
Bleach $1.39
Plastic garbage bags $6.63
Ziplock bags – 2@ $3.89
Aluminum foil $3.39
Plastic sheeting $4.29
Total: $194.27 minus tax

September 8, 2005

Today, Thursday, has been set as “Rant about Katrina” day in Blogland. Having already done that earlier this week, twice, I don’t have anything else to say. Lucky for all of us, I’m sure.

DorkMaster came back from the three-day holiday a day later than usual. Seems MsNoManagementSkills should have saved that last bit of money that was burning a hole in her pocket and instead of taking DorkMaster’s kids to a hotel, she should have invested in a home inspector for the house she just HAD to have. When they came home from vacation, they discovered the house’s dishwasher had leaked all over the kitchen and the refrigerator died. WS couldn’t get a straight answer on whether they had left the dishwasher running when they first took off or not for vacation but he did hear about how pissed MsNo was about the refrigerator.

While they lived in the rental house just up the street, she bought a huge side-by-side fridge and they thought they would just swap out the old one from the new house and put the new big one in. Not so fast there, sweet cheeks; the old fridge was old for a reason: It’s the only one anyone made that fit in the tiny space and the big new one MsNo bought doesn’t come anywhere close to being able to fit. DorkMaster and MsNo spent the past couple of days, yes, a couple of days out shopping for a refrigerator that would fit in the space. Oh, and MsNo really did use the last of that $120,000 she got between stock payouts and her divorce from FatHead to take DorkMaster and his kids on vacation. She doesn’t have a penny left to her name and so, because DorkMaster has bad credit, she started opening up credit card accounts here and there to pay for everything, including a new fridge and a new dishwasher. Imagine, blowing through $120,000 in nine months. I’m sure people do it all the time, but holy moly! I honestly would freak out (and not in a good way) at the mere thought!

It’s back to school time here and for someone who used to proudly boast that she and DorkMaster had never had an argument, she’d shut her mouth and then some if she knew how much DorkMaster has been complaining about much she’s piling on the credit cards with school clothes and accessories for his kids. And since when do kids need NEW backpacks every single year? Is this a new fashion thing, like low slung pants and the right shoes? Teach them to take care of their backpack and who’ll know the difference! All I know is that MsNo outfitted the kids to the nines last year when she was working and doing all she could to suck up to the kids who still hate her. Up until that point, DorkMaster’s mother was dressing them with castoffs from Goodwill. Looks like MsNo wants to continue to buy the kids love but at what price?

September 9, 2005

I’ve gotten a late start today with everything except sleep. At 3:50 this morning, our pets were wide awake making all kinds of noise and I got up to see what was up. Nothing that I could find but it took me an hour or so to fall back asleep and I didn’t wake up until 10 a.m. WS is working at home today as he usually does every Friday but he was sitting out front enjoying the fall weather that is making an early appearance. It’s very cloudy outside, windy with bursts of light sprinkles and a definite rain-is-coming smell to the air. Biscotti making is definitely in the works this weekend. I skimmed the recipes to make sure we’ve got all the ingredients and we do. We need to make a small grocery trip anyway to pick up grapes. The area raccoons have finally returned after eating all the blackberries in the surrounding fields.

We’ve both got hair cut appointments for this afternoon and maybe a lunch date together for Mexican food, or probably more likely, Thai at a local restaurant. This evening, we’ll be doing the last runs through the final chapters of Cabin 4 and I’ll get those posted either very late tonight or early tomorrow. National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo – pronounced Na-no-wry-mo, or Na-No for short) is fast approaching and we both have started outlines for what we’ll be working on. I’m planning a psychological thriller; WS is going to do a non-fiction piece that is right up his alley and is more likely to turn out to be something worth publishing than anything else we’ve done to date. We’ll see.

September 10, 2005

With perseverance, the snails made it onto the ark.

It’s official! Cabin 4 is finished! The remaining three chapters (over <- on the left sidebar under Projects) were posted at 2:30 a.m. this morning. We’re absolutely thrilled; both with its completion and that we were actually able to write and complete a story together AND REMAIN MARRIED! And it only took eight and a half months. Total word count on Cabin 4 – 56,701. Yippee! With some fluff and deep descriptions in its eventual rewrite, it could easily push 100,000 words and really be something to be proud of, or at least a thick printout if nothing else. Next week, I’ll work on a cover picture and we’ll take it to Kinko’s to be spiral bound into a booklet, just like I did with my novel “In The Trenches” last year.

Rain was in our forecast for yesterday yet we were denied all but three minutes of sprinkles. Frustrating, but today and tomorrow still hold promise. Just in case, however, I ran the sprinklers late last night. Things such as the tomato and the dwarf crape myrtles weren’t looking terribly happy because it was so dry. Hopefully, it’ll pour today. I read that it did just that further north *jealous glares*

September 12, 2005

Some days you’re the pigeon and some days you’re the statue.

I’m having one of THOSE kinds of days. Running into stuff, dropping things, knocking stuff over, losing things, breaking stuff. Cleaning up pet barf just seems to cause other piles to multiple. Someone, Seth the cat probably, ripped two slats out of the wood blinds in the window by the front door last night. I had too much fun trying to fix that this morning as I surveyed the rest of the overnight damage. Potpourri ALL over the place in the kitchen, potpourri that has been in the same spot relatively untouched for YEARS now gets to decorate the kitchen floor. Clay pots filled with silk flowers knocked over, its moss shredded and scattered throughout the living room. I don’t know what went on last night to cause all this but it had to be something.

Oh, wait a minute…it’s autumn outside. That must be it.

While we didn’t get a spot of rain over the weekend, even though we were promised three straight days of it *grrr*, it is considerably cooler than it’s been in months and Mt. St. Helens, which has been puffing away since yesterday, has its first light coat of snow. Yesterday, I swapped the summer flowers out of the wreath by the front door and added the fall ones. WS brought a potted chrysanthemum out from the backyard where it had spent the summer and I arranged other potted plants by the front door. At the end of the month, I’ll add a couple of pumpkins to the mix and it’ll just scream “FALL HAS ARRIVED.”

Inside, I haven’t changed any décor from summer to fall yet. I guess I just don’t want to jinx anything this soon even though the ten day forecast shows no day warmer than 76 degrees F and no overnight temp higher than 50. Out back, a couple of vine maples are just starting to show signs of leaf color change, from green to reddish orange. Nothing showing on the October Glory maples on the side of the house though; those are the ones that turn brilliant red at the first hint of frost.

Okay, enough of fall weather. I have caught myself, once again, babbling about everything other than what I’m really feeling. I’m not the cheerleader today, a self-imposed role I often play. I’ve been down for the past couple of weeks for some reason – could be money worries, could be health worries, could be anything really – but usually, I find ways to ignore depression by immersing myself in something else. This time, it’s not working. The problem isn’t going away and basically, I feel like crap.

My body has gotten all out of control. No, no, I haven’t really gained any weight. I’m still at my dapper 173-ish pounds, only fifty pounds overweight (HA!) but it’s like everything has been rapidly shifting to my gut. And boy, oh boy, do I ever have one now! I couldn’t hold this thing in to save my life. Sure, sure, I did have major surgery on it nearly a year ago to remove those two nasty tumors, Emil and Hubert at 23 and 5 lbs each, but c’mon now. It’s like my stomach area has a life of its own lately. Even my elastic shorts are feeling tight. WTF? Even when I eat healthy food anymore, it still just juts my stomach out further and I feel bloated on top of everything else and so, I’m nearly convinced that it’s not what I’m eating; it’s the amount I’m eating. Duh! *smacks hand to forehead*

Thus begins Operation Mini Meals ™ (because EVERYTHING nowadays has be called Operation something or other). In addition to cutting down on the amount I consume, I’ll be fasting with nothing consumed but fresh juice every Monday, something that is relatively easy for me to do. I’ll also need to find motivation to start exercising again and we all know what the problem is with finding motivation – one can’t get motivated to search for motivation. Nasty little circle that is.

My past motivation for exercising was more often than not, MsNoManagementSkills and the Company trips we had to take together once or twice a year. Nothing like listening to her exclaim loudly in a crowded airport how much weight it looked like I had put on lately to make me not feel like eating for the entire trip AND getting busy with the weights and rower once I got back home. No, I don’t have that motivation anymore…THANKFULLY, but I do need to look for it somewhere, somewhere deep within because it’s not really anything I can get from anywhere else.

And while I’m at it, maybe I’ll find the motivation to start tackling some of those home projects that have definitely started to overwhelm me when even thinking about them. Wouldn’t it be great if I could just turn back into super woman?

September 13, 2005

So after playing “woe is me” most of yesterday, I kicked myself in the butt, and I’ll admit that in itself was a feat not easily achieved, and finished not one but two projects on my to-do list. Pictures later as I later discovered the camera batteries were dead. And then I worked out with weights. And I fasted until dinner at which time I had a salad and a protein shake. If I could do this everyday, I’d never have anything to whine about.

Oh, don’t we all wish!

Funny how just as I was complaining about my body and its massive gut, I received an email out of the blue from MsNoManagementSkills asking if I would be interested in rejoining the gym I used to frequent with her. Huh? Obviously, I’m going to need to wish real hard that she loses my email address or something. And upon further investigation, it turns out that it was just a form letter from her and she’ll be paid $50 in cash for every person she “recruits” for the gym. Typical bitch. No, I won’t be replying to her. Let her eat dead air.

Today, it’s all about trying to work up a few sweats on the beast, a.k.a. the elliptical and the rower. I’ve already gotten 4 ½ minutes in on the beast, also not an easy feat and before breakfast even. As for projects, there still are a few bushes that need to become intimate with the hedger in the back yard. Oh, that’s what I forgot to mention! WS and I finished hedge trimming all the bushes out front over the weekend. Yeah, it’s the little things that excite me.

WS is working from home today and has conference call meetings throughout most of it. This gives me the unique opportunity to use his car to go shopping if I so wanted to, and damn Pier 1 all to hell for sending that $10 off gift card along with the slick, glossy finish, perfectly photographed with ambient-light flyer/catalog last weekend in the mail. While we always frequent Pier 1 every fall and winter for our annual hording of spicy pumpkin and evergreen scented candles, there also might be a rattan chair purchase or two in our immediate future, thus bringing our indoor seating capacity upwards from five to seven. Gee, if I don’t watch out, we might actually have room for other people’s butts here should anyone ever choose to visit. Naw, never happen. Remember, WE’RE considered the odd ones in our neighborhood. *insert maniacal laugh here*

Dinner plans for tonight is chicken baked in a Chardonnay butter sauce with cheese laced broccoli and roasted baby red potatoes with fresh rosemary. Yes, I’ll be watching my food intake ala Operation Mini Meals. For now, it’s off to get dressed. Pier 1 should be open now.

September 14, 2005

I took a bit of a break today from the norm and read in bed well into the afternoon, something I rarely, if ever, do anymore much to my dismay. Actually, I was resting, recovering really, from being on my feet all day yesterday, rushing here and there, digging into that closet and into this storage box and hunting in that box, doing that silly thing I do every year around this time – welcoming fall weather by decorating the house.

The trip to Pier 1 yesterday went nearly as good as it could possibly go, the only exception being that one of the two rattan chairs I bought had to be brought home in an unplanned second trip back to the store. Even as much as WS was able to squeeze a full-sized oak wine barrel into his car, I could not pack in a dozen “pleather” pillows, one 3-foot tall vase, a double bag full of pumpkin spice cake candles for WS, two bouquets of silk flowers AND two rattan chairs. Only one chair would fit, though I’m certain that I probably could have smashed the second one in with some superhuman effort, it most likely would have ripped up the upholstery or rubbed the window tint or something equally as horrible and then I would have just felt awful. So, a second trip it had to be.

Pictures will be forthcoming tomorrow as it seems our original little camera has become quite jealous of WS’ big daddy camera and has taken to throwing fits by eating its newly recharged batteries the very moment we put them in. Yeah, and people say inanimate objects don’t have feelings. I know a pissed electronic device when I see one.

The trip to Pier 1 afforded me two things yesterday – the chance to get more seating in our house and to finally shut up about that (sadly, WS knows what I mean here) and to buy a huge floor vase that I’ve wanted for almost a decade (again, WS has gone through years of hearing me whine for one). It also got me motivated to change the décor around here. Gone are most of the summer items: Candles, plants, flowers, colors, all those things that scream “It’s hot out so sit under the fan inside and eat grilled chicken and popsicles” and in their place reside warm autumn colors of sage green, orange spice, rustic reds, and cognac brown leather. With the faint smell of baked pumpkin, nutmeg, biscotti, and crisp apples in the air, one’s eyes can rest upon dried pinecones, bunches of chrysanthemums and hops, and boxes of cinnamon sticks and juniper berries. Before we know it, we’ll be waking up to misty, foggy mornings where spider webs, and everything else, out back is draped in dew drops and the maples on the hills behind us have started to put on their fall show, and inside we’ll turn on the fireplace and sip Constant Comment tea and we’ll start wearing warm, fuzzy socks around the house 24/7 until next May.

Autumn – Our favorite time of year; can’t you tell?

In other news, Slinky the new-ish neighborhood cat has become an unwanted pest around here. Almost every morning, I see him sitting underneath the bird feeders waiting for the shot to get a warm breakfast. A couple of days ago, he caught one of the doves that frequent out back in the morning, and Slinky devoured and spread the leftovers all over Cap’t Dan’s backyard behind us. Yelling down at him from the bathroom window doesn’t do any good at 6 a.m., he just ignores me, so I have to get up, trudge downstairs, go out into the garage, and flip on the back sprinklers for a brief moment or two. Usually, that will scare him off. Usually, I say. And on top of that, he won’t come to me anymore. He knows he’s doing something wrong and takes off. I can’t get within ten feet of him anymore. How quickly his personality changed from a sweetheart to a killer. So much for my idea of putting a collar with a bell on it on him.

This evening, we’ll be printing out Cabin 4 and getting it ready to take to Kinko’s to get spiral bound. I’ve made a cover for the book though WS isn’t fond of it and might attempt one himself. I always lean toward the artsy-fartsy stuff. He’s more into realism.

If you’ve added any comments on Cabin 4, we’ve been answering them in the comments section so keep asking or commenting away if you’d like. We’d like to hear from you. In the meantime, Cabin 4 will be up for the rest of this month then I’ll move it into a private, password-access section. If you’re reading it and want access to it after September 30th, just drop me an email and say so and I’ll set you up. Thanks again to everyone who’s reading it.

September 15, 2005

As promised, Danelle…

A couple of weeks ago, I drove up to and participated in a car show in Issaquah, Washington. At that show were several friends I have from the Tacoma car club WS and I both belong to and recently, I added another friend. Okay, so big deal, you say, and you’re probably right. But this friend has a special secret background that I just recently found out about.

His name is Morris (name changed to protect his privacy) and he’s a new car club member. For whatever reason, I have naturally gravitated toward him because he’s usually standing with the rest of my car friends and he usually asks good car questions as he’s just learning what all his sports car can be. Being as I’m reasonably knowledgeable in that department, I usually pipe up with the answer he’s looking for before any of those macho men can and sometimes, I can put a nice spin on it so that it makes the topic he’s asked about sound a little more interesting than just dryly reciting back some spark plug gap measurement number.

At the Issaquah show, I discovered Morris likes to take pictures of car club events and car club people. I teased him mercilessly about not getting me in any of his shots because I HATE my picture taken. He teased right back that he had already gotten a good shot of me yet I noticed he kept trying to get just the “right” shot.

Last Saturday night, we drove up to Tacoma for that club’s monthly car club meeting (once a month meetings are WAY more civilized than twice a month or more meetings and I wish all car clubs subscribed to that). By the way, it literally poured buckets on us the entire trip up with road visibility at less than thirty feet (but strangely didn’t rain a drop back here at home.) We weren’t at the meeting more than five minutes when Morris walked in and handed me a large envelope. Inside was an 8×10 of one of the best photos I have ever seen taken of my car (the lighting was perfect!) and a second 8×10 photo included one of me. Admittedly, it’s a good, accurate one, with only two of my five chins showing, something I re-teased him about, but I look so downright happy and in my element it’s frightening. And when I teased Joe about him not getting all of my chins, he solemnly replied, “You take good pictures and don’t let anyone, including yourself, say anything different.” He was so serious.

Now for the secret, the part I promised to share if Danelle shared her stories about someone who might have a crush on her, and her son and O.J., Morris used to be a rock star. He was in a band from the late 60’s early 70’s out of Canada, and helped write the song, “One Tin Soldier.” The band toured extensively throughout the U.S., Canada, parts of Europe, and Japan. The song was revived briefly after 9-11. And yes, I guess he still gets a royalty, albeit a small one, all these years later.

And that’s my second claim to knowing a rock star, except this time, this one intentionally took photos of me. Imagine, fat, ol’ me! Oops! He said not to say that.

September 16, 2005

We’re having our air conditioning/heating system serviced today and because it’s been electricity on, electricity off, one journal entry lost, I decided to wait until the workers leave to post anything.

As promised, here are a couple of finished project pictures. Finally got rid of that awful green color in our bedroom and aged all the walls the same. Previously we had two aged walls and the other two were of some color. Personally, I loved and miss the dark burgundy walls but it was so 1990’s and showed dust and every little scuff and fingerprint. I’d love to bring a deep navy blue into the room but have decided that I can more easily do that with fabrics than painting. The aged walls go with everything. I re-added the stencil work and the poofy thing above the bed that we both like; it helps break up the expansive wall space and soft the bold lines of the bed.

Out in the rest of the house, I got rid of the summer stuff; I already told you that and now I can post pictures of what the living room looks like. The old camera decided it was better for it to return to playing nice, but should it choose to go back to being temperamental, I might not be so forgiving. I’ve already got one non-functional camera taking up space in the closet; I don’t need two.

Outside, we’ve been promised rain for the past two days through tomorrow afternoon. The weather cams all show it pouring north of us, south of us, east and west of us, but do you think it’s raining here? Go on, take a guess. If you guessed it’s raining here, let me strongly voice myself; you’re WRONG! No, I am not happy, though I can’t be downright pissed because the temperature is a delightful 67 degrees F , just my kind of temperature, finally.

Nothing much planned for the weekend. We’ve got to do a check on our peanut supply since the squirrels and blue jays have been going hog-wild on gathering and burying those over the past two weeks, and I do mean hog-wild. Peanuts were pretty much ignored around here up until a couple of weeks ago. Then it was like a switch was flipped on. Of course all the neighbors hate us because the buried peanuts are sprouting in all their yards. Better to have to pull out a peanut plant than to have to scoop dog poop, I say. Our neighbors can all call 1-800-CRY-BABY for all I care.

After a dismal summer of vegetable growing, the cherry tomato plant will go into the yard debris can this weekend. We got about a dozen tomatoes from it as opposed to the sixty or so we got last year. The “beefsteak” tomato plant can stay for another couple of weeks in the off chance those dinky NON-beefsteak size tomatoes might actually do something; just not a tomato growing summer for us. One thing I am excited about will be to break into the potato pot to see what might have developed. I love fresh potatoes; they taste completely different from the ones bought in the grocery store, but since we don’t have any vegetable garden space, I decided last spring to try growing potatoes in the biggest plant pot I could haul home. I can’t wait to see what we might be able to harvest from it and of course, I get pictures of our results. I’m already starting to look forward to next year’s experiment which will be growing assorted lettuces in pots.

September 17, 2005

Random stuff:

A recent observation: “That little girl in that rental house nearby is playing her clarinet again, except she isn’t playing it; she’s squeaking and squawking it on purpose like someone told her she had to go practice and she didn’t want to. I know because I used to do the same thing.”

A recent overheard conversation: “My daughter has been officially labeled as having a learning disability.”
“Really? What is she now, 13? Well, you better teach her how to spell S-E-X and how to say No otherwise you’re going to be spelling G-R-A-N-D-P-A soon.”

A recent confession: “[Mr. SportsOrNothing] is so depressed now that [his son, the Sports King] is away at college. He’s not going to work or anything and just mopes around watching sports on TV.”

Recent enlightenment: When looking elsewhere for motivation, don’t look for it in the movie “Million Dollar Baby.”

A recent discovery: “Her mother is buying us a dishwasher as both an anniversary and an early Christmas present. We’re going shopping for it tomorrow night. My wife thinks it’s romantic. I’m thinking how did this marriage go south so quickly?”

Recently yelled out of The Dimmer’s front upstairs window: “MasterCard, 5208 3911 [rest of account number and expiration date].”

Recent relief: My jeans that I haven’t worn since last April still fit. Just barely, but they fit.

Email recently included in on: “What ever would lead your crappy club to think to hold an event on the same day as the far-superior Lincoln City Surf City event and then expect people to show up? Change your date or stop emailing us about it!”

Recent confirmation: Weather people don’t know dick.

Recent enjoyment: Knowing my living room looks better than those shown in Pottery Barn catalogs.

September 18, 2005

Its potato digging day at last! My experiment with growing vegetables in garden pots for lack of garden ground space has only met with one failure to date – Basil, which we personally just cannot grow. Let’s hope potatoes will be a success story by the end of today.

Here we see the pot, the foliage having died down naturally over the past month. The soil was a combination of moisture release potting soil and our own garden dirt, minus the heavy clay part which we have an overabundance of here.

September 19, 2005

Happy Talk like a Pirate Day! Ahoy, i expect ye be Arghin’, A’astin’, and’ Ahoyin’ throughout yer day Gar, where can I find a bottle o’rum? In keepin’ with the day, this entire post is translated into Pirate-speak at the bottom of today’s entry, aye.

Yesterday was potato harvesting time here at the Blogeois compound and I was hoping that my experiment growing potatoes in a large garden pot wouldn’t have been in vain. But success prevailed! Imagine my squeals of glee as we dumped over the pot and saw dozens of white potatoes just waiting to be cleaned and eaten! The best part was definitely the gathering – from start to finish, the whole thing only took about five minutes, unlike the hour or so it took the last time I grew potatoes in a regular garden plot, not to mention all those poor skewered and chopped-in-half returns on investment when needing to use a shovel or garden hoe.

First I laid out a big tarp so it would be easy to dump the soil elsewhere, then overturned the garden pot. I was afraid the potatoes would all have a curved side in the shape of the pot but nope, didn’t happen.

Then, it was just a matter of sifting through the soil by hand and picking out the potatoes. The soil still looked so good that instead of dumping it, I returned it to the original pot and will probably amend it next spring with some mushroom compost and reuse it for another batch of potatoes.

After washing and slightly scrubbing the potatoes with a clean scrubby sponge in the sink, here’s our haul: About three dozen good sized medium Yellow Finn variety potatoes and two dozen dinky little ones that would be perfect for Beef Bourguignon.

To recap, I planted the potatoes back in mid-April in a large garden pot, filling the pot only half full of a combo of bagged garden soil and dirt from my yard. After the foliage reached the top rim of the pot, I added more soil until it was about four inches down from the top rim, covering most of the foliage. Three weeks later, I added the rest of the soil to the top of the pot. I watered the pot thoroughly once every other day, and once a day during the hot summer months. In July, I had to move the pot from the direct sun to a mostly shaded area but still watered once every other day. In late August, the foliage started turning yellow like it was supposed to, but I kept watering it. In September, the foliage started turning brown and drying up. A week before harvesting the potatoes, I stopped watering altogether.

To sum this experiment up, a complete success and one I will definitely repeat again next year, though this time with red potatoes. It was so easy, you really should give it a whirl where you live.

AND NOW THIS ENTIRE POST TRANSLATED INTO PIRATE-SPEAK IN KEEPING WITH THE DAY:

Ahoy me hearties, yesterday was a beautiful morn’ t’ be jawin’ like a Man o’the Sea and it was potat’ har’estin’ time har at the Blogeois compound an’ Me was hopin’ that my experiment growin’ potatoes in o’ large garden pot wouldn’t have been in ‘ain an’ the Albatross would find it’s way avast. But success pre’ailed, skuttle me skippers, gar! Imagine my squeals o’ glee as Me an’ the swashbuckling scalawag “Union Jack” WS dumped o’er the pot an’ saw dozens o’ white potatoes like Spanish gold just waitin’ t’ be cleaned an’ eaten, gar! The best part was definitely the gatherin’ – from start t’ finish, the whole thin’ only took about fi’e minutes, unlike the hour or so it took the last time I grew potatoes in o’ regular garden plot akin to scrapin’ barracles off a starboard knacker, not t’ mention all those poor skeward an’ chopped-o’-half plunderings when needin’ t’ use a sho’el or gaff.

Argh, first I laid Me out a big tarp so it would be easy t’ dump the soil elsewhar such as in Davy Jones’s locker, then o’erturned the garden pot. I was afraid the potatoes would all have a cur’ed side in the shape o’ the pot but nope, shiver me timbers, didn’t happen. Then, it was just o’ matter o’ siftin’ through the soil by hand an’ pickin’ out the potatoes. The soil still looked so good that instead o’ dumpin’ it, Me returned it t’ the original pot an’ will probably amend it next sprin’ with some mushroom compost an’ reuse it for another batch o’ gold. After washin’ an’ slightly scrubbin’ the potatoes with a clean scrubby sponge in the sink, har’s our haul: About three dozen good sized medium Yellow Finn ‘ariety potatoes an’ two dozen dinky little varmints that would be perfect for Beef Bourguignon. A pence for an ol’ man o’de sea?

Aye, t’ recap, I planted the potatoes back in mid-April in a large garden pot, fillin’ the pot only half full o’ a combo o’ bagged garden soil an’ dirt scrapings from my yard. After the foliage reached the top rim o’ the pot, I added more soil until it was about four fathoms down from the top rim, co’erin’ most o’ the foliage. Three weeks later, Me added the rest o’ the soil t’ the top o’ the pot. Me watard the pot thoroughly once e’ery other morn’, an’ once a morn’ durin’ the blisterin’ summer months. In July, Me had t’ mo’e the pot from the direct sun t’ a mostly shaded area but still watard once e’ery other day. In late August, the foliage started turnin’ yellow like it was kissin’ the Gunner’s daughter, but I kept waterin’ it. In September, the foliage started turnin’ brown an’ dryin’ up like dead mussels on a beached pier. A week before har’estin’ the potatoes, Me stopped waterin’ altogether.

T’ sum this experiment up, a mighty success an’ one Me will definitely repeat again next yar, though this time with red potatoes, aye. An’ Me thinks you lily livered landlubbers should give it a whirl yourselves!

Yours plunderingly,
Blogeois a.k.a Iron Bess Flint, me pirate name, argh!

September 20, 2005

Fall officially begins Thursday. Starting tomorrow our lives become a whirlwind of appointments, meetings, activities, installations, commitments, and thankfully, one short vacation. This is fall for us as we rush around trying to get things in order for the cold weather ahead and finishing up summer projects.

Tomorrow night, I have a LONG car club meeting both to find out what is involved in being elected board secretary (I know it’s just taking minutes but I want to make doubly certain I don’t have to donate an arm and a leg too), and to find out what I can do to help with the last car show of the season this coming Sunday, which is being put on by the club. I originally promised the club I would detail the car they are raffling off at the show but I can’t do that until it’s finished and at last word, it wasn’t done yet. I have a feeling it’ll be at the show Sunday and they will still be putting it together. Oh well, I tried.

Thursday WS has to take his car in for service and we’re not scheduled to get it back until sometime on Friday. On top of an air filter, brake work, the broken sunroof panel, now it sounds like we might need another new battery too. I just hope they can get everything done in time.

Early Saturday morning we’re going on a bird watching hike a few miles from home with the local bird shop people. WS is hoping to get some good pictures of something other than the goldfinches and blue jays from our own backyard. It’ll also be good exercise for the two of us since we haven’t taken any hikes since that dreadfully hot three mile hike around Sauvie Island back in July. I need to remember the mosquito spray this time around.

Early Sunday is the car show and then Sunday night I need to super clean the house. Monday we take two pets to be lodged at our vet and wait for the house sitter because, yes, yes, YES, we’re going on a short vacation up to Lake Quinault up on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington. Nothing but relaxing, writing, walking, photographing, and dining for three days; truly, we cannot hardly wait.

Thursday we’re back home and back out to pick up the pets Friday morning. The following weeks include dental visits, a doctor’s visit, another car service visit (this time mine for an adjustment on my window glass), car club meetings, and at the end of October, we’re getting cabinets installed in our garage (finally!). If we have more than two days free from appointments or meetings, I’m sure it’s a mistake. Surprisingly so far, November looks perfectly blank. Let’s hope it stays that way.

September 21, 2005

Well, I should have said that yesterday began our busy fall season, not today. Good thing I had most of the day to myself to do whatever I wanted to do because before the day’s end, I got wrangled into doing some seriously hard work.

Yesterday afternoon, feeling all warm and fuzzy with a relatively clean house, lit spiced pumpkin candles perfuming the air, I was preparing to make buffalo Swedish meatballs for dinner and I had all the ingredients laid out in the kitchen, chopping merrily away at the fresh oregano when I heard a friendly knock on the front door. It was Mr.SportsOrNothing from next door and I invited him into the kitchen for a seat.

He confirmed they were putting their house up for sale shortly, something WS and I suspected for the past two months, and they were getting a load of chipped wood (called bark dust around these parts) to make their house look better for potential buyers. Would I be interested in a load myself since we share a side yard space and because we had talked together last spring about laying some down? Never one to pass up an opportunity, I agreed. But then I found out the bark dust was coming in about an hour! Alrighty then, I guess I had better get my butt in gear on this one day of the week that I hadn’t planned on doing much of anything and get these meatballs made, put back in the fridge, and get ready for several hours of shoveling and hauling.

On cue, the bark dust was delivered, my meatballs were pre-cooked, and I spent the next four hours spreading the chipped wood around the front yard. I didn’t agree to get enough to do our back yard and although I kind of wish I had, I definitely would not have had the energy to spread it, the front and side yards taxing me enough. With only three wheelbarrows left to go, WS came home from work and I was able to surprise him with a beautiful, bark dusted front yard.

Today, I am wracked with pain and stiffness. Aspirin will be my constant friend and maybe an afternoon nap will be in order if a delivery WS is expecting from FedEx and one I’ll have to sign for gets here early. Actually, just by mentioning that, it’s been assured to come late in the afternoon, so if I do get to nap at all, it’ll have to be a very, very short one; I have a car club meeting at 6 p.m. that will last until 9 or so. Something tells me I’m going to sleep like the dead tonight.

September 22, 2005

Happy Fall day. This is the beginning of the time of year we here love the most. Surely it’s got to be something about wearing snuggly sweaters, the smell of apples and wood smoke in the air, and welcoming the rain to wash all the summer dust from the evergreens. Now if we’d only get some rain. It was supposed to pour today. Uh huh, we’re denied again, but on the good side, it’s only supposed to get up to 69 degrees outside today. Yippee! I can certainly live with that.

We have been looking for a good tomato sauce from scratch recipe since, oh, I don’t know when, might as well be since the beginning of time. We were looking for something we could easily make here at home without having to buy all kinds of fancy equipment or take three days to cook just to have the end result end up looking like stewed tomato ala Zsa Zsa Gabor.

While it’s true we haven’t been looking that hard, meaning we haven’t been canvassing cookbooks left and right or watching the Food Network, a station I just CANNOT get into because all the chefs are just too, too, too annoying to me, when a recipe does just happen to fall into my lap, I do read through it and might even keep it if its anything I think we might want to tackle.

A week or more ago, such a recipe did fall into my lap. Over at Out of the Frying Pan, Brian there posted a great recipe based on one by Alton Brown for slow roasted tomato sauce. While I’ve yet to become a fan of anything slow, the words “plum tomatoes” jumped out at me. I love plum tomatoes or Roma tomatoes if you’re like me and call them that regularly. After showing the recipe to WS, we decided to give it a shot last weekend and we have to admit, for us it’s a winner.

Slow roasted tomato sauce
First the recipe:

4 quarts (roughly 3 dozen) plum tomatoes, halved and seeded
1/3 cup olive oil
1 teaspoon kosher salt
2 teaspoons fresh ground black pepper
2 cups onions, finely chopped
4-5 cloves garlic, finely chopped
2 tablespoons fresh oregano, chopped
2 tablespoons fresh basil, chopped
1 cup red wine

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Lay out tomatoes cut-side up on a half-sheet pan and sprinkle generously with pepper, garlic, onions, and herbs. Drizzle olive oil over the tomatoes and place in oven. Bake for two hours checking occasionally to make sure the tomatoes are not burning (if they are browning up too quickly, reduce heat to 300 degrees). After two hours, increase the oven temperature to 400 degrees and bake for another 30 minutes.

Remove the tomatoes from the oven and process them through a food mill to remove the skins and any remaining seeds. Pour the pureed tomatoes into a saucepan, add wine, bring to a boil and cook for an additional five minutes.

NOTES:

All seasonings are more or less to taste. Improvise as you like. You can also substitute white wine for red.

If you don’t have a food mill, this is a great excuse to buy one. Otherwise, I’m not sure how you would puree the tomatoes without the skins. (SEE Blogeois post).

Prepare to be driven mad by the incredible aromas while the sauce is cooking; you’ll want to eat it immediately. However, you can freeze this sauce for a couple of months (if you can stand it).

DIFFICULTY: 1 – It takes a while to make, but requires very little skill. (Also see Blogeois post).

Having never made tomato sauce before didn’t scare us off. We love nearly anything tomato based (exception being stewed tomato anything) and we know our way around a kitchen. We chopped all our ingredients, halved the tomatoes, but were a bit confused by the reference to a half-sheet pan. You mean like a half-sheet cake pan? Hmm, we only had a couple of large glass baking dishes usually used for lasagna or enchiladas, but they’ll have to do. Foil-lined, they worked wonderfully.

325 degrees oven temperature worked perfect for us and we didn’t have to reduce the heat. By the time, we pulled the roasted tomatoes out of the oven we were in heaven (and starving) from the smell. Now, about that food mill; we thought about letting the tomatoes cool, then putting them through my juicer, but then I remembered that we were looking for a sauce not a juice for the end result. We thought about just throwing the whole thing into the blender, skins and all, but when we took off a small chunk of the roasted skin, we decided we didn’t want that in with the sauce. The skin was a bit tough and not terribly good tasting. Not having a food mill, WS opted to scoop out the insides of each roasted tomato and we discarded the skins. It took a bit of time, but it was absolutely worth his effort.

After scooping out the insides, then we put them all in the blender along with the cup of red wine (an Italian red table wine – Montepulciano 2001), pureed the mixture slowly, and then poured the sauce into a pan. Five minutes of boiling later (WITH THE LID ON I highly recommend because this sauce don’t just splatter, it SPLATTERS) we had our sauce. Rich, red, flavorful, and we think much, much better than anything you’d get out of a can or jar (and shame on us for buying it that way).

September 23, 2005

Happy Anti-tumor anniversary to me (and anyone else whom may have had a tumor or two removed on September 23rd). Yep, one year ago today, I was wheeled into surgery to have Emil and Hubert (again, pronounced Ooo-bear), my 23 and 5 pound (yes, one was 23 pounds) uterine tumors removed along with the rest of my female reproductive bits. And other than once every four or five hot flashes later, I haven’t looked back much at all.

Here’s a mini FAQ I recently put together on questions I’ve since been asked on the subject:

Yes, I really did name the tumors. It helped me deal with my revulsion of them growing inside my body. Yes, my doctor was horrified at what he found when he opened me up on the table and called in a second surgeon for help. Yes, he did take photos, color photos, of me laying there, all pinned open and the tumors squirming in the bright light, and yes, he did show the photos to me afterward. No, I was not repulsed and in fact, requested copies for myself. No, he didn’t send any and yes, I still a little pissed about that.

Yes, I did regain my pre-surgery weight and sit around 170-ish. Yes, technically, this is considered obese for my small 5’5” frame. Yes, I did lose twenty-some pounds immediately after surgery, mainly due to the loss of the tumors and a nasty reaction to a morphine drip from which my blood pressure dropped dangerously low. Yes, I have felt at times that I don’t have as much strength or motivation as I once did in the year since my surgery but I attribute that to not exercising and getting very flabby. Yes, I am trying to do something about that because, no, I don’t want to buy pants in yet another bigger waistband size.

Yes, I gladly handed over my ovaries too in that same surgery. No, I never named those. No, I don’t take hormone replacement medication because what I was taking for two months after (Premarin) has been classified as a cancer-causing agent in most of the states now and my health provider stopped prescribing it. Yes, I take 100 mg of Black Cohash two to four times a day and am trying hard to cut sugar and wheat out of my diet (both aid hot flash symptoms and mood swings). Yes, I have hot flashes between six and twelve times in any 24 hour period. They usually last a couple of minutes. Yes, I can feel them coming on. My scalp tightens up, my face turns red, and I can feel my sweat pores open. Yes, the hot flashes suck but I don’t consider them the end of the world; mostly, they are an annoyance especially at night or when I’m out in public. Yes, mini electric fans have become my friends around the house. No, I don’t have mood swings though you’d have to ask WS about that to be certain.

And yes, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. And I can say I’m happy again. Not only because I don’t feel and look like I’m carrying twins which some people pointed out that in a way, I was, not only because I no longer have that secret brief incontinent problem, not only because I don’t have the prospect of a major upcoming surgery to think about, not only because my pre-and post-surgery “condition” really weeded out who were my friends and who really wasn’t, and not only because I can now sleep on my stomach if I want to.

I’m happy, outrageously happy in fact, because I haven’t had to buy any menstrual products for an entire year. I can say with much merriment and some unabashed arm waving that I haven’t even walked down the feminine product aisle at my local grocery store for an entire year. And if the truth be told, the next time some woman approaches me and perkily asks if I’ve seen the new Ultra Mega Sleek tampon with the lustrous pearlescent Powder Blue applicator (because everyone knows powder blue is the new black), I can brazenly reply, “No! And actually, I couldn’t care less!” because I’m wildly exuberate about that being all behind me.

September 24, 2005

We’re leaving in a while to go on a bird watching hike but in the meantime, let me bring you up to speed on what’s going on in the neighborhood. Lots of stuff has been going on recently right under my nose so this will be require several entries.

MsEars house finally sold. She and her husband reduced the price down to just under $300,000, from the original $350,000 although we won’t know for certain exactly how much the actual sale was for a few months. All I know about the new owners is that one of them has a service work van of some kind always parked out front on the street and that a few cars flying up and down the road have nearly collided with it.

Neither of the other two houses on our street has sold and from all accounts, it looks like there is no longer any interest in either of them. Priced too high I suspect.

I was told last week that next door, Mr. Dimmer was down in Arizona interviewing for a job and that he quit his last one…again. That makes something in the neighborhood of a dozen jobs he’s quit in the three years he’s lived next door. This also explains Mrs. Dimmer’s recent spending spree because while the cat’s away, the mice will continue to loudly shout out their credit card numbers from open windows to mail order companies. What a pair!

Then just last evening, WS was told by Mr. Dimmer himself that he was thinking of going to southern California to look for a job but he wasn’t sure exactly how he was going to get there because his truck was repossessed earlier this week! Says he’s going to get it back though. Uh, I don’t know about you but I always heard repo-ed vehicles are repo-ed vehicles. You don’t just “get them back.” He also said he was going to set up a webcam online so he could watch his kids grow up. Mrs. Dimmer doesn’t want to and isn’t going to move with him. She’s keeping the kids. He doesn’t want them. Again, the similarities between them and the previous owners, DrunkTank Willie, his wife Leona, and their two kids abound! I’m beginning to believe they’ve got a bad feng shui house or something.

September 26, 2005

On the other side of us, SportsOrNothing have whipped their long-neglected house into shape. Last Tuesday, it was bark mulch in the newly trimmed flower beds. Wednesday, they had their house pressure washed (anyone want a future mold-ridden house?). They were also supposed to have their back deck pressure washed on the same day but the guy never showed up and Mr. SportsOrNothing was not.at.all.happy.about.it. Thursday morning, I could still hear him screaming over his cell phone in his backyard to someone who had still not shown up. Thursday afternoon, a carpet cleaning crew showed up to work on the inside.

Late Thursday afternoon, Mr. SportsOrNothing cleared off his deck by angrily throwing his patio furniture off it and into the freshly bark mulched flower beds (I believe the table umbrella is a total loss) and without being pressure washed first, started rolling gallons of redwood-color deck varnish onto the dirt and pet stain laden wood deck. Just before dark, Ms. SportsOrNothing ran out and picked up several more gallons.

Thursday night and Friday morning was very cold and humid and the varnish dried unevenly. By Friday afternoon, it was easy to see the project hadn’t gone well and it looks bad: Half glossy here, matte finished there, and dark blackish patches everywhere. Again in a huff, Mr. SportsOrNothing slammed the patio furniture back onto the deck and there it sits finished I guess.

Early yesterday, a For Sale sign went up in the middle of the yard. They’re asking $329,900. Outrageous!

But the real interesting thing about the SportsOrNothings is what I found out while hauling bark mulch with Mr. SportsOrNothing last Tuesday afternoon. He said he quit his salesman job recently, citing unhappiness with working in general, and leaving Ms. SportsOrNothing, a nurse, to be the head of the household. He feels that since their twin teens have entered college, their expenses are low enough that he feels he should be able to do what he wants to do. Well, low enough if you don’t think about those two SUV payments and a couple of mortgage payments. What it is that he wants to do no one knows for sure but I’m pretty certain that it no longer includes drooling over the dream of becoming a high school sports coach he wanted so badly last spring particularly since without an educational or sports medicine degree, he discovered he’d probably never be anything greater than a coach assistant’s assistant.

All he said further was that he was terribly depressed with this and that and over his son whom he is convinced isn’t coming back home next summer or maybe ever again. He said his son, the revered Sports King, the one who was going to make it all the way to the majors and who was going to make enough millions to pay for his parents future, told his father that he was basically done with sports, that he discovered girls and rafting down the Snake River and partying with friends, and wants to enjoy what his life had been missing all along.

Now Mr. SportsOrNothing just wants to sell the house to buy a trailer on some low maintenance acreage some place far away. He said all he needed was enough money to pay for four years of college for his two kids and maybe a bit of spending cash to buy another SUV and put some “bling” wheels on it. The fact that he, a very overweight and irresponsible man who has bullied his family and has been living vicariously through his son since birth while 100% completely ignoring his daughter, actually used the word “bling” made me almost burst out laughing from the absurdity but luckily for me, a breeze blew some bark dust into the air at that exact moment and I was able to disguise it with a cough. Never once did he mention what his wife would like. Never once did he even mention her, although she was working just a short distance away and definitely within earshot. What else became very clear very quickly that afternoon was that they are still not talking to each other, whether that be because of the uncharacteristic loud fight they had outside back in July or because of something new (maybe she doesn’t want to sell?) is anyone’s guess. But they didn’t say a single word to each other which is just not like them in the least, avoided each other as much as possible which was even odder, and honestly, when they did look at each other, the look on each of their faces was nothing less than complete and utter contempt for the other. It was a very uncomfortable afternoon.

Personally, I get the very strong sense that after they sell and move, we’ll never see them again and it won’t be because they moved away. I think they are going to split up. They have always led very separate lives. I know she still resents him for denying that the twins were really his and for refusing to marry her until when the kids turned nine years old, someone wrangled a paternity test out of him and proved he was their father. I know she has always resented him not wanting to hold a “real” job and for ignoring their daughter. She has told me and others so in the past.

It’s sad to see people split up but in these cases, it’s apparent both The Dimmers and SportsOrNothing have been split up for years anyway.

September 27, 2005

We’re off for a four-day vacation and expect to be back late Thursday. I’ll be writing about our adventures at Lake Quinault and will post them, along with pictures no doubt, when we return. In the meantime, the last of the three updates from our neighborhood. See you later this week!

Kitty-corner across the street, Mrs. Howler Monkey had a bike accident Friday afternoon. She had made a big pomp-and-circumstance show of getting out an old woman’s bike, cleaning it off before strapping a child’s seat onto the back, and trying to pump air into the tires. Her youngest son, a child who doesn’t understand the concept of talking in any volume other than at the top of his lungs, asked what she was doing. Mrs. Howler Monkey replied she was going for a bike ride and that he was coming along too. Her son asked why, and she replied nearly as loud, “Because gas costs too much to take the truck!” She owns one of those huge, nearly Hummer-sized SUVs with Bush for President stickers still plastered all over the back window. I noticed that there was also a Bush sticker on the back of the child’s seat.

After a while, I glanced up from washing my car and saw she had walked the bike along the sidewalk and down several houses with one hand on the handlebars and one hand pulling along her son who was holding a bike helmet in his other hand. Then she stopped and had a tough time getting her son in the child seat and then getting on herself, but finally, I saw her start to pedal down the street and she looked like she was doing okay. I went back to washing my car and had just shut off the hose when I heard the crash. I looked up but couldn’t see her. I heard someone from down around the corner call out “Are you okay?” “Fine!” came back as a clear loud reply.

After a minute of still not seeing her, I again returned to working on my car. A moment later, I caught a glimpse of her walking the bike back up the street, her quiet son limping alongside, thankfully with the bike helmet on. Just as she turned to walk up her driveway, I saw what looked like her knees were skinned up and bleeding. She dumped the bike in the grass by the front door, scooped up her son, and went inside, slamming the door behind her with her foot. Not two minutes later, the garage door went up and she screeched down the driveway and out of the neighborhood in that big SUV. I guess in the war between bicycles and gasoline, the gas won that round.

In MsNoManagementSkills’ world, I heard that her ex-husband, FatHead, welcomed the birth of a son last week with his new wife. Yep, FatHead, the guy whom MsNo divorced because he decided he didn’t want to have any kids. Turns out it wasn’t that he didn’t want any kids; he just didn’t want any with her. Ouch!

September 26, 2005
Lake Quinault Lodge, Washington state

Day One, sitting on the Lodge back lawn, 4:10 p.m.:

We decided to take a vacation this year, albeit a short one, and WS chose Lake Quinault Lodge up in the Olympic Peninsula rain forest. I’m not sure why he picked this place. I’m just glad he picked some place.

The huge lodge was built in 1926 and it is magnificent, like something you’d see in a movie. The lodge lobby is enormous; about 75 feet long by 30 feet wide, and has at least a dozen seating areas and a massive rough brick fireplace. It’s a place I’d like to hang out in for hours during a snow storm. Maybe be can find the time and money to come back this winter or next.

While the grounds are beautiful and the addition of numerous rabbits grazing out in the expansive lawn is delightful, there is an odd undercurrent to the place. The closest I can describe it is the feeling of a recuperative health resort. There are no less than fourteen people in plain view, all couples, each sitting together in Adirondack chairs some distance apart, and no one, NO ONE is making a sound. Some are staring at the lake, others have their eyes shut, head tilted back, resting on the back of the chair. It’s almost as if everyone is waiting for something or someone to say something out loud. I half expect to look up and notice for the first time a sign that shows a silhouetted face with a finger in front of the mouth and the word “Shhh” printed on it. I’ve heard more noise in mortuaries and as WS said, “The rabbits munching on the grass are making more noise.” I couldn’t agree more.

I wonder what would happen if I were to stand up and start singing loudly or ask out loud if anyone was up for a rousing game of lawn bowling. Other than my husband who would die of embarrassment, I wonder if anyone would join me in making noise or if the lodge management would politely insist that I leave.

Maybe this is how one is supposed to act at a fancy lodge? If this were the turn of the last century, I’d expect to see men and women dressing all in white, the women in long skirts gliding across the lawn, the men with polo sweaters draped over their shoulders and looking dapper in their clean shaven faces and slicked back hair.

But enough of the “air” of the place, Lake Quinault is spread before us in silvery blue. On the opposite side of the lake, thick forested mountains rise from the water’s edge. Tall pines dot our immediate landscape along with old rhododendrons and blue and pink hydrangeas. Harshly shaped boxwoods look like they’ve been here since the lodge was built, back before the Great Depression. A healthy breeze is blowing across the lake, whispering through the pines and cedars, rustling the leaves of the birches nearby, and making my notebook paper flutter loudly. The sound carries and I hold the papers down for fear I’ll disturb someone. The two couples sitting closest to us glance over occasionally and mumble something amongst themselves in a foreign language. Rich Germans.

Finally, some noise: People coming up from the lake, strolling about, some with glasses of wine and beer, a small group of elderly people toss horseshoes in a pit down by the water, an athletic couple jog by on the gravel path with an equally athletic dog on a leash. The rabbits scurry. I can hear someone’s camera clicking in the background as it tries to capture the moment. Birds singsong overhead and mix with low muttering voices. The air smells clean and there is a hint of wood smoke. This is early fall and there is also a hint of chill. The air is also alive with winged termites, not that I’m complaining because I’m not. This is the forest, and there are going to be bugs.

I’m obsessed with the rabbits, naturally, and I wonder how they came to be here, why, and if their population is controlled. I’ve already photographed six or seven of them, all different colors and since, have seen a couple more I didn’t get earlier. We can get close to them but they don’t seem to want to be touched. I can deal with that.

Later over dinner, we overhear someone at another table ask about them and the waitress explains that years earlier, someone dropped off a couple of tame rabbits and they have reproduced and persevered ever since. She said the number of rabbits has been up to forty at one time, but that predators often take their toll: Bobcats, raccoons, dogs, and raptors and sometimes, the game and fish department has to step in to reduce their numbers using live traps. She said that her husband built her a rabbit hutch when she brought home two injured rabbits and that it was really sad because they were so defenseless.

It makes me wonder what other wildlife might be around. Already we’ve seen stellar jays, small wrens, and the biggest crows I think I’ve ever seen. I was hoping to see squirrels or chipmunks and I brought a bag of raw peanuts in the shell just in the off chance I got to feed them to some thing, secretly of course because I’m sure we’re not supposed to as is usually the case in a national forest. I swear if a deer or two walks out of the woods and starts grazing, I doubt I’ll be able to contain myself.

Dinner reservations are for seven, an hour and a half away. We will be starved by then, having foregone lunch in Aberdeen when we didn’t see any place that caught our eye to have lunch. Sure, we could have eaten at Taco Bell or Jack-In-The-Box, but that’s not why we drove all this way.

I’m getting chilled as the sun sets over the trees. I’ve also discovered that Adirondack chairs aren’t really comfortable and make my right hip hurt almost in the same way driving now does. I’m nearly convinced that I’ve got a hip replacement coming some time in the distant future. I wish I knew what happened to it.

Hippity-hop, hippity-hop. I wonder where the rabbits go at night. Under the gazebo? Into the bushes? Where do they go in the winter? Surely it gets downright frozen here in winter? I think someone needs to step up and create a “Save the Quinault Lodge rabbits” cause and rescue them all from what the waitress referred to as a certain death.

September 27, 2005
Lake Quinault Lodge, Washington state

Day Two, in the lobby, 10:26 a.m.:

Dinner last night (cedar plank salmon for two) was excellent. Breakfast this morning was even better (omelet, fresh fruit, herbed cream cheese and smoked salmon). I, who generally abhor breakfast, have decided I like it but only if I can share it with WS and someone else does the preparation and cleanup.

We’re sitting in the lobby in large, plush, leather chairs across the room from the roaring fireplace. It rained a bit early this morning just before dawn. We missed it but we love how the temperature outside is a cool 58 degrees F., and everything looks very mossy and green. Across the lake, fog is obscuring the top half of the mountain range. There is no breeze and the lake is very still. Outside, there are a few couples walking around; the chairs are too damp to sit in, and the odd silence of yesterday continues. Inside the lobby where we are, classical music plays uninterrupted in the background. It’s nice and very relaxing and seems to give people inside permission to talk a bit louder than a hushed whisper.

I feel very selfish here and wish we were the only guests staying. I’ve already caught myself thinking like a homeowner/investor of this place, and noting improvements and repairs that could be made – nothing that would change the overall integrity of the place, just subtle fixes that would insure the old lodge would remain standing for another eighty years. Latches fixed on the sliding doors, spiders and their webs removed from room patios and every other square inch of the lodge, inside and out, fallen gutters remounted, cedar shingles refinished, a decorator’s slight hand with color and warmth to the sparse white rooms, hardwood floors added (which I’m sure had to be original to the lodge back in the 1920’s) and large rugs in the lobby, and perhaps the addition of a butler to fetch refreshments. I’m not asking for much, just a few touches that would take this place from fabulous to world class.

On the other side of the room, two men are playing chess on an oversized board with oversized pieces. The older of the two has a young boy with him who isn’t very quiet. It seems we can never get away from the noisy child factor no matter where we go or how hard we try.

Yesterday afternoon, three pre-teens were running soaking wet, fresh from the indoor basement pool through the crowded lobby. Back and forth they ran, chasing each other from one side of the room to the other, across the warm brick fireplace hearth with wet, bare feet, yelling and knocking stuff off tables as they went. Finally, they took off down the stairwell back to the pool and shortly thereafter, a stern-looking maintenance man went after them. People here in the lobby looked downright mortified, though I’m not sure if that was because of the presence of children or because of the noise.

The chess players are having one of those long, well-thought out kinds of games, but I, who know absolutely zip about chess even though I beat WS at my one and only time playing it (he was so involved in teaching me, he wasn’t paying attention to his own moves I’m sure), can see that the guy with the kid is losing badly. His opponent, a newlywed according to their shoe-polished SUV out in the parking lot, is a 20-something guy outfitted head-to-toe in L.L. Bean and takes forever to make a single move. But when he does make a move, the guy with the kid always loses a piece.

Another gentleman has pulled up a chair nearby and although he is flipping through a book, its clear he’s more interested in the game. And then, with a final flurry of moves, L.L. Bean wins and the two shake hands. Bookman stands up and asks the winner for a game. Switching sides and exchanging pleasantries, a new game begins.

Our plan for today is to hang out here all day and perhaps walk one of rainforest trails later on. The Olympic rainforest is literally right across the street and looks like it rises nearly straight up from the roadway we drove in on. We’re also having dinner early tonight – 5:00 p.m. so that WS might be able to get some dusk photography in. Last evening, the lake and sky were spectacular.

September 28, 2005
Lake Quinault Lodge, Washington state

Day Three, in the Lobby, 1:40 p.m.:

This morning we skipped breakfast thankfully. The meals here are huge and I’m sure we’ve each already gained five pounds since Monday evening. We decided to head out for the Kalaloch Lodge Beach area some thirty miles northwest of here for some photography and for some research for our last book, Cabin 4 which will need rewriting soon.

Years ago we visited Kalaloch Lodge and thought we’d come back to stay someday. That day has never come and now, our tastes and comfort level has changed, making me question whether or not we could tolerate the rugged sparseness of one of the Kalaloch cabins on the beach. The cabins come with kitchenettes and beds all in one small room. Some have fireplaces, some have carports, and none have telephone, alarm clocks, or TV all of which are perfectly acceptable to us. Staying there is more like an indoor camping experience and WS is definitely not the camping kind of guy. Since being married to him these past sixteen years, I have found that I too prefer a bit of luxury in my overnight stays. Must be my age showing because I feel my days of sleeping on a crappy foam bed in a fishy-smelling cabin while nosy tourists wander around just outside the window is long past.

The most striking difference we noticed on our drive to Kalaloch this morning from the one we made a decade ago was the lack of trees. Everywhere we looked we could see acres of forest chopped down, from entire mountainsides to plots of land along the highway and even right down to the waters in Lake Quinault. Everywhere stood thin, dying saplings being burnt and bleached in the sun they had never seen before; their protectors of wind and sun sawed off a few feet from the ground. Everywhere the white stumps resemble ivory tombstones from what must have once been massive giants. Forest management, they call it now. It’s still just as ugly as when it was called clear-cutting.

As soon as we thought we saw the beach, we couldn’t for the fog was very, very thick. But I could tell it was there before I ever heard it. Something about the ocean has always called to me even back when I was young and growing up in the desert southwest. Something about the movement of water that seems alive to me. I’ve become a water snob and prefer my bodies of water to move, the water moving from one place to another. Landlocked lakes don’t do that for me and Lake Quinault seems like the deadest lake I’ve seen since visiting the Great Salt Lake back in the mid 70’s. I’m sure there are fish in Lake Quinault somewhere; surely they stock this lake, right? But nowhere is there any mention of fishing, of buying or renting tackle, no bait shops, no fishing trips on the lake. There is no sign of fingerlings or minnows along the shoreline and while there are a few canoes and paddle boats one can rent here from the tiny dock down past the lodge’s expansive lawn, there are no boats out on the lake itself. The lake, it seems, is just for gazing upon, nothing more, and that makes it seem like a dead lake to me.

Kalaloch Beach is covered, literally, with massive logs, driftwood that has come in off the ocean or blown down from the rainforest nearby, and all of the wood has been bleached gray white from the weather. It seems as though this is the world’s collection place for driftwood. Industrious people have built forts out of some of the logs, none of which are very weather resistant as the roof timbers tend to resemble the ribcages of giant beasts long beached on the sand. Along the shoreline, an army of gulls and pelicans stood, preening and bathing or just situated in groups talking to each other while occasionally fluffing their wings. The gray fog prevented us from seeing anything further out than twenty or thirty feet. The color of the water, the sky, and the fog are all one and the same and only the dark shapes of tall cedars up on the bluff behind us suggested anything other than gray exists here.

We drove further up the road to Beach 4 past Kalaloch and could see even less. A drive to Ruby beach with its sea stacks proved to be just as hidden from view and although it might sound as though I’m complaining, I’m not. The foggy weather was exactly what we wanted, exactly what I needed after a long dry summer at home. The tall pines that lined the path down to the beach dripped heavily from the gathered mist and fog and forced us to tuck our cameras into our jackets. Even though the water called to me, we didn’t walk all the way down to the beach. Our legs are tired from hiking yesterday and the paths were very steep.

2:21 p.m.

Had to take a break. We’re sitting back in the lobby, me near the window and near an outlet so I can type this out on my notebook computer instead of hand writing it on paper and then transferring it to the computer, WS is sitting across from the fireplace which we are both disappointed in seeing that the fire is completely out. Outside, the clouds have started to roll in and thicken up. Rain is forecast here for sometime tomorrow or Friday, and I thought it would a great time to order a cappuccino or Irish coffee but alas; the lodge’s espresso machine is on the fritz, they say, and the bar doesn’t open until tomorrow afternoon – but only if the bartender shows up. The friendly but cautious waitress recommends we go across the street to the mercantile for our latte or mocha needs because “that’s where all the locals go.”

I checked out the place yesterday and found it just as you’d expect in a tiny off-the-beaten-path store: Maps of hiking trails, moth-eaten mounted heads of deer shot decades ago, a row of candy, a row for essentials like dusty cans of Dinty Moore stew, Lorna Doone cookies, and MD fortified wine. In the back of the mercantile which is for sale by the way, there is a snack bar that sells everything from pizza to hand dipped ice cream. We both enjoyed the ice cream yesterday after a few hours hiking around and as I’m trying to sip on my scalding hot white chocolate mocha right this minute, I can honestly say it rivals anything Starbucks whips out. And the older woman who made it was much more personable than anyone I’ve talked to at our local Starbucks. I nearly asked her if she were one of the mercantile owners and if so, what she was asking for the place. Not that I could buy it or anything; I’m just curious. Of course, I’d want to make changes to that place as well and try to make it a place that the locals would want to come hang out at, not just because someone else’s espresso machine was down. Flower boxes, fresh paint, you know how I think by now…

Today, tring as I hard as I can not to, I’ve found some complaints about the lodge. For example, right this very minute, someone is vacuuming the carpet here in this lobby and the chair I have been sitting in has been bumped, rather hard, twice. It took me three attempts to get all the spelling right in that last sentence because of that. But no, she doesn’t want me to move my chair. Sure, I know the place needs daily cleaning but at 2:30 in the afternoon with guests sitting and milling all over the place? I question the use of the vacuum anyway because a cloud of visible dust is following the woman using it. Maybe someone will go around behind her and wipe off all the tables and if that happens, you can be sure I’ll write about it. Another woman is cleaning the windows on the French door leading outside. The strong smell of Windex isn’t exactly adding to the ambience of the place. Out front, someone is hammering away at one of the front entrance doors. They are re-glazing the glass in the door and are trying to chip out the ancient putty.

Other than the bustling of housekeeping, the hammering and pounding which does stop for periods of five minutes every so often, and groups of guests who sweep in every hour or so, the mood here in the lobby’s great room is relaxed. Only WS and I and a group of four older people are using the space. Earlier, a woman walked around with a large wicker basket placing dried corn bunches here and there. On the table I’m using sits a large pumpkin made from polyester and craft paint. People are talking in normal tones unlike what we’ve experienced over the past couple of days. Outside, however, the mood is the same. Couples sitting here and there and not a sound louder than the wind in the treetops can be heard. To be honest, I could probably fall asleep outside in a chair somewhere but I’m sure my snoring would be frowned upon by that bunch. Although they are quiet, I’m looking at their faces through the glass here and they look to be a rough crowd if someone were to interrupt their peace.

An older couple just wandered in from the parking lot and asked a waitress near the kitchen if he could get a “libation.” The waitress doesn’t know the meaning of the word and walks off to get someone else to help. The couple finally wandered off when no one returned. They probably would have left anyway when they found out the bar doesn’t open until tomorrow, unless the bartender doesn’t show up.

We’ve discovered over the past three days that lots of family members of employees hang around here, as well as employees who have the day off. I guess if you live in this small of a town, there isn’t much else to do than visit the place you or your loved one works at. Most employees bring in their kids to visit. The kids are not well mannered but it seems that’s okay. Today, it sounds like there is an employee evaluation meeting sometime this afternoon and so everyone has shown up. In the meantime, a couple of waitresses have the problem of serving a beer to a lunch guest. Neither of them is old enough to open and pour the beer but there isn’t anyone else over 21 working right now. The two young woman argue who should go into the bar area and get the beer and finally, one rushes in, grabs one, and hands it to the other who’s face shows shock. “Just POUR IT!” the first waitress hisses. I glance up and they both look at me. I give them a smirk and they rush back to the dining room. Do I look like the alcohol police? Hardly.

3:00 p.m.

Another break from writing. The woman who made my mocha has got to be a genius because somehow, she discovered how to change the boiling point of coffee as I am still unable to take a single sip without injury. I finally wandered into the lobby gift shop and bought a bottle of water in which to sooth my tongue blister. When I come back, the group of employees waiting for the meeting are discussing recent dining room guests behaviors, in particular the couple who spent $16 on two glasses of wine and then took the bottle, a wine cooler, and two glasses out on the lawn. Numerous stories about patrons who didn’t leave tips and everyone agrees that they always bend over backward to treat each of them special. I know our service for each of the meals we’ve had here has come with near impeccable service. Whatever grievances the waitresses might have hasn’t bled over into the dining area. Sitting here not intentionally eavesdropping on their complaints but doing so anyway is kind of funny, and thankfully, nothing any of them has said sounds like anything we’re guilty of. One waitress proudly tells everyone of an exceptionally large tip she got earlier today and it seems like everyone wants to know exactly what she might have done differently to get it. She says nothing, and no one believes her.

4:00 p.m.

The short employee meeting is over. From all outward appearances, it looks like some people have been “let go.” A woman walks out in tears while another employee walks alongside with her arm around her. A manager asks another employee if she is working tomorrow and when the employee answers no, she’s asked if she would like to. Lots of talk of switching days and shifts around; lots of talk of people taking liberties and things getting lax. Employees are asked to leave their current phone numbers so the manager can get a hold of them this evening when she gets the new schedule worked out. While the mood is very somber for some, others seem to be elated. Meanwhile, new guests arrive in the lobby and after looking around in amazement at the splendor of the place, slowly make their way to the registration desk inconveniently located in back of the gift shop.

One thing comes glaringly to light for me sitting here in the beautiful Lake Quinault lodge: Drama never, ever, takes a vacation.

Outside, the clouds have thickened considerably and have lowered themselves to just above the mountains. On the lake, whitecaps dot the surface. The boat shack down by the little dock is closed and the hand painted wooden sign says this is due to windy conditions. No one is sitting outside and even the rabbits are in hiding. An occasional lone crow flies by on his way elsewhere. Inside the lobby, WS and I have finally gotten our wish: we’re the only ones here, and even though the weather is cold outside, still, there is no fire in the massive fireplace, it being as cold as it is outside. I get the strong feeling it could be snowing with ice covering everything outside and still, the fireplace would remain unlit. That is the key to the true atmosphere here. The lodge isn’t run like a resort get-away; it’s run as though by script. Anything deviating from the script is ignored. This is a business and it’s strictly run like one. Sad.

September 29, 2005 through Saturday, October 1st
Lake Quinault Lodge, Washington state

Day Four, checkout day:

We woke to pouring rain this morning, so much so, that a third of the lodge’s huge lawn is underwater. Rabbits are no where to be seen and if my remembrance to “Watership Down” is correct, if it rains all day, they won’t come out to eat until after dark and only then under supervision of a guard rabbit. Our waitress at breakfast assures us it will rain all day.

We decide to have one last breakfast in the lodge’s dining room. I opt for their “signature French toast.” WS wisely goes for the herbed cream cheese and salmon that I had two days ago (and should have stuck with). Last night at dinner, I had Lobster Thermador, a dish I always wanted to try (delish!), Ws had the baked salmon, and we both shared a bottle of sparkling wine. The dining room was packed as it is now. Off to our immediate right is a couple with a young son who is trying to learn how to belch at the table. Over and over, the boy makes an “awk, awk, awk” sound and naturally, the mother keeps whispering for him to stop it. The boy ignores his mother and even goes as far as increasing his effort (and volume) when his father tells the boy’s mother to leave the boy alone, that’s it “cute.” I can assure you no one else in this entire establishment thinks this is cute. The boy’s father is wearing more facial jewelry than nearly anyone I have ever seen and has been flicking his nose ring continuously. I’m sure he thinks he is cute too but I think he looks like someone needs to attach as tether to his nose and lead him and his family away.

We take our time eating breakfast once BelchBoy and his family leave and enjoy our front window view of the rain that has not let up one tiny bit. The lodge boasts about getting twelve inches of rain a year. This past summer was drier than normal and they only got seven and a half feet. Still not bad if you ask me.

Last night, before dinner, we walked a mile or so down the road to see the world’s largest Sitka spruce tree and I gotta say, that’s one big tree. Estimated at about one thousand years old, it’s trunk huge, it’s roots massive, but the most important thing to know is that the tree drips sap from galls growing within and if you’ve never had sap dripped on your head from a thousand year old tree, then you just haven’t lived. I’m fairly certain my hair will grow back from where I pulled clumps out accidentally when trying to brush the globs of sap out. Until then, my partial baldness will have to suffice but at least I have a good story to go with it. A word to the wise: When someone asks that you stand next to this tree for a photo, don’t stand too close. Me? I just had to hug the giant and it gave me a sappy head in return.

Driving home was fairly uneventful. No tickets, no accidents. We saw someone get pulled over and we didn’t make any stops on the way back, opting instead to try to get home as soon as possible (not knowing that a broken washer and down Internet connection awaited us). During our stay at the lodge, we did talk about how bad our mattress here at home had gotten over the past few years, not that the mattress in our lodge room was much better than a four-inch thick piece of rubber foam. At least it was flat which helped me sleep better than I had in months, and our mattress here at home was anything but flat, more like an “S-shaped” noodle. And WS listened in that nice, kind way and made the decision that as soon as we got back home, he’d start investigating mattress brands, ratings, and prices. As of Saturday afternoon, we became the proud owners of a new, FLAT mattress that is extra firm like I like it and extra tall like no one expected. So far, sleeping on it is a dream.

October 5, 2005

Back to life after time off.

The weather has been perfect for us lately! Rain, clouds, more rain, fog; just like paradise. We jokingly told ourselves before we left for vacation that when we returned, fall ought to have arrived. We left during warm 80 degree F. weather and returned to 58 degrees and rain, exactly as we had hoped. It’s delightful!

Luckily for us, WS remembered our washer was still under the extended warranty we bought (those things pay off every once in a great while) and that meant calling for service as opposed to paying for service or buying a new washer outright. Strange how it turned out to be the exact same part broken as three years ago when the thing started clanging instead of spinning and smelling of burnt rubber. If I know WS, at some point he’ll go online and try to find the cost of that one plastic part and consider buying one if and when the washer breaks again. Twice now he’s stood over the repairman and watched. I have enough confidence in him to know if he really wanted to, he could fix it on his own. I mean, the man rebuilt a 1982 truck carburetor once, as he’ll remind you if given half a chance. A broken washing machine ought to be nothing in comparison.

Since I’m on the topic of WS and his sweet, cavity-inducing competence, he of all people discovered Limpy’s past history, one we’ve kind of wondered about. Limpy is technically, The Howler Monkey’s cat from across the street yet it hangs out at our place ninety percent of the time. Not because we put dry food out for it, not entirely, but mostly because we pay attention to the poor thing who was de-clawed and tossed outside to fend for itself. WS got the opportunity to chat briefly with Mrs. Howler Monkey who accused her cat of “double-dipping” as she put it, not that we’re aware she EVER puts food out for her cat (must be that darn invisible food). She told WS that Limpy grew up at an all-girls school where she worked and the cat was completely doted on as a kitten and used to get all kinds of attention: daily brushing, petting, carried around. The cat was never left alone. And then for whatever reason, Mrs. Howler Monkey brought the cat home where it gets absolutely no interest whatsoever from her or any member of her family. How cruel is that? Of course, WS was too diplomatic to say so. Good thing I wasn’t around because the word “diplomatic” isn’t generally in my vocabulary. So my “feel” of the cat was right on the money – it craves human companionship. I really ought to become a cat whisperer.

To the complete surprise of everyone, Mr. Dimmer next door got his truck back from being repossessed two weeks ago. Now every time he leaves the house, he blasts the truck stereo as though he were a young teenager. Don’t know what’s up with that. Don’t know how he could afford to get the truck back either but I really don’t want to hear the story behind it. That man scares me. Two words: Mentally unstable.

On the other side of us, SportsOrNothing are furiously moving things out. They said they weren’t in any hurry to sell their house but all outward signs say that isn’t any more the truth than most of everything else they’ve ever told us and why should this be any different? We’ve decided the next open house they hold, we’re going over to see what’s left inside. Last weekend’s open house was almost comical. Mr. and Ms. SportsOrNothing took off in one of their SUVs in a rush and a mere minute later, their agent and two couples screeched up at the curb and went inside to look around. They stayed for quite some time and SportsOrNothing kept driving slowly by, not stopping, looking for when they could return home. We’re expecting a SOLD sign to go up on it anytime now and if it sells soon, it’ll be the fastest selling house in our entire development. We also got a letter in the mail from their agent telling everyone what the SportsOrNothing house has going for it (and parts of that was a stretch, truth-wise) and letting us know that if we wanted to sell our home, this agent would be happy to help. Sorry, not interested.

Across the street, Mr. Dry Cleaner wrecked his car sometime last week. Passenger side is smashed in. They have been in and out about as much as we have lately so we haven’t been able to talk to them to find out what happened. Today, Mr. Dry Cleaner came home with a used car, a blue, foreign two door. Mrs. Dry Cleaner didn’t look impressed in the least, especially when they tried to get their young child into the back seat. I’m thinking she’s definitely a four-door kind of woman. Definitely.

Kitty corner across the street on the other side, the woman who had to have multiple lung operations due to sarcoma cancer is home a week early. Her and her husband had the operation done in Germany because no one here in the states does the procedure yet. We haven’t talked to them yet either but we saw that she was well enough to drive yesterday on her own. Amazing what medical technology can do.

October 6, 2005

National Novel Writing Month starts November 1st and I’ve gone and gotten myself into a frazzle over it for some reason that I can’t explain. I think it had something to do with last year challenge of writing fifty thousand words in a month and the incredibly fortunate timing of me being bitter over being told I was being laid off. I needed to write to heal and purge myself of that bitterness and it was all too easy.

This year, I’m not as bitter and I’d like to think of myself as a kinder, gentler Blogeois. Oh sure, I have things I really need to get off my chest and writing is the best way for me to get rid of those things, but I worry that what I have to write isn’t that good. For some reason, I feel that if I don’t grasp this opportunity by the proverbial balls, I’ll miss the chance to come up with something I’d be proud of; something worth rewriting and selling someday. There’s something in that hot, fast and furious NaNo-one-month writing challenge when the short, dark days of November descend upon us and together we stay up foolishly until well after midnight, drinking cups of tea to stay alert and nibbling on chocolate, feverishly tapping out words, sentences, whole chapters on our computers while cats try their darnedest to weasel onto our laps. There’s something in the feeling of camaraderie I get from listening to what WS wrote, knowing he’s writing too and then he listening to my work, and periodically reading some of the NaNoWriMo forums where thousands of people are going through the same thing with the same worries and doubts. In our area, there is a small NaNo group (five people) who meet every week at a Starbucks just up the street from us, and something about coming in out of the rain and cozying up with an eggnog latte, listening to these people as they proudly recite parts of their work makes me feel so much better about my own (which I don’t read outloud). Yes, I’m going to participate in National Novel Writing Month again. I just don’t know what I’m going to write yet.

For this year’s novel, I think I’ve chosen instead of a fiction story, to go with a compilation of short life stories wound with just enough fiction to make someone wonder what parts are real and what’s made up. That makes it legal for the NaNoWriMo bunch over at the official website which sets as the only rules that the work has to be fiction, be fifty thousand words, and be completed from November 1st to November 30th 2005. Unlike last year when my head was a jumble of fresh wrongs I felt were dealt against me, this year I’ve thought out what I might write about and even made up an outline of sorts. Scary. If I didn’t know better, I might start thinking like a real writer someday.

And then I have days like today when I want to scrap the short stories idea and write a fiction story I’ve had in the back of my head since last winter about a kid who falls though an icy pond and is never found while someone else is found instead. I have an outline for this one too with a few more sketchy details here and there but this story will definitely be harder to write in one month’s time. Chances are good that by tomorrow I’ll go back to thinking of doing the short stories instead.

Decisions, decisions…

So I’m going to ask: Anyone want to join me and WS come November 1st in writing a fifty thousand word novel? Anyone want a great shot in the arm on the road to becoming an author? Costs nothing but time and a burning desire to push yourself to the fifty thousand word finish line by November 30th. If you’re interested, check out
www.nanowrimo.org and sign up. If you decide to give it a spin, you can find me there – Blogeois – and I guarantee you’ll be welcome with open arms from everyone. When you think about blogging, you’d probably be surprised at how many words you write each day in your journals and it’s not too much different than doing that. Here in this blog, Blogeois.com, I’ve pecked out 136,299 words so far this year (136,306 now). C’mon, if you’re like me and have words in your heart, if you feel your very soul is built upon words, you can do this. We can do it together.

October 7, 2005

I had a dental appointment very early this morning. I purposely schedule dentist visits practically before the sun comes up for a reason: So I can sleep though them. No, not literally, no physically but mentally. I’m a person who doesn’t mentally wake up until around 11 a.m. Not a morning person in the least and it’s when I have to be completely awake that I’ve been known to get…well, let’s call it what it is: bitchy.

Now before you all think because I’m not mentally wake that I’m a menace while driving, I can assure you I’m not. It’s like there are three parts of me – the physical, the true mental, and the “Shh, I’m still sleeping part.” It’s that part that I’m talking about when I know I’m lying back in the dentist chair with a rubber dental dam in my mouth and a wheel chock propping it open at a ridiculously wide and painful degree and I can hear everything yet a part of me closes my inner eyes and sleeps peacefully on as the drill and grinder do their worst. The really odd thing is that when the appointment is over, while I feel the effects of the Novocain, I feel mostly refreshed.

It’s the true mental part that keeps me alert and aware enough to pay close attention to my driving and the driving of others around me especially during what is already rush hour traffic at that time of day. And it’s the physical part that allows me to react when someone drifts into my lane or a squirrel runs out in front of me.

Over the years, people have asked me how it is that I can literally jump out of bed well before the crack of dawn and be a completely functional person instantly. While I’m not exactly singing about bluebirds on my shoulder at that hour I can carry on conversations that I remember clearly and do a multitude of tasks and chores as though I were completely 110% awake, and it is in this state that allows me to get up every weekend day and drive halfway across the Pacific Northwest just to clean my car for countless summer car shows. I confess that I have a secret to this though I wouldn’t advise anyone else to learn or live it.

This all came about as a sort of conditioning from my parents whom I’ve talked about here and there in the past. Not exactly the kind of parents anyone would ever want, they both took great glee in waking me and one of my brothers up in the most interesting manners I’ve ever heard of to date: They would routinely sneak in before dawn and either start beating us with leather straps or throw something on us. Oh, I’ve heard about people waking others up with pitchers of ice water and I can honestly say I wish that was all my parents ever used. More often than not it was the contents of a dirty cat litter box, sometimes it was a bowling ball (yes really), other times it would be a bucket of dirt from the backyard mixed with fire ants. Oh yeah, it was a real hoot growing up in our house, never knowing how or with what I was going to be woken up the next day. To be honest, it eventually got to the point that I was just glad to wake up every day because for years I truly wished I wouldn’t. To this day I still don’t quite understand how or why me and two of my other brothers were singled out for the constant abuse while my sister and my youngest brother were lovingly coddled but at least in this case, it isn’t a kind of conditioning I regret. It was the methodology used that I question.

So I’m back home now from the dentist feeling reasonably refreshed after having my mouth stabbed, poked, bored out and drilled, repacked, and polished. I had the final part of my silver mercury fillings removed, three of them, and redone with white filling material. Sure, physically I feel like a lead weight is hanging off my jowl but mentally, I’m as fresh as a petunia.

October 8, 2005

We lost an older member of our family this past week. Deiter, our oldest still-functioning computer who was the server for the entire household and caretaker to the backyard webcam, had been hinting that he didn’t think he’d be able to continue on much longer. Before we went on vacation last week, we shut him down as part of our usual security routine around here but upon returning, we discovered he just didn’t have it in him anymore. WS tried for days to work his magic on the old box but Deiter let him know he was just too tired, he wanted to sleep, and it’d be okay to just let him go. And with that, we did.

As I type this on a temporarily re-routed network that seems to ensure folders and files are sometimes duplicated yet for the first time ever, all our mp3 files play correctly for me; WS is stripping Deiter of his identity and his hardware. During the process he discovered we no longer even own the software Deiter would have needed if WS would have had to rebuild him from the ground up. Sometimes, it’s best to just sit one final time with an old friend and reminisce about the good old times before sending him off to that ones-and-zeros oriented pie in the sky. He was a good computer. We’ll miss ya buddy.

October 10, 2005

It’s Monday. Where did the weekend go? Between the haze of losing a main computer, working on trying to come up with a story and outline for next month’s National Novel Writing Month, and then meeting two other local NaNo participants, the weekend became a blur. Don’t you hate it when you get the feeling that you were supposed to do something but try as you may, you can’t remember what it was and you know that now it’s too late? That feeling continues to haunt me.

So, the local car club elections were last week. What a drama! As I mentioned previously, I was wrangled persuaded into becoming board Secretary and ran unopposed. I knew I could stop that anytime I wanted to but a part of me wants to go through the horror process so I will.

The big surprise came when Dick, the guy who was overwhelmingly expected to be the next president wasn’t elected as such and the woman who was expected to become the next vice president wasn’t either. Dick promptly quit in a childish showing of “Fine! I’m taking my ball and going home!” and the woman who was certain she was going to be vice president is now practically begging me to give up being secretary just so she be a board member under her best friend, a rather snotty and bitchy woman, who was elected president.

One of the reasons Dick quit other than not being elected president was because previous board members bent the rules temporarily and speed-voted the woman who thought she was going to become vice president into being a full-fledged club member because she really wasn’t one…just so she could be voted into that office. And then she wasn’t! Seems that behind-closed-doors move wasn’t looked upon too favorably by the rest of the club. Naturally, Dick had a lot to do with letting everyone know that that’s what happened and how quasi-illegal it was. But what no one can understand why bringing that to light didn’t raise Dick’s value and get him elected over Ms. Snotty. Already the rumblings of discontent and mistrust are beginning, fueled by Dick who quit but is speaking loudly from the sidelines.

So why don’t I just quit, knowing full well that I don’t need any more drama in my life? Two words: Character development. These people are the exact kind of people I want to understand a bit more of, hopefully without being hurt or drug through the mud with, so I can loosely use them for a future novel.

At least that’s the story I’m sticking with.

October 11, 2005

I’m really struggling to figure out a certain novel writing methodology prior to the National Novel Writing Month challenge. It’s called the Snowflake method and it basically gets all your outline ducks in a row prior to diving into the actual writing process pool. WS says I’m fighting the process; I say I don’t even understand the process enough to know how to fight it. It’s not terribly fun but I am determined.

But rather than bore you with writing processes, I’m going to tell you about our pets and their personalities because I’m sure you can find all there is to know about life within the existence of our furry bunch.

Our little group begins with the alpha cat which is usually a male but in our case it isn’t. Technically, all our kitties are “itties” because every last one of them has been spayed or neutered, meaning really, none of them are neither male nor female. Just like me.

The alpha cat, or Her Royal Highness the Queen as she doesn’t so much as prefer to be called but expects to be address as, is sixteen and a half years old. Slowly going deaf I’m certain for reasons that will become apparent later, the Queen was de-clawed over a decade ago, not that THAT little fact has stopped her from beating the living crap out of the other pets, most of whom have a full set. The Queen also has only one tooth left in her head, meaning that so she doesn’t starve, we feed her wet, canned food twice a day – between the hours of 7 or 8 am and 6 to 7:30 in the pm, not that she will tolerate any other wiggle room there. She starts yowling, and when I say yowling, I mean that in all CAPITALS, around 6 in the morning and around 3:20 in the afternoon. In fact, we’ve had neighbors who have inquired if we were skinning a cat inside and if so, would we please finish up already because the Queen is so loud.

Part of the reason her volume is so loud, and probably partly why she is making herself go deaf, is that she alone has discovered the perfect, most acoustically ideal spot in our house in which to stand, and just as in Carnegie Hall where the furthest back row can hear a whisper on stage does the Queen know that standing in the foyer, two and one half feet from the back wall and three feet four inches from the stairway wall makes for the best, the most pure and horrendously piercing cat screeching volume possibly ever known to all of mankind. And no amount of pulling covers over one’s head, no amount of depth of earplugs into one’s ear canals can completely drown the sound of her out.

But we love her just the same and so, each morning, WS drags himself out of bed to feed her, the Queen, who knows she is the only cat we have whom we actually “bought” from a store whereas the other, lesser cats in her eyes, are all mongrels with no store bought pedigree whatsoever and that is why she is the Queen. It’s all WS’ fault essentially. Sure, I just HAD to walk through the pet store to look at the overfilled cage of kittens. But it was he who was swayed by the Queen, that young temptress who stood upright on the cage bars with one arm wrapped about the metal frame, her paw holding on for dear life while the other paw beckoned him near. “Please take me, sir! Sir! Please get me out of here!” she pleaded with her eyes, silently mouthing the words. Oh, she was good. She had been blessed with an extra helping of the cute gene and she wasn’t going to let a single ounce of it go to waste. And in what I’m sure was her plan all along, ten minutes later we walked out of the shop, through the mall, and out to our car with the littlest, the sweetest, the most delicate petal of a kitten that may have ever existed.

Later we discovered that she was feisty, a no-nonsense kind of cat, and almost bitter though about what we’re not sure but she’s outlasted a string of others who lived with us and we think it’s this bitterness that keeps her going. The vet says she is in better health that most ten year old cats and we tell the vet that’s because she’s bitter, not so much over anything that may have happened in the past, but now she’s got a whole ‘nother reason for being bitter.

And that reason is…the boy.

Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to the boy, object of the Queen’s burning hatred.

October 12, 2005

The boy. What more can I say about him other than he’s the cutest thing to have ever weaseled his bite-y little self into our family. His biting habit was even worse than that of his older brother Cameron (not related) who came to us as a true feral cat and whose sole purpose in life at that point was to rip out our jugular veins as we slept, just for the fun of it.

I’ve posted about Maxx before; the one we were considering naming Jaws. He’s come to have several names because what good is a pet without being able to label it with a bunch of goofy pet names? He also goes by Maximilian Monkey Bars because he loves to climb our metal barstools, Drool-ly Drops because at less than two years old, he hasn’t quite grown into his fluffy lips yet and he drools when he purrs…but only if you let him into one of the forbidden rooms, and finally little Maxx Blackfeet, his Indian name given to him by older brother Cameron who doles those out only to truly worthy siblings who have once walked on the feral side and of whom prefers we call him by his Indian name of Stretchy Toes.

Maxx was unceremoniously dumped in our neighborhood last summer and anyone could see that he was an exotic, a specific breed cat and that meant it was highly likely that someone had originally paid for him. It is this along with the fact that we know this, which really ticks the Queen off. She was supposed to be the only cat humans paid for and she was getting along just fine until HE was brought into the house. HE with his creamy white pelt-like fur and piercing blue eyes; HE with that cute gene that the Queen despises in all others; HE with the nerve, the gall, the audacity to suck up to her people when she is in the process of stalking and schooling his creamy white ass.

At least once a week usually between the hours of 4 and 6 am, the boy gets his butt handed back to him on a silver platter. There have been instances of blood involved. That last tooth the Queen possesses can be dangerous and she knows to go for the boy’s soft chubby belly. And all for what? Because he’s the youngest? Because she’s crotchety? No, we think it goes deeper than that. We think she’s a racist.

Almost sixteen years ago, on a snowy day we found an abandoned cat in the apartment complex we lived in. Everyone said he was dumped, that the apartment complex was a notoriously known place for dumping animals. We took this cat in and after hunting for his owner, officially adopted him and named him Vince. He had white fur, blue eyes, and developed the biggest crush you’d ever seen on the Queen (who was more of just a royal underling at the time). The Queen, however, hated Vince with a passion that never abated.

Thirteen years ago, a sickly green-eyed cat adopted us at a rental house we moved to. Skitters as he came to be called for reasons I’ll go over in a later post, was nearly bald having literally pulled out his own fur and eaten it to survive over the course of a year or more. When his fur eventually grew back, we found it was white and that’s when the Queen started hating him.

So really, Maxx is simply the unfortunate next-in-line white cat to get the smack down. Unlike the others before him, the boy screams bloody murder when the Queen’s scheming and stalking finally gets him cornered. I’ve witnessed the event, and the vast majority of the time, while the Queen is gnashing her one tooth well out of belly range, she is simply swatting at him with her clawless paws usually while he is using one of the litter boxes. I’d probably scream too if my nether regions were hanging out there during a private moment and someone burst in to slap them around. But after dozens of attacks, I think I’d grow a bit of a tougher skin over the whole thing, perhaps even strike back occasionally which we realize we’d have to deal with as well. But nope, the boy is a sweetheart, never bites anyone back, and other than his fear of the Queen, as we all should be, he has grown to be one of the most lovable and entertaining pets to ever live with us.

Now if we could just get through his stage of breaking things…

October 13, 2005

Last night was my official induction into the car club’s executive board. I think I would have rather had to stand in my underwear with my hands around my ankles getting paddled by a gowned man while asking for another. *shivers* I’m going to have to wait for a while to post about the nightmare that THAT meeting was. Apparently, I’m going to have to come up with some more icons too.

Continuing with our different pet personalities:

Skitters. So named because after seeing the partially bald cat the first time, it took six months of hard work and patience for him to trust me enough to come near. The Old Man, Captain Skits, the Original Wild Boy, all names he answers to and although you can see by his slow walk that he really is an old man, when he finally makes it across to room to you, he’ll melt your heart.

We weren’t looking for another pet but they say that’s when one will find you. Before we knew it, we were leaving a garage window open in the crappy little rental house we were in just so he would have a safe, sheltered place to sleep (even though it put us at high risk of having our car stolen in that crime-ridden neighborhood). I say a safe place because animals were not appreciated there. People shot them, they poisoned them, they ran them down. They allowed them to starve and get dehydrated, to contract parvo and leukemia and die horrible, horrible deaths. And sometimes, they boarded them up in their attics. For months.

At around two years old, Skitters spent an unknown amount of time trapped in a neighbor’s attic, purposely, because the people were tired of cats in the neighborhood. Later our vet said that there was hard evidence that Skitters had eaten insulation and his own fur to keep from starving and with his bald skin it was a miracle the cat didn’t have skin cancer or hadn’t died of exposure. We hadn’t intended on adopting him. In fact, he adopted us.

We were standing in our backyard vegetable garden one afternoon talking to friends who lived in the rental next door. Skitters who had accepted us as “okay” people by then, stood a few feet away with his back legs crouched as though he was trying to urinate or poop or something but nothing would come out. After a few minutes, he’d come over and head butt my leg, then he’d return to the spot and crouch again. It took several times of this crouching/leg head butting behavior before I got it – he was having problems going to the bathroom and we whisked off to the vet. Sure enough, he had developed crystals in his urinary tract and was in danger of his kidneys shutting down. A couple hundred dollars later to be paid in timely monthly installments, he was back home with medication to be administered daily. But for as much as he was still wild, he seemed to understand we were there to help and he let us give him daily pills. A couple of months later, we went through a similar thing when he caught a respiratory infection and we had to give him medication for that. It was after spending three hundred dollars on a cat that didn’t belong to anyone that we decided he was going to be ours. Of course, he had made his decision long ago.

Since then, he’s often shown his intelligence over humans as well as his compassion for other animals, both wild and pets and the only rough time we ever really had with him was when we had to literally teach him about indoor litter boxes. He had never seen one before and would wait up to 48 hours before finally breaking down to use one. When we decided to buy a house, there was no question about leaving him in the neighborhood he had grown up and almost starved to death in. But he was going to have to learn to be an indoor-only cat. He rose to the challenge without a single complaint. He seems to know he is safer and healthier here inside. And that he is loved.

He’s also finally grown a thick, full coat of fur. It’s only been five years since he’s had a tail that didn’t look as naked as a rat’s and all his rough scaly skin is gone. Living life now as an exclusively indoor cat, with a dry roof over his head, top-of-the-line veterinary-prescribed food always available and warm spots to sleep in have been good for him. Though lately, on some mornings when I open the back sliding glass door, I stand there watching as his stiff joints allow him to slowly make his way over to smell the cold autumn air, his nose wiggling as he breathes in the changing of the season, he looks up at me and squints his eyes. He looks as though he almost has a smile on his face. “I remember.” He seems to say. “I remember.”

October 14, 2005

I’m going to take a short break from the pet personalities. Oh, you thought I was done with them. Not hardy but let’s all take a breather.

The new computer came yesterday. Enzo is the name we’ve chosen for this one. I like it. Here’s to a long life! I guess I won’t be seeing much of WS in the next few days as he’s already up at 7 a.m., digging through the box and setting things up. If I’ve learned anything over the years it’s when he says setting up a new computer (or rerouting a network or sorting through files or name your poison here) will only take a couple of hours, I know that in reality it will take days. And then days further beyond that as “little things” have to be re-setup correctly here and there. And even more time as I, head computer crasher and chief discoverer-of-connections and files-that-no-longer-work, bring to light why I’ve suddenly come to hate the new computer when I can’t get anything to work (even though for WS everything will work perfectly right upfront and he will have gone about his world thinking everything is hunky-dory). Yeah, here’s to a long life alrighty, along with a pre-warning to Enzo: Don’t piss me off.

The car club meeting, a.k.a. the monkey club as I’m thinking of naming it knowing full well that I’m one of the monkeys, was horrible. It started off badly right up front. What was my tip off? The outgoing vice president who is otherwise one of the most diplomatic people I know, swearing up a storm in a public restaurant while reading a two page tirade emailed to all the outgoing board members from Dick, the guy who didn’t get elected president. I didn’t get a copy, nor did I ask to read it, but I was told that everyone was mentioned in it, both outgoing and incoming officers. Gee, nothing like showing your true colors the moment something doesn’t go your way, huh? Makes me wonder what crybaby act he would have put on if he had been elected and he didn’t get his way over something.

So Dick was supposed to show up to the meeting, him being an outgoing officer of publicity and all. But after he emailed everyone his rant, he was given an ultimatum: Either show up and hand over your publicity info to the incoming publicity person or don’t show up and we’ll take that as a resignation from the club. One guess as to what Dick did. He didn’t show up. How manly it is to berate everyone in an email and not face anyone in public! My fear is that because he was the publicity chair and obviously unstable, what is he going to do now, especially since he didn’t turn in any of his contact information. I predict a lot of undermining of this club in the future. I guess I should have seen it coming back during the Issaquah car show when he and his wife slammed Drill Sergeant Dave’s ex-wife in a horribly malicious and sexually oriented manner…and then admitted they had never met her, that they were just passing on what they had heard. As one who was there for most of Drill Sergeant Dave’s divorce and his ex-wife’s romance with the “nice” Competition Boy, I knew what they were saying was nothing but lies, but they simply would not let me get a word in edgewise. That should have been my cue that something bad was coming.

As for the woman who wanted to be vice president but wasn’t elected, she’s angry too and isn’t wasting much time telling people face-to-face that the election was rigged. But at least she’s doing it to everyone’s face and not one to let one silly defeat knock her down, as the incoming president’s best friend and main suck up, she was appointed to another office, one that no one wanted – club newsletter thus assuring that she become a board member anyway. I wonder why Dick didn’t think of that.

Then during the actual meeting, there was so much double-talk between the outgoing vice president and the outgoing treasurer about where most of the money went from the final car show of the season and why some of the figures don’t add up. The outgoing secretary, an accountant in real life and a past treasurer was grilling them both pretty hard and it was apparent she wasn’t going to get the answers she was looking for. That’s when both the incoming vice president (good friend of Dick’s) and the incoming treasurer (the only NICE sane person in this whole organization) as bookkeepers in real life promised to find every nickel in the audit review they are responsible for come November 1st. Everything was so confusing and I felt it was done that way on purpose. Later, the very second the meeting was over the outgoing secretary got up in a huff and stormed out of the building. She saw through all the double-talk and wasn’t happy in the least nor should she be. But oops, she was supposed to hand over her secretary stuff to me and didn’t.

Anyhoo, I’m convinced I can work hard enough to keep myself out of the way of most of the mudslinging. I’m not friends with any of these people which can work for or against me I suppose and I’m a good listener when it comes to people who feel the need to rant. I went into becoming a lowly secretary officer in this club with a clear plan – 1 year and then I’m done. My excuse for not returning after my year is simple and one that they understand: I don’t plan on driving my car much anymore and people who don’t drive their sport cars are of little use to this club. It’s that cut and dried.

I’ve had my fun in my car; I’ve won everything I wanted to with it while supporting some great causes. I’ve got almost 17,000 miles on it and only have one more show to do come next March; the 50th anniversary Portland Roadster Show. And then the car retires only to be brought back out out on very, very special occasions. Perhaps it’ll come out of car show retirement five or six years down the road when my model style is waning and there aren’t so many around that look as clean and shiny as mine does. I have tons of patience. Absolute tons. Just not toward computers.

October 17, 2005

Boy, that sure was a short weekend, or maybe it just had too many long boring parts, I don’t know. I just feel like it should still be Saturday or something. But here we are on a Monday, trash day for the neighborhood. The fall winds we were promised all weekend didn’t materialize and so our yard is relatively free of SportsOrNothing’s recyclables.

Last Saturday, we drove over to Portland to buy a Powerball ticket and as you may have guessed, we didn’t win. A buck is a buck or in our case, five bucks is five bucks. WS buys them in series so we have numbers for the next four weeks. We don’t go to Oregon often.

After that, we took off to drive east up the Columbia River to meander through some of the small towns that lie nestled there mostly unnoticed. My National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) story next month is set in a small northern town and I wanted to take a few photos and capture the feel. Honestly, I took the suckiest pictures, nothing of anything I really wanted to get but we both felt a kind of urgency to just get back home for some reason. The air had an odd feel to it like everything was no nonsense and everyone had already closed themselves inside early for the winter. There was definitely more of a sense of autumn there and there were lots of things I could have taken great artsy pictures of if I would have only got out of the car. But I didn’t and just wanted to get back home.

And once home, all I wanted to do was sleep but of course, I had laundry and cleaning to do and so I drug myself around like I was half in a coma. Saturday was just best forgotten.

Sunday brought local NaNoWriMo meeting morning but only one person showed up. Still, both WS and I got some good story outline stuff down and then afterward, we finally drove over to pick up some peanuts for the squirrels. We’re going to have to cut back the amount we are giving them because frankly, they are eating us out of house and home. With utilities costs in our area going up this winter, especially heating costs, we have to start finding ways to trim some of the fat. Good thing we already paid for our garage.

Huh? Paid for your garage?

Oh yeah, this past summer, when we went to that fancy Street of Dreams (definitely not to be confused with our Street of Reality) we found a local company that builds cabinets for garages – something I have wanted my entire life. Yes, really. And so for thousands of dollars less than we expected, come the 28th our garage will start to be transformed into a wall-to-wall organized dream where everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING but the cars will be closeted off behind floor-to-near ceiling cabinets. I’m even getting a little workbench area. I can’t begin to express how thrilled I am to finally get this! Something I’ve truly wanted all my adult life finally, in less than two weeks. Before and after pictures will be coming.

Sunday ended with a rash of creativity both for our NaNo outlines and on plans for the monkey club’s display at next spring’s Portland Roadster show. Over the summer I agreed to co-chair the planning of the display and I’ve finally come up with a winning design that will take a lot of work and a boring, most-likely-to-not-win design that won’t take anymore work than last year’s show was. I’ll be presenting both plans either this coming meeting or the next and it’ll all depend on what the club’s budget is (I have no idea) or whether someone else, Ms. President Snotty maybe, has already decided on an idea in which case it can be a failure on her account ‘cause nothing is worth butting heads with that woman.

October 18, 2005

Back to the pet personalities:

Geebs and Zooot (yes, there are three “o”s there), the sisters, the only ones technically related to one another. Geebs is a nickname for G.B. which stood for Grey Baby. And Zooot is a fun reference to a character in a Monty Python movie. And yes, sometimes she’s a bad, evil Zooot.

In the spring of ’96, WS called me from work and during our conversation I heard something in the background that sounded like newborn kittens. A coworker’s cat had given birth to six kittens at home but couldn’t care for them so the woman brought them in to work to feed them. The fact that she didn’t know how to do so never crossed her mind but it probably wouldn’t have mattered anyway because there were other coworkers there who weren’t happy in the least that the kittens were there. BTW: These are the same people who will bring in their LOUD children to work for hours on end yet they had a problem with 12-hour old kittens?

After a bit of discussion, we decided to take the woman’s kittens and hand raise them. I’d done it before and at the time, I wasn’t working. The woman was more than happy to give them up and went as far as to repeatedly tell me she was okay if “they didn’t all make it.” Huh? She pointed to a very small kitten and said, “This one is the runt. I don’t expect him to live.”

Well that’s all I needed to hear ‘cause in MY house, EVERYONE makes it. The woman agreed in return for us hand raising her kittens, she would pay for formula and supplies, and would find them all homes. Well, near the end, she balked at buying more formula (she wanted to give them away at FOUR weeks old – not even old enough to eat real food yet ) but she did find most of them homes. We had decided to keep one orange female who became Zooot but WS surprised me when he wanted to keep another as well: A little grey female that seemed to be the first one to hide and the last one to show her face, a grey baby that no one who came over to pick a kitten seemed to show any interest in. She became G.B. or Geebs.

To this day, Geebs is the first to hide and the last to come out. She is our mystery pet and I honestly don’t think anyone other than our occasional pet sitter has ever seen her. Her fur is incredibly soft, almost that of a chinchilla. When she does come out, usually at night because she hates the daylight hours, she is very sweet and lovable and still has her original delicate kitten mew. All the other pets get along with her probably because she’s a “warm” sleeper. She’s the cat to sleep with on a cold winter’s night. Her nicknames include Fuzz Button, Love Bunny, and Geeble-y Beeble-y.

She also has a cast iron stomach which nothing seems to bother, unlike her sister Zooot who will barf at the drop of a hat. Everything about Zooot is the absolute complete opposite of her sister Geebs. Zooot loves attention, loves the daylight, loves to be exactly where we are. She’s friendly, loving, demanding, and in our home’s chain-of-command, the successor to the Queen who has trained her to be so. Zooot has been caught schooling the boy every now and then and I fear his weekly bitch-slapping will continue after the Queen is gone. Zooot is the beta cat in our house, sweet but she knows the rules. She completely understands how the hierarchy works and she knows whose place is whose place. Her nicknames include Zoooty-Zoot, Pooks, and Pook-a-loo-k.

When Zooot was two years old, we had a bout of fatty liver disease go through our family and we lost two cats to it. She also fell victim and had to be fed through a tube surgically implanted in her side that ran to her stomach three times a day for a month. It was outrageously expensive and one of those instances where a sane person would question why we were spending so much money on an animal. Because they are the only family we have, we’d say but everyone would just sadly shake their heads. I can’t explain it any better than that.

After a couple of weeks, she promptly said, “This is enough” and ripped the tube out. But luckily for us, she started re-eating on her own with a little coaxing from our vet and soon, she was back as good as new. Currently, she’s the only cat who is allowed for brief periods of time into one of our “forbidden” rooms, rooms that we prefer not to have pets reside in mostly due to my allergies and asthma. So why do I have pets if I’m allergic to them? Well, that one I can’t explain either other than to say I’d literally cut off my right arm before I would give up the only loving family I’ve ever known just because someone once told me I was allergic to them. Too many people say that and I’ve found that easily half of the time, it’s just a convenient excuse.

But trust me, there isn’t anything much cuter than to watch the super 8 video of her, her sister, and all her siblings when they were 18 hours old (their age when we got them), three weeks old, six weeks old, and two months old. Nothing. We only wish we could have kept them all. And there isn’t much sweeter than to see Zooot curled up with her sister or with her favorite, Cameron Stretchy Toes.

October 19, 2005

A little slow getting up this morning. It’s not so much as raining outside but misting. A heavy mist hangs in the air soaking everything. I’m waiting for the inevitable drip, drip, drip to begin that signifies that we are definitely into our rainy season. I love this time of year. I also love sleeping. Rainy weather makes me want to sleep. See the connection?

When I’m not sleeping, or trying to as I was early this morning but having a difficult go of it, I sometimes get up and wander the house. I almost always get out of bed if I’m awake and hear an early morning raccoon. They look chunky this fall like they have been working on putting on extra padding for a cold winter. One of the raccoons, easily thirty pounds, isn’t terribly afraid of humans and stood down on the concrete watching me toss grapes down to him. That’s about as close as I ever plan to get to raccoons. I always keep in mind that they are wild animals and I’ve seen raccoon bites. I don’t want to go there.

Sometimes I get up and just start my day. I thought about that this morning, figuring that if I didn’t fall back asleep in X number of minutes, I would get up, come out into the library, and work on my NaNo novel outline. It hasn’t been speaking to me too much lately though I think what I have is a good story. But thankfully, I fell back asleep within those X number of minutes that I always mentally time myself at and dreamed of uncomfortable places I’ve been and uncomfortable, unaccommodating people I’ve known and what it takes to get someone, someone who has a wife and kids to have an affair when he realizes that’s not what he wanted because those are all elements of my novel. I think my subconscious is working on the story more than I know. Gee, I’m glad someone is. National Novel Writing Month starts November 1st.

November is one of my most favorite months of all. It’s definitely cooler, the nights are cold, and often, it’s foggy in the morning. November means falling leaves and autumn colors, pumpkins and chrysanthemums, hot apple cider and wood smoke, fat squirrels and winter visiting birds. We’re finally getting high flying geese overhead, long, long trails of them so high up that we can hear them but not see them above the low clouds. The towhee birds are back. I saw them this morning when I went out to fill the feeders. Soon I’ll need to take down one of the niger thistle socks and replace it with a second sunflower chip feeder (if we ever get around to cleaning it – Ugh!). A Northern Flicker pair is back although I predict we won’t be seeing many more of them in the coming years. Developers are buying up the land here left and right and cutting down all the tall evergreens. Last year we had three pairs of flickers year ‘round. This summer, we didn’t see a single one.

The red wing blackbirds are thinning out finally, though I think this is their main time of year to build the body fat. A woman who lived down the road from us a year ago used to feed hordes of red wing blackbirds every day. When she moved to Alaska, guess who got all her birds? We just get half a dozen or so every day now. I don’t know how she could afford all the food. Those birds are pigs with wings!

Monkey club meeting tonight. Not. Looking. Forward. To. Going. Tomorrow, more pet personalities.

October 20, 2005

About five summers ago, a coworker friend of WS’ told him she had discovered a small feral cat family living in the wild blackberry bushes that encroached on her apartment complex’ parking lot. She had seen a couple of tiny, ratty-looking kittens and thought she saw a thin, even rattier-looking mother and she started routinely taking out a bowl of food to them every evening. The coworker had gone through a rather nasty breakup of a long relationship and in looking for direction in her life, lashed onto the idea of saving this feral family. Knowing that we had some experience with hand-raising animals and possessing patience with feral cats, she asked for our help. The very second I saw the grey feral kitten in the bunch I wanted him.

There were three kittens total meaning more than likely there had been more earlier on that didn’t make it. The kittens looked to be about four to five weeks old. The mother turned out to be no more than a year and a half old but looked as though she may have already had a few litters. Very, very thin with bald spots in her light grey medium length fur, and wild, wild, wild! Let’s just say she had all the fury and determination of a full grown mother cougar protecting her young.

The coworker enlisted the help of a local heroine in our area whose soul purpose in her life she feels is to spend every night of the week caring for and trying to humanely trap feral cats for medical attention, FIV testing, and spaying, and neutering without cost or charge. Along with WS’ cunning idea of using the caged kittens to lure the street-wise mother into a cage herself, the family of four was captured within a few hours. Thankfully, all were disease free and all were spayed and neutered within a week. WS’ coworker decided to keep two of the kittens, both dark brown and black tiger-striped short haired and we took the solid grey, medium haired one with a small, pinched fox-like face. Regrettably, we could not find a home for the mother who was injuring herself daily by throwing herself at the bars of the cage and we released her back into her blackberry bush home where she has never been seen again.

We took our little feral kitten home and kept him in one of the forbidden rooms, our bedroom to be exact, for a solid month with his own litter box, food and water, and carrier cage. He had lots of toys to play with but we soon learned that he didn’t know how to play. Toys were either ignored or viciously attacked as food. He had learned how to hunt already. A month spent closed up in a room, a room that is used often such as a master bedroom, is stressful but necessary for feral cats to become integrated into a world of humans and other animals. For the first few days he sat in the back of the carrier, growling whenever I came near, peeing himself and ferociously biting the long, thick barbeque mitt I wisely wore whenever I tried to lure him out. Training a feral cat to become a housecat is not for the faint hearted, nor for those who easily give up but can be tremendously rewarding in the long run.

The other pets in the house sat vigil outside the French glass doors of our bedroom watching this frightened fur fluff slowly become accused to the movements and motions of people. Within a week, the kitten started sitting on his side of the glass doors whenever Zooot’s shift came up for her to sit on the other side and not long after that, they began talking to each other through the glass. Zooot has always had a strong mothering instinct though has never had a litter of her own. Soon, we were letting her into the forbidden room with the kitten that we named Cameron and the two hit it off.

Today, Cameron is the beta male of the house with a quiet, gentle disposition and a deep respect for Skitters, the true alpha male. His future position of alpha male has been pre-approved by the aging Queen just as she has pre-approved Zooot as future Queen which works out well because Cameron and Zooot are best friends. They can always be found sleeping together somewhere, sometimes even back in the forbidden room.

I’m sure Cameron and Skitters have shared tales of feral life with each other yet unlike Skitters Cameron doesn’t seem to miss the outdoor life. He routinely watches for the visiting blue jays, squirrels, and nightly raccoons but has never shown any interest in making a break for “freedom” (unlike The Boy who rushes the front door at least once a month). Cameron’s fur has grown out to a puffy medium length, grey-blue color with a magnificent tail in which he takes great pride in carrying high. He loves brushings more than any other pet in the house and will stretch out to his full length when you call him by his preferred Indian name of Stretchy Toes. Best of all, he’s learned how to play and enjoy life as a loved addition to our family.

October 21, 2005

And finally there’s Seth, a.k.a. Boingy Boy, Bunny Boy, Bun-Bun, Comfort Cat, or his more honorable title of Seth, Earl of Orange, Viscount of Cute.

We used to drive clear across town to PetSmart to get our cat litter for a particular kind that worked better than anything on the market. We know, we’ve tried them all. It was a royal pain in the ass driving way over there, completely out of our way, but it was something that had to be done. Every weekend, the local humane society brings a bunch of animals in to PetSmart, mostly cats, a few dogs, sometimes a rabbit or two; probably the cream of the crop for that day, to hopefully find homes. Generally, these are previous pets that someone gave up for one reason or another and this chance is often their very last shot before getting the needle.

Our usual PetSmart visit used to go like this: While WS grabs a cart and goes load up on litter which we buy in ridiculously large quantities, I usually check out the society’s pets, though NEVER, EVER to take one home. We already set the limit on how many is too many meaning how many we can afford to feed, house, and provide top notch medical care for, and we were at that limit. As much as I’ve love to, I can’t save them all. So on a usual visit, I’d talk to and scritch and scratch the animals through the cage bars and then run off to find WS and tell about this cat or that dog. Then we’d load up the car and head home. End of story.

Buuuut…this one time the visit went differently for some reason. We’re still not quite sure what happened or how we got sucked into that swirling vortex of charm but the store just felt different that day. Maybe it was that the employees had moved everything around, the floor plan had been remodeled, there were cages full of birds and lizards and mice for the first time ever and for once, the wall of aquariums looked fresh and clean unlike previously when it was clear that algae was getting the upper hand in each and often, there were dead, dried-up fish lying on the floors, fish for whom death was better than a diseased tank full of ick.

Maybe it was the addition of more lighting or softer lighting, we just don’t know what it was but while WS grabbed a cart and I wandered to the humane society cages, it was like a sunbeam shone directly down on a lovable full grown orange and white bobtail cat who was hugging, HUGGING I swear, a sales clerk and tenderly giving her kisses on her cheeks. To this day, I couldn’t tell you what other animals were there or even if there were any others. All I could focus on was this boy, this orange and white love magnet who didn’t necessarily know that affection was his way out, but that regardless of his fate, love and affection was his gift to the world and to anyone who wandered by.

I was fascinated. This cat didn’t want attention – he wanted to GIVE the attention. As the salesgirl handed him to me, I felt the oddest calm come over me instantly. The cat had something. It was like he was a healer, a healing cat, a comfort cat. Never, in all the pets I’ve ever had in my entire life, never had I held a cat that gave me that depth of feeling before. And when he wrapped both long arms around my neck and nuzzled and kissed my cheek, I felt that all was right with the world.

The salesgirl was telling me all the details she knew about the cat but I only heard half of them. I kept thinking, “I have GOT to get WS over here. He has GOT to hold this cat!” And like magic, WS appeared behind me. Without saying a word, I turned and handed him the cat and a slow smile crept across his face. He felt it too. There was just something about this cat and we knew we couldn’t leave without him.

Several tense moments later when we weren’t sure if they would give him to us because we already had others; lots of others, a phone call to our vet by the salesgirl approved the deal and we brought the well-mannered lovey boy home. A couple of days later we named him Seth, not too different of a change from Sam, his original name that didn’t seem to fit him as well. Seth has easily, hands down become the most lovable pet we’ve ever had. From day one he was comfortable with our house, with us, and most importantly, all the other pets. No fights, no growling even, from the beginning it was like he had always been here. He’s the glue that brought all of us, humans and animals together. An energetic, happy boy, he goes crazy over poof balls, fuzzy velour-soft, golf ball sized balls we found in the pet toy aisle of the grocery store. He’ll sometimes hop on his long hind legs to walk beside you if you are going somewhere in an effort to get you to stop, pet, or pick him up. De-clawed and tail docked by some previous owner (who had to be bat shit bonkers to give him up), Seth’s paws are marshmallow-y soft and his stubby antennae of a tail, the Seth-tenna we call it, wiggles constantly. He’s got one of those personalities that allow him to sniff The Queen without The Queen backhanding him and if she likes him, everyone else is free to like him too. And they love him! There’s nothing like sitting here in the library on a cold, rainy night, with candles lit and soft music playing, writing or reading with all the other pets curled up here and there and with Seth sleeping in your lap.

October 24, 2005

It wasn’t supposed to be a nice day today, or yesterday for that matter, but it is and was, and nice days at this time of year means we’d better get off our asses and get the bulk of the end of year yard clean up done or listen to me whine about it until spring. Luckily for us, I’ve already done a lot and we’ve simply been waiting for leaves to drop before using WS’ cool mulcher vacuum tool. As much as I’d like to think of this tool as a vanity item, with all the leaves we have this year, it isn’t. (Okay, if you really want to be a picky reader it probably is. I CAN rake the leaves but there isn’t much fun in that.) Of course, we’ll need to re-vacuum/mulch the leaves at least twice more before all the leaves will have fallen. It’s only times like this that I wonder why I planted so many deciduous trees. Then I see these gorgeous fall colors and I remember why.

Working out in the back gave me a chance to appreciate all the plants whose flowering schedules are a little off kilter this year. There’s this Nile Lily that should have flowered back in July and a Rhododendron that’s been flowering on and off since April.

The strawberries are still fruiting but the poor tomatoes didn’t have a good year at all. We got four golf ball sized tomatoes off this Best Girl variety which was anything but best. It wasn’t a good year for tomatoes here. We harvested about four dozen off the cherry tomato, way down from six or seven dozen last year. The barberries are all turning color and putting out bright red berries. And finally, the autumn flowers I’m always happy to see; the fall cyclamen which has spread happily among the monster hostas on the east side of the house.

October 25, 2005

Yesterday, as I was bringing up our trash can form the curb, a simple action that only half the people in our neighborhood do anymore (losers!), I had just closed our side gate when Mr. Dimmer from next door threw open his side garage door, jumped out, and screamed “HA!” at the top of his lungs. This put him immediately opposite me on the other side of our shared five-foot fence, less than seven feet away. While I felt a moment of fear in my chest I didn’t react outward (more training from my “interesting” childhood where such reactions would increase the intensity of the beatings) and continued calmly putting a liner in the can. Only when I finished did I look up and over in his direction. He was backing himself back into his garage with a slack look on his face. He was dressed entirely in black with black smudges under his eyes like football players sometimes have. In his hand was a tall 1×3 piece of lumber. He wasn’t looking at me and then he closed the door.

Maybe he thought the sound of me opening my own gate was someone trying to repossess his truck again. It sits right on the other side of the fence. Maybe he thought he was being funny in which case all he needs to do is pull that on someone a little less accommodating and he’ll end up with a bullet in his head. That’s what would have happened if he lived where I grew up. And what if he had done that when a child was out there, or someone with a child? I guarantee the child would pee its pants and start screaming at the top of it’s lungs in terror and maybe someone else would have given him a piece of their mind. Pre-Halloween prank? Doubtful, his family doesn’t participate in Halloween.

All I know if that if I’ve learned anything over the years its that A) Don’t react adversely because that’s often exactly what people want and B) when I open my mouth I more often than not get myself into trouble. It took everything I had to not just turn to him and say, “What the FUCK is your problem?” Later, after WS got the message I left him at work and called me back, he gave me the go ahead to say exactly that should it ever happen again.

Needless to say, the locked and barricaded door and window policy is still heavily in effect here. Obviously, we’ll be waiting with bated breath for the first of the month when he’ll be eligible for more medication.

By the way, I’m just posting this in the off chance that something…uh, more serious happens in which case I want this all on record.

What I perceive to be the real scary part of his strange behavior is that this is the guy who routinely goes over to all the neighbors’ house, the neighbors with young children that is, and tells them that if their kids want some place to play, they are welcome to come over to his house to play with his kids. And the neighbors are all to willing to let their kids come over! I know, I know, I can’t go around and “pre-warn” people that this guy is unstable just on what I have seen and overheard, I understand the whole “don’t call the fire department until you see flames” concept that this society seems to be built upon. But as someone who went through unspeakable crap as a kid, I know all too well that by the time anyone sees flames, its way too late. So I’ll just shut up now.

Unless…maybe he’s trying to get us to move and thinks that by doing weird stuff, we’ll pack up and go elsewhere like a lot of other people living around here are doing. If that’s the case, he doesn’t know us too well and is in for some disappointment. We survived living next door to DrunkTank Willie, the previous psycho owner of The Dimmers house, and through all those nasty, pointed rumors. We’re not going anywhere anytime soon.

October 26, 2005

In an unrelated note to anything below, today is the 30th anniversary of my father’s demise. It’s also the 19th anniversary of my mother’s. Yep, they both went on the same day of the year eleven years apart. Weird huh? They weren’t kind people and as awful as it makes me sound, I don’t miss them. Think of them often, miss them never.

It’s been a busy, busy week but we’re finally getting on top of things. The new computer up, running, and tucked away in a closet, old computer parts sorted through and gone, mountains of mail order catalogs tossed out for recycling, and a lot of hardcore clutter eliminating here and there. Come Friday, we get cabinets installed in our garage which means as of Thursday evening, we’re going to be engrossed with doing nothing but emptying the garage as per the contract says we must so the installers can start bright and early. Why don’t we start pulling everything out of the garage earlier than Thursday? I think we went over that these past couple of weeks. They are called pets. Maybe, in my quest to make them sound cute and furry, I might have left out the parts about getting into everything. Yeah, maybe I should have touched on that part.

The following Tuesday morning, at one second after midnight to be exact, National Novel Writing Month begins. If we are both going to hack out 50,000 words in 30 days, we can’t be dinking around playing with getting the new garage cabinets organized just right. That’s what the whole weekend will be for. We also don’t want to be looking at old computers, computer parts, or clutter sitting around.

Clutter is a big deal in the month of November, or the lack of any to be exact because I did something stupid, something I’m probably going to regret: I volunteered to hold a car club board meeting here at our house come November 9th because they had no place else to meet, and now I’m trying to clean every square inch of the place in advance due to the writing thing. Actually, I kind of wanted to hold the meeting here in December, you know how I go bonkers over the holiday decorations and all, but MsSuckup insisted that she get both December AND January at her house “simply because of the decorations which she loves,” she said at the time, and she hates the month of November because “all the colors are so drab.” Okay, so maybe she won’t like our place because we love fall and we’re full of fall colors (apricot, red, butter pecan walls) but here’s the deal: I didn’t decorate it for her and the board meetings aren’t all about her!

On an evil side note: I’m hosting the first incoming board meeting for the year here which in my eyes sets the bar at a certain level. Yeah, I know I shouldn’t look at things that way but I am with this bunch. In December, I’m going to be hard pressed not to really analyze MsSuckup’s home and her decorations that she made such a big deal of as well as rate our own against what she’s got going on. Knowing that she’s got four young kids of her own plus the three from her current boyfriend, I don’t think we’re going to see anything show stopping but I could be wrong. It’s not like it hasn’t happened before.

All during this cleaning and uncluttering and planning a buffet dinner pre-meeting which is required I’ll be typing my fingers to the bone (and you know what you get when you type your fingers to the bone, don’t you? Bony fingers!) Not going to say anything about what my NaNoWriMo novel is going to be about yet but WS seems to think it’ll be a good one. No scary monsters this time but that doesn’t mean it’ll be a happy, bluebird on my shoulder story either. I’m just drawn to writing dark psychological thrillers I guess.

October 27, 2005

Interesting developments have been going on over in MsNoManagementSkills and DorkMaster’s world. As you recall, DorkMaster now works in the same building as WS and occasionally WS hears gossip. Guy gossip. Fathers with difficult kids kind of gossip. I think it was Lostdawill who said that men gossip just as much as women and she’s right. Details are sketchy at best right now but it involves DM’s daughter, age 12, getting caught stealing money out of student lockers (to buy candy she said – she’s a hardcore sugar addict helped along daily from MsNo and DM who eat gallons of the stuff themselves) and a middle son, age 10, wearing a wire hanger around his neck, telling the world that this was his last day on earth…in front of MsNo’s visiting parents. And DM laughing, saying he used to do the same thing when he was a kid and it’s normal and he stood behind MsNo who believes it’s the school’s responsibility to force the kids to behave differently.

Gee, what ever happened to her fantasy idea of how easy it would be to raise kids where all they needed was someone to buy them anything they wanted and in return, they would shower her with all the love and affection their little hearts could muster? Uh yeah, welcome to the real world!

On second thought, it kind of sounds exactly like how most of us felt working at The Company under MsNo. LOTS and LOTS of suicidal and irrational thoughts then, not only here but at Company headquarters. The kids have voiced over and over how much they hate MsNo. I can certainly relate there. Yet no one seems to see the connection. Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe there is. She certainly treats the kids the same; withholding information, setting them up over and over again for failure then pointing it out to the rest of the world, all the while screaming “ME! BUT LOOK WHAT I’M GOING THROUGH? WHAT ABOUT ME?” I’m sure I’m just blathering. I don’t have kids. What would I know?

Then I guess the next day, the daughter called her dad at work across town and told him that she needed a new blouse at school ASAP because hers got ripped. The fact that she called him, a good hour away from her school, and not MsNo who lives just a couple of blocks up the street speaks volumes. So DM called MsNo to relay the message and all the daughter would say when MsNo brought her a new blouse was “Don’t ask.”

That’s where it sits. No explanation whatsoever. It’s anyone’s guess as to what happened at school and DM is fine with leaving it at that. His coworkers are all up in arms saying he better get a grip on reality and that he’s in for a wild ride whether he wants to pay attention to where the roller coaster car is headed or not. He just says he’s proud of his daughter for “not making a scene.” HUH?

In old Company news (where I used to work before the nasty layoffs), my real boss, MrSmartButFakingIt who had weaseled himself into being kept until the very end, was finally let go by The Big Ass Corporation who bought out The Company a year ago. Everyone was surprised that he hadn’t been offered to stay on and I guess that’s what he had been waiting for all along. He was the last of the original Company’s employees to go – everyone else had already been laid off months and months ago or in the case of one or two, had been offered a job but only if they gave up everything and moved to Santa Monica, home of the Corporation and of unreasonably ridiculously outrageously high housing costs.

Rumor has it The Big Ass Corporation is supposed to send everyone the last 10% of the stock money they owe old employees…but only if taxes didn’t eat it all according to their lawyers. I seriously doubt any of us will ever see any money. Seriously.

And speaking of all that old crap, I’m reading through my National Novel Writing Month story I wrote last November about how bad that job was and I can tell I’m almost mentally recovered from that whole experience. I completely forgot half of what actually happened already! I am sure am glad I wrote it all down.

October 30, 2005

The garage cabinet guys came, they sawed, and the after effects kicked our butts. We are so exhausted. Our bones ache. But our garage is beautiful. We still have to go get pegboard hooks for the inside of the tall garden cabinets and cork dots for the door corners so they don’t bang so loudly when we close them, we still have all my car trophies and plagues, the emergency kit water bottles, and a dozen more yard tools to hang, but we are so happy with the results so far.

We had to have every single thing removed from the garage before 8 a.m. Friday morning. WS got up at 5 and me at 6 a.m. and we wasted no time. Of course it was pouring rain and dark and we needed someplace dry to stack all our stuff. So, on the front porch it all went stacked as high as our front windows and for the most part, most of it stayed dry. The cabinet guys left right around 5 p.m. and we had only a little more than an hour to get everything pulled back into the garage before dark. Naturally, we couldn’t pile the stuff in the middle of the garage because we needed to pull the cars in too (too many break ins where we live to leave them out.) So we had to come up with some quick organizing on most of our stuff and wait until Saturday to do the job right.

And Saturday, that’s exactly what we did. Sunday was rinse and repeat day from Saturday. We’re still not quite done but we’re happy to say we finally have enough room for all our stuff.

Thanks for waiting for the results!

November 1, 2005

Well, it’s finally come around to that time of year. National Novel Writing Month. 50,000 words in 30 days come rainy weather and holidays, unexpected delays or interruptions. And yes, I’m participating again but no, I’m not sharing just yet my novel. I’m still not sure this one is going to work out or not and I may have to resort to truly adhering to the NaNoWriMo guideline of writing QUANTITY and not focusing on QUALITY of work. I’m a self-editor so it’s hard for me to not want to get everything to sound just right, but of course, this takes up time and time is not something I have this month.

Still, 50,000 words in a month equates out to writing 1,667 words a day. Break that down to two 834 word writing sessions a day and you easily have what some people type every day for their journal entries. See how easy this can be? And if you add in the babble-factor, something I’m pretty good at, I don’t expect to have too much trouble. It’s the steering all the babble into a coherent story with a plot that sounds scary at first.

I’m also not going to tell anyone else I’m participating in this because lately everyone I tell and explain it all to has told me to just go ahead and cheat at the end. No one’s going to know the difference they all have said when I tell them that the whole thing is based on truthfulness when reporting word count. “Excuse me!” I’ve started replying. “I’LL know the difference.” The people all sniff and look away as though I’ve just told them I’m too good for them anymore. I’m sorry but I’m just not the cheating type.

We’re still slowly but surely getting our garage cabinets organized. I don’t expect we’ll do much more out there until next weekend. WS has got a busy work month coming up and he’s doing NaNoWriMo too. (His story sounds much more interesting and timely than mine.)

The weather is wonderful outside. Nothing but rain forecast for the next week. Halloween last night was very wet and kept most of the trick-or-treaters away. It might have helped keep the vandals away too which is the number one reason we no longer do the Halloween thing. Still, I’ll be looking for Limpy in the morning. Poor cat had to sit outside in the rain and dodge costumed kids who tried to chase him up and down driveways. After I make sure he’s still around, I’ll re-hang our front door wreath, put the doormat back, and bring back out the potted plants. Does it sound like I was a bit paranoid? Sure beats finding everything thrown and smashed in the front yard. And to think I used to love Halloween.

November 2, 2005

Boy oh boy did it ever pour rain yesterday. It was wonderful! Our front yard flooded, the back fountain overflowed, I got drenched from head to toe when I went out to fill the squirrel boxes and it.was.the.greatest! The really cool part comes later in the week when it’s supposed to do the same thing all over again. Twice!

Yeah, I’m a big rain fan. What I’m not is a big pain fan.

My eyeballs ache, aching like they aren’t really smooth and round but more akin to a pair of frightened hedgehogs complete with pointy quills all sticking upright. I need to quit petting a cat and then rubbing my eyes. I know this is bad for me but I “forgot” today as I sat working on my novel. It wasn’t hard to forget really. A cat was here; naturally my hand wandered down (as if it had a life of its own) and petted it. A short while later my eyes felt tired and naturally my hand wandered up and rubbed it. It’s not like I keep a bucket of soapy water next to the computer but maybe I should. If I keep this up, I’ll go through a bottle of Visine every couple of days. At least I don’t have a headache for the first time in a week. I’ll thank the rain for that.

Tonight a car club meeting is going to take me away from writing. Ms. Snotty emailed me yesterday requesting all the minutes from all the meetings ever held. Since the outgoing secretary only gave me minutes dating back to September of 2004, I’d guess she’s SOL. I don’t quite understand why she requested all the minutes but actually, I couldn’t care less. I’ll gladly hand over what I have at the meeting. Maybe she’s decided she doesn’t want me as secretary, maybe she just needs a notebook full of dry reading to help her sleep at night. Either way, I’m sure I’ll hear some lame ass excuse for the request. It just might make for some more good character development further on down the road.

NaNoWriMo word count for November 1st – 5,268. Yeah, baby!

November 3, 2005

Hardly any rain yesterday. I probably should have raked leaves or something but I was writing instead. I’m much rather write if given a choice anymore. Supposed to get another storm in for today and another whopper in for Saturday. I love this time of year.

WS went with me to the car club meeting last night. What a hoot that was…NOT! The new president, Ms. Snooty decided to rearrange how everyone sits in the room. Before, all board officers sat mingled in with the regular members. Now she’s got us all sitting up front at a special long table with her (like the last supper) giving the impression of an “Us versus Them” mentality. I HATE this kind of seating arrangement and in fact, I was the lone holdout until the very last minute to move up with the bunch. My reading of last meeting minutes went a whole lot faster this time because I only read half of what I typed out and that seemed to go over much better. I’m not a big one for reading in front of crowds if I can avoid it but I guess I should of paid more attention to what was involved before taking the secretary position, huh?

There was also an incident when I felt put on the spot when the topic of next year’s Portland Roadster show came up. Apparently, everyone put me thinks I’m chairperson for this club’s display next year. Joy. I did a real crappy job of explaining a proposal I submitted two weeks ago for a possible club display. I knew I should have printed out more copies of that thing. WS said I didn’t sound all that bad but you know how it goes when you’re talking in front of crowd about something you know little to nothing about.

NaNo writing went well yesterday and the grand total word count is up to 7,205 now with 27 days remaining. I can so do this. Next Wednesday will be tricky when I hold the club board meeting here; all that cleaning and food prep beforehand, but I’m not terribly worried. I plan to take the entire day off from writing. Again, I can so do this.

Speaking about groups of people sitting close to one another (because that’s what’s going to happen here next Wednesday night), is anyone else worried yet tired of hearing about avian flu? Living with someone who has a compromised immune system and having a slightly less than normal one myself, I am paranoid about avian flu just like I was about west nile virus last year and SARS the year before that. I’m just starting to get the feeling the news media is purposely trying to create a panic over it. Talk about hospitals being overrun and having to use school gyms and big buildings like coliseums Katrina aftermath style to house hundreds of sick and dying people nationwide. Pictures of inside the Super Dome are being shown here and people standing in line for water. People expected to loot sick and dead people’s homes. I mean, if that’s how bad avian flu is going to be across the entire nation by this winter maybe it’s just a good idea to catch it on purpose and hope for death anyway. That just how I feel about it and yes, I’m talking about me catching it on purpose if things get that bad (not anyone else).

And finally, did anyone look at the Mt. St. Helen webcam yesterday. She’s white with snow! Pretty, pretty, pretty.

November 4, 2005

NaNo novel going well. Word count is up to 10,320 as of 11 p.m. last night. That’s 21% percent completed toward the end goal of 50,000 words (less if I decide to take it to a further word count but I’m not going to count that just yet). It also means I’ve only got 39,680 words left to write before November 30th. The story is going well so far. I like it and I’ll probably put it here somewhere behind a password area later in the month for anyone who wants to read it. (Can’t not password protect it if I ever want to try to get it published and I think this one’s going to be a keeper.)

Buckets and buckets of rain yesterday. Unfortunately, we didn’t get the wind we were promised. Oh a few gusts here and there but nothing like they said. That means I’ll be fretting about when the leaves will finally drop, be blown away, or we have a dry enough day to vacuum them up which isn’t likely to be anytime soon. In some areas, they are really starting to pile up though. The latest weather report shows nothing but solid rain day and night for the next ten days. Sounds like the lawn isn’t going to be mowed anytime soon either. I’d worry about our place looking like a white trash dung heap for the car club board meeting next Wednesday night but then I’d remember that the word “night” is key. No one is going to see what the place looks like outside ‘cause it’ll be dark. Typical me stressing out for the sake of stressing out over nothing.

Of course, WS told me today when I purposely asked if Ms. Snooty would like our house or not when she sees it next week at the meeting. After witnessing her performance running the club meeting last night, he voiced a loud, “Nope!” So that settles it. No matter how hard I work between now and then to clean, de-clutter, and generally spiff the place up, she’ll hate it and since she really is a bitch and no one important, I going to try hard not to worry about it. With any luck, she really won’t like the place and nix anyone’s suggestion that the board members meet over here in the future which would be perfectly fine with me.

Ah, I ought to sleep well tonight now that that’s out of my system.

More trouble in paradise with MsNo and DorkMaster regarding his kids. It seems DM’s ex-wife is paying the kids to purposely and severely act up at home after spending a weekend with her. Not only is the older girl stealing, lying, and getting into fights at school now and not caring if she gets caught, but the middle kid, the one who wants to commit suicide is doing the same now too. Even the youngest, a first-grader was suspended from school for three days for beating up another kid and kicking him in the groin! From how WS heard it, DM thinks he’s got it all figured out and thinks he knows of a way to stop his ex-wife’s interfering but MsNo is still in the dark and refuses to believe that his ex-wife, once her best friend, would do such a thing. Oh, how I wish I could walk around wearing rose-tinted glasses some days.

November 6, 2005

It’s been raining cats and dogs here since last Wednesday and apparently as is the case this fall, lots of rain means loss of Internet connectivity. Couple that with the new housing construction going on up the street and some doofus who keeps ripping up the cable lines with his backhoe and you get our situation until late last night. At least that’s what Comcast was telling us so it’s got to be true, right? *cough*

The rain has stopped for a few brief breaks today giving me enough time to wash down the front lower half of the house and spray off a six foot fake tree that resides in the living room normally covered in a lovely sheen of cat fur with a healthy piquant of dust.

Then I tackled the inside of all the downstairs windows. I usually do those twice a year, three times tops unless the pet nose prints get too thick near the bottoms for my taste. In the evenings, we’ve been visited by raccoons every night for the past three weeks, sometimes as early as 6 o’clock, right after the sun goes down and the inside smudges on the bottom of the glass door has increased tremendously. I’ll wait until Wednesday, the day of the car club meeting over here to clean the outside of the glass and that’ll only leave oh, about three or four dozen other things left to do before then.

On the raccoons, I’ve feed them grapes which are their favorite food and have taken to filling the squirrel feeder by the back door with filbert meats, another favorite instead of peanuts in the shell like I used to. Filbert meats are also much cheaper than peanuts in the shell and make a whole lot less mess. Our peanut cost has dropped considerably in the past few weeks and the squirrels like the filberts too. Plus, they tend to sit and eat them instead of being hell-bent on burying them. I pulled up more peanut plant seedlings this summer, a sign that perhaps I was feeding the squirrels too much.

Over the past week, our squirrel population has increased by two. Two HUGELY fat squirrels now raid the feeder box along with our resident thinner and more athletic group. I think the fat squirrels and the increase in raccoons is in direct part to all the trees that are being cut down around us. Or maybe they know a hard winter is coming and are seeking out extra food wherever they can find it.

So I know you’re probably thinking, “Are you supposed to be writing a novel this month? Stop playing with the wildlife and get to writing!” Glad you asked. With the spotty Internet connection comes writing. Definitely not as much writing as I would have liked but I’m still ahead of where I should be; I hit 14,002 words as of this morning. I’m hoping to reach 18,000 by Tuesday night because I’m taking the day off Wednesday but I’ll need to do some serious pecking away if that’s to happen. Both Friday and Saturday were oddball days for me and I really struggled with my story. Too many distractions, too much noise; it seemed like everything going on around me was amplified or something. In addition, I’m working through a boring, dry technical part of the story (in my eyes) – a small body retrieved from an icy pond is being taken to the hospital via ambulance. I researched rescues and recoveries, up-to-date moderate hypothermia information and all but haven’t been able to read any real first-person firefighter or EMT accounts about the emotional aspect of such a body recovery. The few EMTs I was able to chat with all offered the same info I had researched but none of them had participated in a recovery themselves. The Internet is a wonderful thing but only if you have lots of time to hunt down what you need.

WS is doing well with his NaNo novel too and I expect he’ll pass me in word count this evening or tomorrow. He’s cruising!

November 7, 2005

What an interesting day I’ve had. Late last night, after 9, Ms. Snooty called me and wanted to come over to our house to look through the notebook of past meeting minutes this morning. Or at least that’s what she said she wanted to do. She spent all of seven minutes here, about 1 minute’s worth of looking through the miniscule amount of notes I was given when my secretary tour of duty started last month and the remaining six walking around our kitchen in her strappy sandal high heels and her painted-on jeans. Clip-clop, clip-clop and talked about absolutely nothing worth remembering.

I originally thought maybe she was trying to find instances in previous meeting minutes where Dick, the guy who wasn’t elected president and who threw a major baby-tantrum immediately after, may have been slighted, or his fiancé slighted at prior meetings as he publicly claimed had happened time after time.

But after she left, I began to wonder if she didn’t just want to be able to find the place during daylight hours before the board meeting here Wednesday night when it will be long past sunset. Naturally, I stressed out a little bit when she said she wanted to stop by. Over the weekend, we found out Ms. Snooty runs a house cleaning business (and Ms. Suckup is an employee which explains their connection.) The last thing I want to worry about (and I will) is knowing that someone who’s used to seeing things clean might go around Wednesday night running fingers over tops of doors and windowsills or going through medicine cabinets, and all I can say is it’s just a good thing we don’t have any medicine cabinets! Yes, I’ve been cleaning tops of everything in the house and plan on washing baseboards sometime tomorrow but it’s tempting to do something a friend suggested the other day when I told her about agreeing to hold the meeting. She said to go ahead and clean but to write up little tiny notes to leave in spots I think Ms. Snooty and Ms. Suckup might look and hope they find them. The notes should say things like, “Did you find what you were looking for?” or “Caught you snooping!” Very tempting.

Later I called WS at work to let him know I’d survived Ms. Snooty’s first inspection and he took me out for lunch (Red Robin – Grilled Turkey Burger with extra Chipotle mayo). When he dropped me off back at home, one of SportsOrNothings big, nice, dopey dogs is running around in our front yard and their side gate is standing wide open, something that just does not happen. So, we finally corral the dog and put him in their back yard and close the gate. Then I go up to the front door to see if maybe someone just didn’t know one of dogs were out and there is a real estate lock box on the front door…and their other dog, an even bigger and louder one is locked inside the house! So you’ve got one dog out, one dog locked in (and barking like he needs to go out, and a lock box securing the door and making it look to anyone else that no one lives there any longer. WTF? By the way, they lowered the price of the house yet again (Oh but remember they said they were in no hurry to sell and planned on keeping the price high) and Mr. SportsOrNothing told us the other day that they were starting to feel squeezed, whatever that meant. We didn’t ask for specifics but from the lack of vehicles over there anymore, I think they are living elsewhere. They just had better keep a closer eye on their dogs ‘cause I’m not going to do it for them again!

November 10, 2005

I survived the car club board meeting that was held here at our house. There were only a couple of glitches but what’s a house full of snooty, pretentious people without a glitch or two? A boring evening, that’s what.

The house looked beautiful, polished and nearly devoid of any sign of pets. Our pets are pretty good about being put in their room for a few hours; all except The Boy who would have been eaten by the Queen so he was transferred from the laundry room to the old office and back again periodically. He did great. People were expected to start trickling in at 6 so naturally I made sure everything except the meatballs but including myself were ready by 5:45. 6 o’clock came, then 6:30, then 7 and finally close to 7:15 people started straggling in. The meeting starts at 7:30. How is everyone going to eat in time for the meeting? We only had enough food for half an army. Meatballs in gravy, mini croissants and rolls, six kinds of crackers, four kinds of meat cold cuts, five kinds of cheeses, pasta salad, olives, two kinds of imported brie, seven varieties of fresh veggies with ranch dip, a pot of homemade apple cider, coffee, hot chocolate, tea, wine, beer, juice, and soda, then there was the dessert table which contained a “black and white” chocolate cake, a platter of various Pepperridge Farm cookies, mini pears and lady apples, granny smith apples and navel oranges, bowls of cashews, and a bowl of fresh whole strawberries. Sound like a lot? It is but that’s how we entertain and probably why we don’t entertain often.

I have to admit, people didn’t waste time digging in and they did a fairly decent job on the spread. The cake was finished off save one slice, the cookies were nearly wiped out, and surprisingly, the fresh strawberries were a hit as were the cashews. No one touched the crackers but half the croissants and rolls were eaten and half the meat and cheese platter. The veggies had certain parts wiped out while other parts were untouched – broccoli, cauliflower, green onions, cherry tomatoes. The pasta salad was gone as were most of the meatballs. Almost everyone drank the beer and wine leaving us with soda pop in cans that went back into the back of a cupboard for some future time since we don’t drink soda; we just have it on hand for such an event.

The best part was when a club member, one I like, told me, in a good way, that I had raised the bar way high and that he was certain none of us were going to see anything like this next month or the next or the next which is when Ms. Suckup is holding the meetings at her place (remember, she’s raising seven kids under the age of twelve), and I know her best friend Ms. Snooty heard him say that. All I could say back was that yeah, I’ve always had a tendency to do that and he laughed because he knew how I took care of my car for shows and knew what I meant.

So the meeting that everything figured would be over by 9 at the latest dragged on until 10:30! My butt and hip hurt from sitting so long and finally, I moved to the floor to continue jotting down the minutes which came at me fast and furious. If I even got half of what all was discussed last night I’ll have done good. And of course, I’m expecting an email shortly from President Ms. Snooty berating me for not getting the minutes out fast enough in an email to a couple of board members who couldn’t make the meeting. Supposedly I have a day and a half but she’s already shown her impatience and would like to have them the next day.

Afterward, we took everyone on a grand tour of our place which in this small house meant upstairs to see three small rooms – the old office (everyone yawned), the library loft (most everyone yawned) and our bedroom which everyone always loves mostly because our bed is so high and big and of course, I had piled even higher with our finest ironed linens and blankets and pillows. It was odd how Ms. Snooty merely nodded at each of the rooms but rushed in to look at our dinky master bathroom…the only room in the house I didn’t clean. Oh well. Then she rushed out and drove off and left her coat in our downstairs closet. Don’t worry, we checked it for bugs, the electronic kind and I checked our bathroom too just in case. You just never can tell with people you invite into your home that you just don’t know. She emailed me this morning and wants me to bring it to a club wine tasting tomorrow night or for Saturday’s food drive. The problem is, I’m not going to either but we can’t have the president of the club without her fur-lined coat, can we? Oh, I think we could.

People finally left close to midnight. WS was a peach and had already started the clean up by the time I finished waving off the final members. During the meeting, WS was upstairs most of the time writing on his NaNo novel and is close to 30,000 words of the required 50,000. I am SO proud of him! I, unfortunately, am struggling and am sitting at 19,000. I’ve still got twenty days left and I’m pretty sure I’ll make it in time. I’m just fried, burnt out, and brain-dead from planning last night’s meeting, which is my own fault completely.

And finally, I slept fitfully and dreamt of the meeting and Ms. Snooty and Ms. Suckup who had a sour look on her face all meeting long, nothing like she was like before weaseling her way into becoming a board member when she was all smiles, hugs, and heavy makeup. Today, the garage cabinets guys are coming back out to make a few adjustments on a couple of doors but after that, I think I’m going to take a nap. I’m exhausted.

November 11, 2005

So, MsNoManagementSkills is on a spending tear according to DorkMaster, her husband of just over a year. It’s relatively easy for WS to overhear DM’s daily gripes and grumbles because the man regularly speaks at a volume that can probably burst eardrums. I’m not terribly fond of people who do that especially in restaurants and extra especially if they happen to be one of my dining partners (I also don’t like people who insist on wearing more of their food than they are consuming in a restaurant but that’s another story for another time).

Having blown through the rest of the $120,000 of old Company stock money and divorce money from FatHead, her ex, just this past August, she was all proud of not having any debt to speak of for a short time there, but we all knew what was coming, didn’t we? DM was sadly telling his work buddy (and half the building) that she was all excited that she got a $125 VISA cash back points check in the mail the other day just in time to use it for Christmas shopping. If you figure how much a person has to spend on their VISA credit card to get the 1 % cash points and then to get a $125 check, I think we can all see how much she’s back in spending spree mode on just this one credit card. I guess he said she was whining that all her other credit cards don’t that because if they did, she’d be getting even bigger cash back checks from them.

I find it interesting that DorkMaster is being vocal about his concerns over her spending. That wasn’t the case in the beginning of their relationship when he was dirt poor and loved nothing more than for her to drop a few thousand his way or buy him a SUV, although it still sounds like he’s not too happy when she spends money on his kids because in a selfish way that is eerily similar to his wife, he’d rather have the money for himself. That was why his kids didn’t own shoes and wore clothing that was two sizes too small when MsNo and DM first met.

But I would expect his concerns to become public sooner or later. MsNo’s not working and doesn’t plan to do so ever again and she’s been out shopping every day since early October; first to buy Halloween decorations, then candy, then costumes, then more costumes when the first ones didn’t work out, then more candy, and since then it’s been stuff for their house and new clothing for the yearly family pictures (where in the past she sends half the planet an expensive, professionally taken photo and tells everyone his kids are hers). DM’s concerns are well founded. He was some $40,000 in debt when they met, mostly in collections according to MsNo’s old Online Journal. He and his kids were living from day to day with only sporadic public utilities like running water and electricity. His ex-wife had spent the last ten years of their marriage not working and running up bills but he did his share of impulse buying too. Now it seems he’s married the same woman all over again and everyone but MsNo can see it.

The guys in the shop have started mentioning that and not surprisingly, each time the topic is brought up, DM has turned angry and stands up for her actions. The man who once thought $40,000 in debt was something he would never recover from is now three or four times in the hole over that, more if you count the house she put the down payment on but expects him to make the payments for.

Sometimes, you’re standing so close to the snake you don’t see it until it bites you, and even then, sometimes it bites so quickly, it takes time for the poison to sink in.

November 12, 2005

So as you may or may not know, the house seller’s bubble all but burst over the past month in our area. Homes up and down the street that were put up for sale at ridiculous prices hoping to cash in on the boom are sitting priced way too high without many nibbles. The only house so far that looks like it squeaked in under the wire was MsEars but even so, she lowered the price fifty thousand before it sold.

Closer to us down the street, another house went up for sale right after MsEars’ did and although it took months to sell, it finally did over a month ago. The people who sold it took their sweet time moving things out of it (yet still didn’t do anything about the starlings living in their outdoor dryer vent). Yesterday, they were back, I assumed to clear out their garage which was still filled with personal belongings. But no! They were there to take the old For Sale – SOLD sign out of the middle of their yard and put in a new For Sale sign! From what I and a few other neighbors heard from down the street, the original sale fell through even after the house was technically sold for six weeks. I don’t know how that worked but it did.

On the other side of us, SportsOrNothing thought they sold their house last week. As I was sweeping our front sidewalk the hour before my car club meeting guests arrived, Mr. SportsOrNothing drove by and angrily said, “Good grief! How long does a home inspection take?” Apparently, he had been driving around the block for two hours waiting to go home while an agent and potential buyer had an inspection team going through the house with a fine toothed comb. He said the sale hinged on what the team found but he wasn’t too worried. Just annoyed that it was taking so long.

An hour later, he returned home only to be told to go away again. He was NOT a happy camper and perhaps that sealed the deal. Or lack thereof because yesterday morning, he was standing out in his driveway hollering to someone over his cell phone (no one here can get cell phone service from inside their houses), and I don’t mean hollering in a “Can you hear me?” sort of way. Couldn’t tell what he was saying. Okay, to be perfectly honest, I was trying to write and didn’t want to hear what he was saying, though at any other time than the month of Novel-Writing November I know the phrase, “DON’T EVER CALL THIS NUMBER AGAIN!” would normally have perked up my ears.

This morning, the SportsOrNothing house is back up for sale and another Open House is being set up for the weekend. Guess the inspectors found something amiss and god only knows what that could be. I remember selling my mother’s house after she died and the sale hinged on us fixing a list of things a FHA loan inspector came up with. That inspection took over four hours but it wasn’t any big deal to us. Because none of us could afford to make the payments to neither live there nor buy the house outright, we went along with the flow of things, hurriedly made the fixes over the course of a week, and practically gave the old, oddly remodeled house with a pool in a sub-HUD housing neighborhood away. Our fixes included needed flashing installed between the patio roof and the house, doors hung on all the rooms – something my father abhorred, removed, and replaced with sheets some eleven years prior (he was paranoid), caulk the ever-widening cracks in a back bedroom wall, and replace the broken pool pump. Who knows what was found next door? Or maybe it was just Mr. SportsOrNothing’s attitude over being inconvenienced. We do know that he hates having to fix anything so more than likely, that’s the problem. He was probably presented with a list of fixes needed and he backed out of the deal. Later today, I’ll walk over and see if they lowered the price again and if so, that’ll pretty much sum the inspection question up.

Further down the street, a house that’s been on the market as long as SportsOrNothing’s has hasn’t had any bites to speak of in over a month. Goes to show you, when you outfit your house in imported Italian tile and wallpapers, it doesn’t mean someone else is going to like them. Buyers want to imagine their own crap in a potential house, not look at someone else’s idea of what may or may not be beautiful. I’ve seen the house. It truly is beautiful and excellently maintained. Like us, they overbuilt and added too many upgrades, and neither of us are probably going to get our money back out of a sale anytime soon. There ain’t no way its worth that much in this economy and probably not even for this neighborhood. The days of this neighborhood being special are LONG past. We’ve got four and five hundred thousand dollar junior estate homes going up around the corner from us and sadly that makes this neighborhood rapidly becoming the future slum area of town.

November 13, 2005

Have you ever had one of those days where you feel like everything you say is just wrong? And when you make it a point to try to fix what you did it only makes it worse? And then you make even worse by trying to fix that?

Welcome to my life where the main course is often my foot. Someday I’ll learn to keep my mouth shut and my keyboard typing fingers to myself.

November 14, 2005

So deep you’ll never notice the stale moldy cup of old beer.

I wrote ten thousand words over the weekend in a forty-eight hour period for my NaNo novel. I know, I know, ten thousand is equivalent to just three of my usual whiny posts here but I thank you readers for sticking with me regardless.

Writing five thousand words in one afternoon sounds hard, and it can be without the proper start to the morning, the right motivation throughout the day, and a good night’s rest. So what my routine, one or two of you might wonder…provided you don’t have anything else pressing to move onto to? It’s simple:

I get up in the morning around nine, sometimes earlier and I eat a small bowl of plain oatmeal with a scoop of raisins or dried currants. No sugar for me, thank you because it makes me want to go back to bed within the hour and down a packet of vitamins. After feeding all the animals, both inside and out, I do a few chores here and there, nothing that major like laundry or vacuuming which would take too long and then I grab my water bottle and sit down at the computer.

I re-read a few paragraphs from what I wrote the previous day and I’m usually so horrified at the crap I typed I make a few revisions which more often than not, ups the word count for the day. After about an hour, I slip on the headphones and listen to music at a volume that doesn’t interfere with my reading over my work in my head. For the section of my NaNo novel I’m currently in, the dark section, I’m listening to all the dark and foreboding songs from various Enya albums. The songs fit the mood exactly and so much so that Saturday night, while listening to one sorrowful song and typing out the emotions a father felt after finally grasping the seriousness of the situation at hand, I felt on the verge of tears; a sign that I probably did Okay in that chapter.

I take several breaks throughout my writing because nothing makes a person hate writing faster than to force yourself to sit for hours in front of a typewriter or computer keyboard when you literally can’t think of a thing to type. My ten to fifteen minute breaks come every five to seven hundred words. Sometimes I pace through the house thinking during those breaks; other times I’ll go ahead and start the laundry because god knows it’s multiplying while I’m not looking.

Sometimes, I’ll check my word count in Microsoft Word, the program I use to type everything in and find I’ve been cruising right along in the slow and steady pace I prefer and I’ll have whipped out over a thousand words without my tired butt complaining once! But more often than not, what I think is five or six hundred words are really less than two hundred. Depressing.

So what’s my secret then? How did I overcome that situation over the past forty-eight hours?

Easy! I simply channel the spirit of a long dead author who left this earth before they were able to write this novel! Now, if I could only get it to vacuum.

Then I follow it up with limited TV viewing from bed which everyone knows only sucks out all the creative juices from your brain and makes you dream of Leonardo DiCaprio and not in a good way while tossing and turning throughout the night as I try to keep my body temperature somewhere below the point of bursting into a ball of flames.

It’s not just by coincidence that one of my novel’s main characters has the ability to raise her internal core temperature at will and hot enough to melt metal…

Yesterday, as both WS and I were pacing the house…Okay, we were waiting for a pizza delivery WS found what I had smelled in the living room for the past five days – a half a cup of beer someone had left sitting in the cup holder of my elliptical machine from the car club meeting last Wednesday night. Guess that tells you how often I’ve been using the thing lately, huh? Immediately after that club meeting, we scrubbed and cleaned the house again just to rid it of any potential bad vibes and flu bugs but somehow missed this one cup. You can imagine the smell. No, really, imagine the smell. Not good is it? It wasn’t but that goes to show you how involved I am in the month’s novel writing challenge.

So deep you’ll never notice the stale moldy cup of old beer. Now there’s a motto the National Novel Writing Month website should use.

November 16, 2005

All writing and no playing makes Blogeois a dull
person. All writing and no playing makes
Blogeois a dull person. All writing and
no playing makes Blogeois a dull
person. All writing and no
playing makes Blogeois
a dull person. All
writing and no
playing
makes
a dull
me

and further more,

What is it with some people lately? Specifically, some of the people I know just to make that clear.

*I know someone whose husband quit his job last summer. It was a pretty sucky job but then again, whose isn’t anymore? Soon afterward, he decided he didn’t want to get another job, not a job in the sense that you leave the house everyday to go to some other location to make someone else rich but that he’d pick up blog writing like his wife had been doing for years. And then he plastered both his and his wife’s blogs with advertising from all those annoying places like Google Ads, Ad Click, Ads by Pheedo, and Blogads thinking those would pay their mortgage, car loan, and insurance. And that thinking probably is paying for all those thing for some other people with a gigantic Internet presence and huge followings. But it doesn’t work that way if your following is less than a dozen people and especially if eleven of those dozen people HATE ads with a passion.

A few months ago, the husband, for the first time ever, started posting on his blog every day. Previously, a reader could count themselves lucky if he updated the thing more than twice a year. And at first, he posted about his observations of what went on at home everyday that he had missed experiencing when he went to work. That cemented his resolve to never work outside the home again.

A couple of months ago, he started scanning old photos and adding them to his blog reliving his “glory” days as a young college student without any responsibilities (obviously before he got his student loan repayment book and had children). Music, beer, and chicks. Claimed he got high everyday and it was great. (I have to ask: How would he know?)

A month ago, he started in on what seemed to be the next logical step: Rants about THE Man. How unfair life is, how people should rise up, what kind of real society we live in, and all the injustices that that entails. (yet they sold out to Internet advertising, a form of THE Man he claimed to hate…interesting…)
Photos of him were added flipping off various news stations on TV showing various politicians. I noticed in them he always looked like he was wearing the same stained t-shirt and sweat pants in every shot and had put on a significant amount of weight. He was always sitting in the same threadbare recliner chair with his slippered feet up and there were always pizza boxes on the floor and McD cups on the top of the TV. From there, it got pretty ugly pretty quickly and his blog became nothing but links to controversial online news articles mostly about medical marijuana, legalizing drugs, and the war in Iraq.

Blah, blah, blah…the same as three million other “blogs”.

Over the weekend this couple blogged their last. They could no longer pay for Internet service. They held a garage sale and sold everything just short of the garage itself. That’ll come later along with the divorce. As she tells it, her husband just got tired of working and had a mental meltdown. He left Monday in a minivan filled with people she had never seen before for a peace rally in Washington. He gave her no prior notice. She says she won’t be here when he comes back, if he comes back.

Where am I going with this? I’m not sure. Last week WS and I were having a conversation about something, could have been anything really, and the subject came up on how some people are truly what their job is and now I’m wondering, if you don’t have a job, does that make you nothing?

Or just a wack-o?

*based on a true story.

November 18, 2005

I’m coming into the home stretch on my NaNo novel LONG before the end of November…but not really. I’m at 44, 050 words out of 50,000 needed by November 30th. But I’m only halfway to the end of my novel. Kind of frustrating in one way and good in another. I should hit 50,000 sometime this weekend or early next week. I should be done with the novel sometime thereafter. All I really know is that I really like the story so far and I think it’s a keeper. As soon as I’m near the actual end, I’ll post it somewhere.

WS passed 50,000 words last Monday and is somewhere up in the 1 billion word range I think. I really don’t like him for that. Okay, maybe that’s stretching the truth a bit. I think he’s around 55,000 words but it might as well be 1 billion. He’s also got an excellent novel idea going there, enough for two books, and hopes each one will end up around 90,000 words each.

Damn overachievers.

Let’s agree to not like him together, shall we? Oh, c’mon, just for a few minutes.

The Queen and The Boy have been at each other’s throats all day. A screaming fight broke out Tuesday night, another one this morning after I went back to bed for a few hours after getting up at 4 a.m. to type up car club meeting minutes. Oh yes, it’s a veritable hoot a minute over here.

Did I mention I’ve got a zit the size of a third eye growing out of the bridge of my nose and a swollen hive right above my top lip? My own fault. National Novel Writing Month protocol says, nay, insists that all authors drink lots of coffee and consume monster amounts of chocolate. It doesn’t take much chocolate to set my oil glands off, only two or three bites of something, but did that stop me?

Gee, what do you think?

Until the next time, dear readers, you will find me in the local grocery store buying even more bottles of Clean and Clear extra strength oil fighting facial astringent and bags of cotton balls.

November 22, 2005

I’ve finally hit 50,000 words in my novel this month and while it’s not finished, it gives me some breathing room to take care of some things I’ve been neglecting. You know what I’m talking about: This place and those web cams and the laundry and whoo boy, personal hygiene. I thank you all for your patience with me.

Personally, I think showers are a big pain in the butt…but they are required and I know I hate catching a whiff of people who don’t so I do regularly whether I want to or not most of the time. Maybe if I had one of those big fancy showers that a dozen people could fit in at once, not that I’d ever want to have that happen OR see it happen for that matter, or maybe if I didn’t start sweating right after getting out which usually coincides with me thinking of vacuuming the house for some reason…

I’m only two loads behind on laundry; a major accomplishment on any day not to mention November when I participate in the novel writing thing. The rest of the house doesn’t look too bad. Last Sunday, we took a four hour break from writing and cleaned up our front yard which was covered in leaves. WS’ leaf vacuum worked wonderfully…until we were about 3/4ths the way done when it simply shut itself off. Nothing was being vacuumed up at the time, we didn’t blow a fuse, and we swapped extension cords and outlets but nothing. I’m thinking there has got to be a trip switch or fuse inside the vacuum or something but naturally, WS can’t find the documentation on the thing already. It’s a Sears Craftsman so if it has to go back, it will. I just dread going anywhere near malls at this time of year. Ugh.

And about those webcams, my favorite one isn’t compatible with the new computer we had to buy to replace the dead one in early October. Nothing but money is going to replace that one. The front camera is slowly dying as well. I suspect it’s going the same way my old original web cam went – direct sunshine seems to fry it and whether the sunshine is hot or not doesn’t seem to matter. Unfortunately, our house is situated in a way that both front and back views get sun at certain times of the year but I’m determined to not give up so it may take just a little bit longer to scrape up the money, but I hope to have the backyard cam up and running again soon.

November 23, 2005

Happy Anniversary, WS. Thanks for taking the chance on me.

November 24, 2005

Thank you for all your anniversary congrats yesterday. We had a nice quiet day just being together. It was nice and relaxing.

Hope you all had a good Thanksgiving and to all of you who don’t celebrate the U.S. Thanksgiving holiday, I hope you had a good Thursday too. We don’t usually celebrate Thanksgiving with turkey because I’m not a big fan of the bird. Actually, that’s not entirely true. I’ll eat turkey burgers, turkey hot dogs, ground turkey this and that, but when it comes to Thanksgiving, I can’t get the dry-as-toast flavor or smell out of my subconscious from years living at home, even after all these decades. My mother wasn’t the greatest cook but she didn’t have to be. She was the breadwinner in the family and whatever the breadwinner wanted, the breadwinner got. She loved turkey. Unfortunately, she had five children who hated it. But then again, we were never asked if we’d like anything different. I made a ham today and whereas I do like our holiday hams, if it were just me in the house, I would have made baked salmon or gone meatless. I think I’m just getting tired of eating meat.

Today was the last dry day in about ten days. This afternoon the rain returned and should be around for the next couple of weeks. We really should have taken time during the dry spell to rake up the millions of leaves in our backyard but we only got over being so sore from doing that last Sunday in our front yard. The most I could muster up today was to bring in the summer umbrella from the patio table. Nearly every house in the neighborhood spent the last day or two putting up Christmas lights and we probably should have too but it’s just too early for me. House both up the street and around the corner have had their Christmas lights on for the past week. One holiday at a time, people. If I have to put our up in the rain, so be it. I will not be a lemming.

November 25, 2005

A big thank you to all of you for keeping this place nice and neat while I was writing my fingers to the bone over the past month. You’ve inspired me to do a little work around here beginning with getting the back web cam cable ordered. It should be here in a week. I’m also looking to put my photos back up and thinking about adding some of them to the café press/blogeois.com merchandise site. I think some of those foggy Klaloch beach pictures might be nice for a poster or on a mug. Black T-Shirts are on their way and it looks like I’ll need to redo the limited edition 2005 Blogeois URL design to fit on a black t-shirt. I’m not a big fan of white tees but black is right up my alley.

Lots of neighborhood news this week: SportsOrNothing have sold their house for $25,000 less than they wanted. The way they tell it, it was between selling it to a young mini-van soccer family with a four year old, a six month old baby, and more on the way or a quiet semi-retired couple who loves golf, opera, and wine. One guess who got the sale. Yep, the screaming soccer baby family. I’m sure SportsOrNothing got a big kick out of that. Ms.SportsOrNothing sure seemed to when she was telling it to us.

So, they will be moving out the first few days in December and the new family will be moving in immediately thereafter. Makes me kind of extra glad now we planted pointy holly bushes and barberries along that side of the yard because as much as I don’t like screaming kids, I don’t want a yard full of them either. I’m sure neither of the SportsOrNothings told the new family that their new living room practically butts right up with ours. Since we’ve spent the last six and a half years listening to their sports games full blast on their TV just nine feet away through paper thin walls, I think all bets are off now. If I hear constant baby crying, I’m firing up the sub woofer in our living room and putting in Star Wars or something equally as loud. Sometimes it’s best to set the bar right up front otherwise people will walk all over you. Been there, done that, lost the original t-shirt design to some guy in India.

Still, neither WS nor I can figure out how a young family with such young children isn’t going to have problems around that fire pit SportsOrNothing built back there with all those sunken slabs of broken concrete and loads of gravel. Or the hot tub, or the splinter-y and poorly maintained twelve by twenty-five foot wood deck with no railings and drop off steps everywhere, or that scary six foot cement retaining block wall drop off between the back fence and the level section of back yard. It doesn’t exactly sound like a child-friendly back yard to you, does it? But then again, they are from California, he’s a small investments broker with Wells Fargo and she’s having babies, so I suppose it’s possible they know what they are doing. Ri-i-i-ght.

Of course, I haven’t selected a nickname for them yet but I have one floating around in the back of my mind just in case they so warrant it – The Wall Streets.

The house down the street that sold then went back on the market when the buyers financing fell through was finally sold to those buyers after all at the very last minute. The original owners, kind of asshole people, actually put the house back up for sale for a couple of days, then put a For Rent sign on it for one day before they decided to give the buyers one more shot at it. The new family moved in last Saturday and at first it frightened me because the woman looks like she could be MsNoManagementSkills sister. If I knew for certain she didn’t have a sister, I’d still be worried.

Anyway, she’s young, blonde, and as big as a house, and as one who is working her way toward being as big as a house, I was pretty impressed to see how much further I have yet to go. She also has a voice that goes with it and she doesn’t do anything more than boss her husband and his friends around. LOUDLY. You know the type: She stands there with her hands on her hips and says things like “I can’t pick up anything. I’m lactating.” Scary how much a person can learn about new neighbors in just an hour of watching them move in, isn’t it? They too have a newborn. For those of you keeping track, we are now up to four newborns, two, possibly three pregnant women, ten children under the age of five and two under the age of three all within spitting distance of our house. That’s a pretty interesting change from six years ago when there were only two families with young children on this entire street. I have to admit, if I could afford it, I’d consider moving too. But then again, we all know I’d never be able to completely get away from families with screaming children, not until the world starts regulating births and that isn’t going to happen anytime soon because babies are future taxpayers.

Do I sound angry about this? Oh, you could say that. In a neighborhood that was once advertised as a nice, QUIET place to grow old in, we are now completely surrounded by in-home day care centers, in-home pre-school centers, and soon perhaps a baby factory. Why is it always the people who don’t like kids that seem to attract them in droves? One of those physics kinds of things, I’ll wager.

Golly, where did all that come from? I guess that’s been eating at me for a while. Okay, where was I?

Ah yes, houses. The Italian house for sale around the corner from us still hasn’t had any bites. Still. That’s about five months it’s been on the market. They are the only sellers so far who have stuck to their word of not backing down on the price. They really can’t afford to though. They’re still paying for all that expensive Italian wallpaper, paint, and tile. That’s probably the same scenario we’ll face when trying to sell this place IF we ever do decide we’ve had enough. As nice as it sounds to have a back yard with no grass and a huge fountain, a front yard that is able to be mowed in just over one minute, a designer kitchen, and Pergo floors throughout, the reality is no one wants a house like this. They just like looking at them in magazines. As easy as this place is to keep up, people think it’s a maintenance nightmare and they prefer all white kitchens and wall-to-wall carpeting even if they know Fido is going to have his way with it every other day.

Around the block (yes, I’ve been taking a few walks here and there again since MsNo moved out), several houses are up for sale as well. Nothing spectacular either in the homes themselves or in the prices they are asking so I expect they will sell without much difficulty. Back when this development was being built, the best thing about being one of the first moved in was that I got to go inside every house while they were under construction. And other than the six daylight basements back behind us on the next street over, not many other houses had all the extra features and modifications built into them like all but one of the houses on our street had. That in itself makes it a big deal when one of these “extra features” houses sells.

But, it’s also sad in a way. These houses were built far, far above what was the standard at the time by new owners who took pride in the structure they were to live in and it’s like they used all that pride up and are casting aside a work of inner beauty. After one of these houses is sold, the new buyers have no idea how special their house really is, have no idea that when there were only three or four houses under construction in this entire old cow pasture that was to become our development, that all us new owners were influenced by one another’s upgrades and made tweaks to our own homes under construction here and there to make them, as what it was being referred to at the time, “not look like Edward Scissorhand neighborhood houses.” That means all of the homes were purposely built unique inside and for some of us, a little unique on the outside too.

But now, it’s like the beginning of this place and all the history of how this neighborhood became this neighborhood is fading and no one new here wants to know about how it all started. Just give them their six thousand square foot lot to let their grass grow two feet tall and let their kids scribble on every square inch with sidewalk chalk and that’s all they want. I wonder, is this what it’s like to grow old, to see people all around who don’t really care about anything else but themselves and creating offspring?

November 27, 2005

Nearly everyone on our street has put up Christmas lights already…and turned them on. We’ve got lawns surrounded with lights on stakes, icicle hanging lights which we all know are just going to end up on rooftops come the first breeze, and enough C9-sized monstrosity lights to cause half our county to blow power grids. This year seems to be the year of the inflatables on our street. We’ve got polar bears, santas, grinches, and snowmen and every other yard has one, or two, or five. All this decorating is so early for us but maybe people were just paying attention to the weather for once and took advantage of the dry days. It’s usually pouring outside at this time of year but it’s not. That’s what motivated us to put up the few strings of lights we’re going with this year. Sure, usually Thanksgiving weekend is our preferred time of getting lights set up but we generally wait until December 1st to turn them on. I’m such a hypocrite for saying one holiday at a time when I caved and turned ours on last night. I apologize for that to the Christmas display gods.

National Novel Writing Month is rapidly coming to a close with November 30th right around the corner. This morning, we went to one of the last get togethers for the NaNo writers in our area and not surprisingly, hardly anyone showed up. I’d like to believe that’s because everyone was furiously writing and trying to get their stories to the 50,000 word finish line but I know some have given up. I’m always saddened by this and it makes me wish there was a magic phrase I could say that would instantly motivate or re-motivate those into finishing. I hate that I’m more apt to say something that is taken the wrong way, something that de-motivates someone rather than to help out. Just my personality quirk and the reason why I need to rein myself in more often. That whole foot in the mouth thing I wrote about a couple of weeks ago. Did I mention how much I suck at damage control too? Well, write your own scenario and you’ll probably hit the mark.

Anyhoo, as usual, the get together went well for me – that means I yakked a lot and kept others from doing any actual writing but I gained something out of it in the form of info on writing techniques; a topic that can hold my interest for hours. All but one of us at the get together have already passed the 50K mark and we all showed interest and offered encouragement to the one of us who hadn’t reached the end but who had reasons for probably not being able to finish in time to be considered a “winner” so I tried to hold off my yakking until after that writer had left for the day. I’m always torn between feeling bad for asking questions that usually require lots of time to answer and feeling good because I learn so much this way. I guess what I really need is for someone to employ my personality quirk and tell me to shut up so we can write. People are too often too kind.

Back at home, WS and I are working on getting our Christmas trees up and decorated. We have two, down from three that we used to put up in year’s past when we thought that was the coolest thing ever to do. Last year, we only put up one, the one we’ve come to love having in our bedroom; the room that is off limits (most of the time) to the pets. But WS missed the twelve-footer we used to put up in the entryway and so we’ve decided this year to put it up again. It’s not a pre-lit tree regrettably, that being the one thing that makes me groan to even think about setting the thing up. It takes me hours to decorate that behemoth; time I enjoy for the most part. I don’t like the time it takes to set it up AND put lights on it beforehand. Stringing lights is something I’ve come to not be so fond of much anymore. I’m not sure why but there it is. But we’re over that part of getting it done and so, in the next couple of days, I’ll post before, during, and after pictures so you can see our masterpieces before the pets decide they should have a hand in decorating themselves. And you can be sure that should they redecorate in a major way, I’ll capture that as well. There’s nothing like a twelve-foot fake tree knocked over with smashed ornaments galore. Not that it’s happened yet, but I expect it’ll happen sooner or later. We’ve got a rambunctious group here.

Tomorrow, WS goes back to work after being off for a week and that’s always a bit sad. It’ll be good to get back to a schedule and not ask each other every morning, “Well, what do you want to do today?” and then not do much of anything and lament about a “wasted” day later on in the evening. Sometimes, there’s comfort in just knowing what needs to be done and how much time is metered out for each little thing throughout a day. Personally, I wish we could have had less that we felt we, or in most cases I, needed to accomplish and more relaxing, sleep time. Oh well, we’ll get another chance during the Christmas/New Year’s holiday week when WS is off again.

Hmm, now that I’m thinking about that time frame, the to-do list is already trying to form itself.

November 28, 2005

It trash day and that means it’s windier than all get out today. We have an outside shot at getting a few flakes of snow late this afternoon into evening but because this area hardly ever gets snow, I doubt it will happen. Sure would be fun to watch though. If only we lived a thousand feet higher, but then again, if we did we’d have to worry about too many other things so I guess it all evens out.

I’d love nothing more than to sit in front of a window and watch for the possibility of snow but I’m flat on my back suffering from a severe allergy to dust. This time of year almost always brings that out since I’m usually digging in the back of closets and under the bed hunting for holiday decorations. Everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING here is covered with a light coat of dust now that we’ve dug dusty trees out from dusty boxes and although I didn’t think anything would be dusty at all with all the cleaning we do, just running my finger along the top of the monitor here proves me dead wrong. As soon as I am able I’m going to have to wet wipe down the entire house or continue with the sneezing, the alternating stuffy-runny nose, the muffled ears and brain, and the sore throat that much longer.

November 29, 2005

Decorating takes forever when I feel under the weather. The good thing is that I feel better than I did yesterday. The bad thing is that the feeling is only marginal. Yet I know I’m recovering because I’m blowing my nose less and when I do it’s usually accompanied with yellow, cottage cheese-looking stuff. Yep, typical dust allergy mucus for me. Let’s hope I can get it all out before a sinus infection sets in. If I start smelling baking bread where there isn’t any, I’ll know that’s what’s going on.

No snow yesterday or overnight as I predicted would be the case. The next time we have a snowball’s chance in hell will be Thursday morning, followed by Sunday morning. I think you all know by now how I feel about weather people who “predict” anything further out than ten minutes. How I would love to be proven wrong.

Nothing else here is going on. I’m sitting upright today for the most part though my head feels woozy when I do for too long. Lying in bed is boring me to tears. When I try to read I get a headache. When I watch TV in bed I get a headache. When I type anything too long I get a headache. When I try to sleep I end up lying awake half the night which only tells me one thing and that’s that I need to take a heavier dose of medication before I go to bed. But I’m a whiny thing who doesn’t like medication unless I absolutely HAVE to take it i.e. if I was literally dying. I don’t feel like I’m dying, I’m just feeling like I have a nasty head cold and I don’t want it to travel down into my chest where it will wake up that asthma thing I have which more often than not means a trip to the emergency room in the middle of the night will come in the future when I can’t breathe and my fingernails start turning blue and then WS will catch something from the hospital like he always does because there are actual sick people there and then I’ll catch it later on only to pass it back to him sometime in between all the disinfecting and cleaning we go out of our way to do even when we’re ill to stop the nasty bug dead in it’s tracks.

Okay, I just reread that and it sounds like the ramblings from someone who’s sick. Stay well, everyone. I think I’m late for a date with a bottle of Nyquil.

November 30, 2005

Hello from the sick bed. Today it’s all about the coughing. Cough, cough, cough. My body is even coughing at the anti-coughing medicine. It reminds me of growing up and whenever we had colds as kids. Both my mother and father had a thing about hearing a cough – they couldn’t stand it and so whenever we had to cough, we’d usually get smacked each and every time. Yeah, really. The next time you are sick, try real hard not to cough when you’re throat is tickling. It’s impossible not to cough. I’m sure that wherever my parents are, someone is coughing, maybe purposefully even.

This is the second day in a row I had to get out of bed in the off chance UPs (yours) would be delivering something WS ordered online last week. We thought it was going to be here yesterday but then WS discovered it wouldn’t be. Good thing I stayed up though because FedUp tried to deliver a package here that wasn’t ours. Today, WS called to tell me he didn’t think it was going to be delivered today either and that I should go back to bed. Sure, I can do that.

So I head upstairs, notice the floor has a mountain of cat litter, fur, and god only knows what else all over it and I decided that vacuuming before going back to bed won’t kill me. Wouldn’t you know it the minute I come out from vacuuming a back bedroom I look out the front window and see a UPS truck driving out of our drive way. Crap.

I went downstairs, opened the door, and saw nothing sitting by the door which prompted me to stand down by the sidewalk and wait for the truck to drive past again. When it did, I flagged it down and got WS’ package.

And I didn’t cough once while I was out there. Back inside was another story. Maybe I just need to be pissed off to quell my coughing. Well, if the coughing continues, I think I have another shot of testing my theory later in the week when we have something else due to be delivered.

After that, did I go back to bed as I had intended? Nope. I figured that since I was so riled up by the unexpected UPS delivery, I might as well burn off the energy by finishing vacuuming and tackling the laundry which is Out.Of.Control. again. Funny how that can happen when I get sick.

But you know what? I’m not complaining. Last year at this time, I was working with MsNoManagementSkills and MrSmartButFakingIt and Ego and the Big Ass Corporation who bought out The Company was doing everything but shoving bamboo shoots under my nails to get me to quit early so they wouldn’t have to give me severance pay. And if I had gotten sick then, I wouldn’t have been strong enough to hold on and they could have raked me over the coals even harder. Naw, I’m not complaining about being sick because for once in a very long time, I can breathe a little easier…even if it does mean I’ll be coughing while I’m doing it.

December 1, 2005

Welcome to the winter color version of Blogeois.com! If you like these colors, you might want to know there are mugs and t-shirts available with this design for purchase at Blogeois.com Apparel. I have a mug and it’s perfect for this time of year.

Yesterday the whole town was talking about snow for this morning. Schools were pre-announcing delays and closures, buses were chained up, plows were ready, and I’d rather everyone be ready than not but it seems like every time people jump the gun, it never snows. As you can see on the web cams, there’s no snow here. You have to go WAY up in the hills to see any and then, it’s only a dusting that is mostly all gone by now. The wind was good and strong this morning though, just coming from the wrong direction for us to get anything in the form of white, fluffy stuff.

I have to give a big WHOOP! WHOOP! to WS for getting that back web cam up and running again. He’s still keeping his eye out for problems here and there with it so let us know if you see anything odd.

The SportsOrNothings next door are supposed to be moved out by this coming weekend. Mr. SportsOrNothing spent the good portion of yesterday loading stuff into various trucks and trailers that I had never seen before. I’d be willing to bet he’s made friends with all his new neighbors, wherever that might be, and they have volunteered to help him move. Funny how the stuff he loaded up looked suspiciously like only his stuff. Golf bags, sports items, a comfy chair, and only half of the back patio furniture. We so liked the SportsOrNothings as neighbors until their twins reached driving ages. Then things just got loud, annoying, and weird. We hardly ever saw them and only suffered through days of their ignored dogs constant barking and their unsupervised kid’s wild hot tub parties. We all know how people tend not to change. My money is on the likelihood that later rather than sooner Mr. SportsOrNothing will irritate his new neighbors with all his big boasting talk about sports this and that just like he did here and if Ms. SportsOrNothing is moving with him into wherever he is moving to, that it won’t take long for the new neighbors to learn that 100% of what comes out of her mouth are half-truths at best. No sign of the new house owners yet and frankly, I think introductions can stand to wait a bit. I’ll bite my tongue if it happens earlier than I’d like over something kid oriented and who knows, it’s IS possible that we’ll actually get along with them. I mean, there’s got to be some nice, quiet families out there somewhere, isn’t there?

I’m taking my own advice and staying in bed today. I feel oodles better than yesterday but I don’t want to push it. Tomorrow we have haircut appointments and Saturday night we’re supposed to be somewhere for a Christmas party (but I don’t think that’s going to happen as much as I think it would be a kind of suicide not to go). And then Sunday morning is our last NaNo writing group meeting. Really, I should just cancel them all but I’ll pay for it later if I do in feeling like a shut-in…even if I am still hacking and coughing.

December 4, 2005

I’m nearly over my cold and as what goes with that, I’ve become a bit more aware of the world around me such as that it’s been longer than I intended to post anything here. Blame it on the NyQuil – good stuff until taken too long when it tends to become more of a laxative than anything truly useful. I think I’ve entered that stage but my colon is probably happy.

Let’s completely shift gears, shall we? (Everyone nod yes. Please.)

A few months ago I lamented about a one thousand dollar “inheritance” I received from my late grandfather’s estate. “Dirty money” is what I couldn’t help but think of it as even though a thousand dollars would really, REALLY come in handy around here. My grandfather was not a nice person in the least, particularly toward people and exceptionally so toward animals and so I thought that a good way to make this money do some good while getting the dirty money and it’s bad karma away from me would be to donate it to a charitable animal cause. Hurricane Katrina brought the plight of thousands of animals left behind and is now causing animal causes in other parts of the country to suffer from lack of funds and help. But I felt I needed some connection to a chosen organization other than to just the Humane Society.

After a few weeks of research especially regarding the part about administrative costs, we decided to go with the Feral Cat Coalition of Oregon which also works in my state of Washington. Since we have taken in feral cats and currently have two of them, we understand the need to get all ferals spayed or neutered and disease-checked. Two of the really cool things about our donation is 1) WS’ work employer will match dollar for dollar our donation to the Feral Cat Coalition meaning TWO thousand dollars will be given to them, and 2) this donation would completely fly in the face of anything my grandfather would ever deem acceptable. As a man who hated everything with fur or feathers, it seems fitting that his money would be used to help. We feel good about our donation and its one less thing on my mind now.

Yesterday, SportsOrNothing moved out. Today, new carpet is being laid next door in the empty house. Yes, on a Sunday making us wonder what kind of carpet place and carpet layers work on a Sunday. I think we all know the answer; its typical of how SportsOrNothing used to do everything and that was a cheaply as possible.

The bad thing is that SportsOrNothing left a ton of garbage out on the curb to be picked up in the form of assorted and overfilled PAPER bags, buckets, boxes, and the like. Uh, it rains here, boneheads and trash won’t be picked up until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. And we all know what happens on trash days, right? It’s gets windy and usually rainy too. WS already gave me the go ahead to take any and all trash that ends up in our yard and throw it back into their yard. No sign of the new owners yet and I don’t expect to see them for a few days, well after trash damage might be done. I am SO tired of cleaning up after SportsOrNothing. If it always wasn’t their trash in our yard, it was piles of fast food wrappers and drink cups tossed in our bushes alongside their driveway. The real story here is that I’m getting real tired of cleaning up after other people but I don’t expect that will change anytime soon.

The Dry Cleaners across the street is setting out the obligatory lighted reindeer in his front lawn today. His house was one of three on our street that hadn’t had any Christmas decorations up yet even though I’ve usually got the tendency to be on his time schedule than the early schedule everyone else here seemed to be running on this year. Personally, I didn’t think they were going to put up anything since they still had Jack-O-Lantern cutout characters taped to their front windows up until this morning. I think it’s more important to wonder if they plan on removing the carved pumpkin from their front porch before next July. It’s funny how the original owners of that house did the exact same thing.

On the other side of us, The Dimmers have gone full bore on the lights mostly in a reasonable and appeasing manner. It’s the power strip hanging from the upper corner eave of the house, with too many bright orange extension cords to mention coming out of it at all angles, ala The Griswold’s, that kind of detracts from the likable look. Or maybe that’s part of the decoration, I don’t know. Sure would make for fast put up and take down times, the part I’ve come to dread. We’re the anal types who bury our cords and make them as inconspicuous as possible and obviously, that’s an old fashioned way of doing things. We’re doing that all wrong.

December 5, 2005

Wow! It’s sunny outside. Didn’t see that coming. Neither did the weather people *snort* In fact, they predicted wind, usual for our Monday trash pickup day and we all know how those days usually go. I was positively shocked when not only was there no wind and no vandals rooted through SportsOrNothings thirty-five foot long pile of trash they left behind when they moved out last Saturday but that the garbage men actually TOOK.IT.ALL. For a company that no longer takes pizza boxes of any size, shape, or condition, I am astounded that they took every last bag, bucket, can, pail, and container stuffed full of items I don’t even want to think about (looked mostly like exploded science projects from their two garage refrigerators).

But the big news occurred last night after dark when I stepped out front to check on Limpy who continues to be forced to live outside by his owners, the Howler Monkeys in below freezing night time temps. The cat was huddled in a makeshift cardboard, duct tape, and bath towel creation I put out for him near our front door last weekend and he looked reasonably comfortable for the time being. Next door at the old SportsOrNothings house, a dark blue Chevy Tahoe with California plates on it sat in the driveway, the automatic garage door was up, and the overhead light was on. As clearly as if someone were standing next to me I hear a female voice, not Ms.SportsOrNothing’s, say, “This is unacceptable!” Then the interior door from the garage to the house slammed and I didn’t hear anything more.

Hmm, don’t know what that was all about but the house did just have new carpet installed yesterday (see yesterday’s post). Maybe the house sale hinged on SportsOrNothing fixing and replacing things that wasn’t done to someone’s satisfaction?

Anyhoo, we were here all day yesterday and know no one officially moved into the house yet the Tahoe sat in the driveway all night and this morning I saw a young man leaving in it. He was dressed exactly like you would expect someone with money and a fashion sense to look as if they were heading up to Lake Tahoe to go skiing with Hugh Grant and Prince William: Obligatory dark blue suede baseball hat sans logo, perfectly fitting dark Columbia ski jacket, smart wool sweater peeking out from the open neck with just a hint of a white, Lands End turtleneck showing. I think I saw an outline of a ski rack still in its wrapper propped up in the passenger seat waiting to be installed because everyone knows that when you move from California to Washington, you must, MUST install a ski rack on whatever you own; SUV, sports car, scooter, doesn’t matter. He’s probably at a local Les Schwab tire shop right this minute having studded tires put on because that’s something else you do when you move from the sunny state to an area that rarely if ever gets snow yet has evergreen trees; you put on tires that ruin city roads.

Also, this morning, a satellite company truck came out and I assumed our new neighbors were going to get a dish put on their house but instead, the large, shaved head man puttered around with the cable utility box that straddles the property line between our two houses. Perhaps they got cable turned on or the SportsOrNothings got their turned off. The guy kept looking up at our house so I’m a little worried that ours might have been turned off instead but everything seems to be working still.

On the new neighbors first return trip early this afternoon, they brought a huge Weber BBQ (with cover that probably won’t last with our usual winter winds) and a round rusty white table for the backyard. They also brought more clothes on hangers than I think I’ve ever owned in my entire lifetime. So while I’m still wondering what they are sleeping or sitting on, I’m comfortable in knowing that they will look well put together to their new neighborhood.

December 6, 2005

It’s 2 a.m. and I’m breaking my week long NyQuil habit which means I’ll be off a regular sleep cycle for a week or so. The Wall Streets next door continue to move in, little by little overnight. The last batch I saw last night was a load of huge boxes with LG Electronics logos all printed on them brought over in a little trailer pulled behind the Tahoe. So far, no baby crying that I can hear.

I took my car out yesterday for a forty-five minute run up and down the back roads around our place. I don’t want to end up like I did last year with an entire tank of gas to burn off before the Roadster show the first week of March. Rules state no car will be allowed into the building with more than a quarter tank of gas. I get nearly 26 miles per gallon and have over two-thirds of a tank left from the last time I filled up, back in August I think. Last year, I ended up with tons too much gas and no way to siphon any off so I had to start up and run the car for two hours a day for the last few weeks just to burn off the extra gas. I couldn’t drive it around then because it was raining so much and I was cleaning every square inch of the thing for the show. The Roadster show will be my last official car show for a while this year so it’ll be the last big cleaning job I’ll need to do for a while. But heck, I’ve got lots of time still. I’ll take it out again for another run Friday or Saturday when it’s dry again. Rain is due back tonight. I’m hoping to be down to a little over a third of a tank then, just enough to allow me to start it up every other week this winter and drive down to Portland’s Expo center in March.

I need to get back to writing my novel I started last month so I can finish the thing like I promised myself and a few other people but I’m getting sidetracked far too easily lately. I let myself get sidetracked I’ll confess. I have tons of discipline…but not this month for some reason. Sure, I had a cold last week but I’m nearly over that. Sure the holidays are right around the corner but we don’t do anything for the holidays so that’s not an excuse. I’ve got lots of stuff piled up that needs to be done that I put off last week when I was ill but I don’t feel like doing much of that either. I have begrudgingly been slowly catching up on that stuff here and there. It’s just the writing part that being completely ignored. Must.Force.Myself. Must.Use.Discipline. Must.Not.Get.Sidetracked by the evil Internet which calls to me from time to time louder than usual and offers up good stuff like free video and music files. Monday, I swore I was going to write but in the process of getting in the mood, I ran across some place that had a couple of cool mixed music tracks. Mixed music tracks are also called Mash-ups and they are two, three, sometimes up to five different songs mixed together to create a completely new tune. It’s got to be hard to do this and I really do admire anyone who can pull it off well.

My current favorites are

Rapture Riders – Blondie vs. The Doors
Alive and Nellified – Nelly vs. MooneySuzuki
And what has got to be the best mash up ever created – Beyonce featuring Jay-Z vs. Groove Armada vs. Saliva

Addicting. But writing calls to me. Really it is. Really.

December 7, 2005

There’s something to be said about moving and I have to admire how some people are able to get together all their friends in the world, all who have pickup trucks that is, and spend a day or two moving all their worldly possessions all at once into a new abode.

Then there are the people who pick up the phone and pay others to do the heavy lifting for them.

Then you have people like this who pay to have a couple of shipping containers dumped off for who knows how long. I think it adds a nice holiday touch to our street, don’t you think?

And another thing, if I hadn’t already been told what our new neighbors do for a living (small investments) I would have nicknamed them “The night of the living deads”. Apparently they sleep all day and are only active at night when they are most apt to slowly, painfully slowly move anything into the house. We did see Ms. Wall Street set a couple of house plants out back on the deck last night. Unfortunately, the temperatures went down to 27 degrees F overnight and aren’t supposed to get much above 37 degrees today. You can imagine what those houseplants look like at this very moment. Ah, southern Californians who’ve never experienced anything lower than tropical weather. I think these people are going to be more entertaining than I first had hoped.

Oh, and I nailed it on the studded tires and ski rack (see Monday’s post). Both the Tahoe and mini van have been outfitted with both. And finally, the last point of irritation today from next door: Since late Sunday after the house next door was re-carpeted, our front yard, porch, and driveway have been peppered with thousands of tuffs and strands of off-white carpet. If I didn’t know that these aren’t biodegradable, I’d look at them as a free substitute for snow. Let’s all hope for a good strong wind over the next couple of days to blow these things away, okay? Or else I’m going to feel the need to voice my displeasure.

December 8, 2005

The Wall Streets next door have finally started to unload the storage pod parked on the street. And what was it filled with you might ask? Brightly colored plastic Fisher Price kid’s playground equipment. Lord help us, another big plastic playhouse for the back yard. For anyone keeping track, that makes five total that I can see in five different back yards from our back windows. It would seem I planted the deciduous trees on the wrong side of our back yard. I should have just planted tall cedar trees on both sides in order to block the view, but then again, the SportsOrNothings told us they planned on living next door for a decade or more. Can’t we get these plastic eyesores outlawed or something? And another less-than-truthful tidbit Ms. SportsOrNothing told us before she moved out,; she insisted the new owners wouldn’t be putting up any playhouse or kid’s equipment in the back yard. I should have known better.

No less than six SUVs and oddly all with California license plates parked up and down the street yesterday afternoon, each with only person onboard (because SUVs aren’t ‘really’ for large families – it’s all about image) to help the Wall Streets move the lightweight plastic furniture. Oh, and to talk on their cell phones out in the middle of the yard. I guess they’ve discovered there is no cell phone reception inside the house. An unusually loud phone conversation prompted Mr. Dry Cleaner from across the street to walk over and briefly introduce herself to Ms. Wall Street who pointed at the Howler Monkey’s house with a completely outstretched arm and finger for nearly the entire exchange. I’m simply mentioning this because WS is always telling me to stop pointing at things. He needs to take his advice next door I think.

Everyone over there looked like they just walked out of a Gap commercial. I am not kidding in the least. Northwest poser kinds of clothes on thin builds. Everyone has highly streaked hair and too much tan skin showing. A year here will probably fix that. Another year after that and they’ll all start putting on a little “winter” weight. They all look like they need to eat something, anything, but quickly so they don’t blow away in the wind. And what’s with the heavy construction-grade gloves they all have on? Other than the obvious clash with the stylish and overpriced clothing, nothing in the storage pods looks to need gloves to handle.

Oh! I get it now. The gloves are protecting their manicures! And that’s for both the women and the men. Silly me.

Yeah, it’ll be interesting to see how they will fit in. But of course, they have kids. The balance of power between the young families and the empty nesters continues to lean heavily to the breeders side. The Wall Streets will fit in just fine with everyone else because everyone else here has kids. It sure would have been interesting had SportsOrNothing sold their house to that semi-retired couple though but no use crying over spilt milk.

Last night was the monkey car club general meeting and I had to present my thoughts on the Portland Roadster show club display. Luckily for me, a couple of other people were actually interested and signed up to help with ideas and labor. Then I asked if the club would have a problem with asking non-members to enter their cars in our display because we are looking for a couple of specific year cars (56 thru 66). I was flooded with suggestions of people with those cars to contact. It was a great response for once but keep in mind, I was also supposed to be taking secretary notes on the meeting and the entire end was a blur. I know I missed something I was supposed to jot down but emails sent to attendees have gone unanswered so far, including one to the president of the club, Ms. Snooty who has in the past insisted that I type up the minutes and get them to her within 36 hours. The clock is ticking.

And as expected, all the talk about the Roadster show kicked my brain into overdrive overnight. The minute I turned off the TV, my mind turned on and wouldn’t let me get to sleep until well into the morning hours. And as soon as I did wake up bright and early, it was back on the car show track. Granted, I think I have some decent new ideas that could be used somehow but geesh, do I ever hate dreaming of cars sometimes.

December 9, 2005

I actually slept regular hours last night and it was amazing. Illness always brings out the insomniac in me and after enjoying a year of a relatively “normal” sleep pattern, I’d do nearly whatever it takes to keep it as normal as possible. Sure, I dreamt of stuff but at least it wasn’t about cars for once. It was about houses, massively big, under construction houses, the kind I saw yesterday when I took my car out again for another drive around the outskirts of town.

The filling in of wild, wooded gaps has started in and outside of our area including over by Lacamas Lake in Washington, an area that is part elegant McMansions, part wild life park. I had heard that the McOwners of the McMansions over there were trying to block new construction in their area but I guess they lost the fight. Yesterday, I saw countless newly paved roads winding up through straw-covered hills that had been clear cut and signs advertising new homes (starting at the mid $600’s). The housing boom is supposed to be over here but apparently, it’s still a bargain for people coming from Seattle, parts of Portland, California, and elsewhere. Talk about making a person feel like they live in a slum even though we don’t. I’ll just keep in mind how high the mortgage and utility costs are for those three-story junior mansions that are built mainly just for showing off and how buying something like that has got to be a very risky move in this economy ESPECIALLY in our area no matter what a person does for a living.

Lots of things coming up that I need to attend. Car club Christmas party, post NaNo celebration party, WS’ departmental work dinner, car club board meeting, and a formal dinner I’m still on the fence about attending (more on that later). If we don’t watch ourselves, we might actually become confused with people who socialize! I really wanted to do a couple of holiday Christmas-y things this year like visiting Portland’s Grotto of Lights even though it’s got a religious theme (I heard it wasn’t too much so) and to walk along Portland’s downtown waterfront, something we haven’t done in six or seven years. I think we’re just going to run out of time but that’s okay because at this time of year, everyone seems to run out of time. At least we don’t have to lump in shopping for gifts, an activity I don’t miss in the least.

I think I’m finally caught up on most of the stuff that I ignored during my bout with a cold last week. Although I felt a little “off” here and there over this past week, I caught up completely on laundry, finished decorating inside (I think I’m going to leave outside on the sparse side unless WS wants to put up more lights), organized the disaster that was the closet under the stairs where all the downstairs xmas stuff is stored, filled up the tires on my car which were dangerously low as it tends to get when it sits all winter long, and even started working on my NaNo novel again. If I don’t watch myself, I’m going to start looking like I’ve got everything under control again and that just leads to people around me becoming intimidated. Silly people. Don’t you all know people like me are just faking it?

December 10, 2005

We had our lowest temperature of the year here last night and heavy frost this morning. Sure, lots of people around the country have tons of snow this morning, something we hardly ever get here. But we also don’t tend to get that much heavy frost. To see everything white out back was pretty and makes us both renew our wish for snow. As soon as I could, I ran out back and snapped away some pictures before the sun popped over the fence and melted it all.

December 13, 2005

Yesterday was an interesting day for me. First off, this journal page would not load at all for me yet everything else would, including the website for the place that hosts this page. That part was annoying.

Secondly, I had to drive down to Portland Airport to meet with and present my sketch and ideas for the monkey car club’s display for the Roadster show coming up next March. The fact that I have never given a presentation or proposal before in my life was only half the “fun”. The other half was that I had to present it to one of the multi-millionaire partners/owners of the printing company that does most of the printing for the city of Portland, and who, if he liked my ideas, would have all the display’s artwork printed up for free; thousands of dollars of printing at no cost to the club at all.

Gee, no pressure there or anything.

But other than me accidentally spitting a piece of lettuce from my grilled chicken Caesar salad directly at him during our power lunch at the new classy Stanford’s Restaurant in the airport WHILE HE WAS LOOKING but only because he asked me a question while my mouth was full, I think I did Okay. Note to self: DO NOT eat or drink during presentations, proposals, or power meetings. Ever.

He added a few stylish ideas himself to my plan that I liked (not that I’d have much say one way or the other if I didn’t) and once I research and gather one other necessary item and the club liaison gathers his information, the printer millionaire will start printing up everything we need.

Amazing. If anyone would have told me a year ago when I was just about to be laid off that I would be meeting and having lunch with millionaires in an International airport for the sole purpose of showing them some drawing I did in PhotoShop, I would have told them they had me confused with someone who doesn’t regularly stick one’s foot in one’s mouth.

I’ve also been trying to contact with a few other club members over the past couple of days to get information I need from the display but naturally, no one is returning either my emails or phone calls. I know it’s the holiday Christmas season and all but c’mon, people. A five minute call back is all I’m looking for here.

Anyhoo, tonight the display construction guy is stopping by to look at my plans. Wednesday night is the last car club meeting of the year. Thursday night is WS’ department dinner up the street at some quaint little restaurant. Friday night, astonishingly enough, I don’t have anything lined up. Saturday afternoon/evening is the party being thrown by Dick, the guy who wasn’t elected President of the monkey club this past September. I really don’t know why I’m going to this party. I think I had a good reason last week as to why I felt it would be a good move to make an appearance over there but this week, that reason has escaped from me.

Like I said earlier, if I don’t watch myself, I just might be mistaken for a social butterfly.

The good thing is after this week, I don’t have a single other engagement until mid-January. Yep, that includes Christmas day and New Year’s Eve. We’re just boring that way.

December 14, 2005

The unusual dry, cold weather we’ve been having will continue throughout next weekend, the weather people say, but I don’t like it. Sure, I like the cold, but I like the rain better, much better. The night temperatures are regularly getting down to 25 degrees F here but with no rain in the past 26 days, plants outside are looking parched and there isn’t anything I can do about it. Anything that I would water would simply freeze the roots into an ice ball and kill the plant, yet it’s like the Sahara out right now. I’m trying not to think about it.

The good thing about the dry weather is that it gives me time to cover and put away the patio furniture for the year, something I have been ignoring horribly thus far. Maybe today I’ll remember to do that. The weather has also given me time to work on my bird photography skills and that I enjoy. In the past few days, I’ve discovered a couple of new birds visiting our backyard – a sweet little bird called a Kinglet and straggly flocks of bushtits. I was finally able to capture (badly) a shot of the Kinglet but the bushtits still elude me. Those are fast, flittery birds!

This morning, I saw a bird sitting on the very top of a short pine we have out back near the bird feeders for a long time. I thought it was a small northern flicker for the longest time but as I came upstairs and looked out through the old office window, I saw that it was a Varied Thrush. We rarely get those here unless the weather is very cold or very dry and then they poke around in the splashing fountain. Just as I lined up the camera to take what I’m sure would have been one of the best shots ever, it took off from the pine. What I snapped isn’t clear but interesting I thought nonetheless. I really like this photography thing, regardless if I get the perfect shot off or not.

Tonight is the Monkey Car Club board meeting across town. I’m not really looking forward to it naturally, but I think I’m starting to fall into the rhythm of taking notes, typing them up, and sending them out in a timely manner. It’s not really a big deal for me anymore. “Just ten more months of these people,” I keep telling myself. “Just ten more months.”

December 16, 2005

Last night was our coldest night in our area in years. We were down to 19 degrees F and woke up to very heavy frost this morning. Yesterday our area only got up to 33 degrees and it’s still dry as a bone; definitely not usual weather. Lots of ice is forming in the fountain but the birds sure seem to love it. Since we’ve been gaining more and more ground feeding birds over the past few years, I tend to spread more seed out under the feeders than put in the upper feeders (but I do keep them filled as well). We have a chance of getting freezing rain by Monday morning but we’ll have to wait to see if that will really happen. That would make for an interesting drive anywhere.

The SportsOrNothings stopped by next door yesterday. I was sitting up here in front of the computer as usual working on car club stuff and heard loud voices coming from outside. Peering out the window, I had a clear view of both Ms. And Mr. SportsOrNothing who were talking loudly to someone standing behind that lovely POD storage monstrosity that’s STILL there and they weren’t using their happy, indoors voices either. Moments later, a utilities truck drove up and a worker hopped out and approached the group. Minutes later, everyone got into their vehicles and drove away. The SportsOrNothings looked up at our house as they drove off and I thought Ms. SportsOrNothing looked downright pissed. I wonder if someone forgot to transfer the electricity into someone else’s name perhaps? Maybe someone realized they were paying for the Wall Streets power or something? We’ll never know.

Poor Limpy continues to live outside in the bitter cold. I built a makeshift covered box for him to sleep in every night but whenever I get up in the middle of the night, I usually look out front to see if he is in it. Sometimes he is and sometimes he is sitting in front of the door across the street at the Howler Monkey’s house where he lives. I really don’t like these people at all. A person can tell a lot about someone’s personality by the way they treat animals and waitresses, they say and over the years, I have found that to be absolutely true. The good thing is we should only have another night or two of these low temperatures and then it goes up to something above freezing. But I’ll tell ya, if we didn’t already have seven, Limpy would be inside here in a flash.

The Monkey Car Club board meeting Wednesday night went okay, I guess. I found out that I probably won’t be getting anymore money for the club’s Roadster show display. They want to cap the cost at $375, $300 of which they already gave me. There is no way possible to build this display for that little and it’s frustrating, especially when I know that other clubs are spending upwards to a thousand dollars. The problem lies with this club which has never, ever operated under a budget before and now, there is no money at all left for projects such as this. Well, I already know we’ll probably chip in a few dollars here and there to make the display happen as will probably the display builder but this is just another reason why I won’t be sticking around with this club. It was also interesting to see that the club is willing to fork out four thousand dollars for their year end banquet and that most of that money is spent on alcohol yet they insist on being part of a major car show every year but don’t want to pay for the cost.

Last night was WS’ work department Christmas dinner and that was very nice. It helped that it was held about two miles away from our house too especially since it was 27 degrees F. out at the time. It sounds like WS will be traveling to San Diego next month and although I’d love to go, even if I just sat in a motel room the entire day, I’m not sure I’ll be able to afford to pay for the pet sitter and take time away from the Roadster show planning. Of course, WS will say we can afford the pet sitter and as for the Roadster show, that simply means I need to learn to delegate some of the work. And he’d be right.

Today we’ve got to do grocery shopping and I have to pick up a cake for the holiday party tomorrow night which sounds like it is already shaping up to be uncomfortable for most people attending. The party is being put on by Dick, the guy who wasn’t elected president of the Monkey Car Club and who wrote a scathing email letter that he sent to half the people on the planet about how much and why he hates everyone (some who he has invited to the party). One of his best friends who is a board member of the car club told me Wednesday night that he had spent last Friday night over there listening to Dick go on and on about how he realized now that writing the email was a bad thing. After twenty minutes, Dick’s best friend finally agreed with him and that’s when Dick let him have it. The way the guy explained it to me was that he almost felt Dick purposely lured him into agreeing with him just so he could unleash his fury on him. Nice way to treat your best friends, huh? Really, if I hadn’t already RSVP’ed, I wouldn’t be going. But a part of me still would like to just sit and listen for a while to any potential ranting. We will not be staying long regardless of if Dick is on his best behavior or not, citing the cold weather and “my fear of driving under below freezing temperatures” which is only half true.

December 17, 2005

This past week has been more a week of irritation than any other I can think of in recent memory. I’ve felt that I have given in to everyone else’s needs, wants, and desires except my own and I have to admit I was downright pissed most of yesterday because of it. What I thought would be the course for the day turned out to be anything but what happened yet never was I told that was the way the day was going to be. As a result, N.O.T.H.I.N.G. got done yesterday because I spent it sitting around waiting for things to happen that didn’t. It was a completely wasted day and that has led to me wanting to do something comforting. Like eating or shopping. Being as I have no money to shop with and that I was horrified at the reflection of myself in a mirror last week when I was at someone else’s home, perhaps you can understand my frustration in everything right now. Welcome to the holidays where countless thousands of people don’t feel all cheery and happy and feel a bit let down even before the holidays begin. It’s probably a good thing that I can’t go shopping because the first person who wished me a merry Christmas would probably get a sock in the eye.

Okay, now that THAT is out of my system, happy last weekend shopping before the big day. Ho, Ho, Humbug!

December 18, 2005

If you were here during the daylight hours, you would have been able to see via the webcams the icy weather we’re having. The ice storm began just before 2 p.m., hours and hours before the weather people predicted it would. This, of course, shows how badly those people predict anything and now hundreds of people are trapped in their cars on the freeways. I-5 in our area is completely shut down due to the ice on the road and the vehicles are stuck bumper to bumper. Bet those people are having fun.

The change in the weather has ended my self-imposed pity party of yesterday. However, until we get some actual rain, I’m still going to be feeling a bit under the weather. All this dryness has brought back my cough with a vengeance and my asthma and sinuses aren’t too happy about it either. Rain should be coming in Tuesday. I made it up to now; I can make it until then.

I spent the morning over at the Roadster show construction guy’s house and all I can say is it’s a good thing we thought to build a mockup of part of the display because what the millionaire printer guy wanted it built out of will NOT work at all. ABS pipe is just too flexible and a 20×120 foot display built out of that would be unstable and unsafe. Not the kind of condition I want around a dozen $60K cars. We’re going to build it out of wood instead just like we had first wanted to before Mr. I’m-Not-A-Construction-Guy-But-I’m-A-Millionaire decided ABS pipe would “be better.” NOT!

So, I’ve got a mockup of one of the sections sitting over here now. I just need to paint the top and then dissemble it and get it to the millionaire printer guy’s shop down in Portland. With the weather outside, that’s not going to happen until the end of the week at the earliest. But that’s okay, we’ve still got lots of time.

WS is glued to the TV watching the local news. He’s hoping for the weather to hold as it is so he doesn’t have to go into work tomorrow. Sure, he’ll still have to work but he can do that from home and that way, I won’t be worried sick about him skating around out there with all the other people who don’t know how to drive on ice.

Time to go see what the latest is on the ice and to curl up on the couch with a cup of tea with honey.

December 19, 2005

My cold is back. It could have had something to do with having to stand outside in the 50 mile per hour wind yesterday while manually refilling the fountain and not being able to get the faucet cover back on but then again, it could have had something to do with making a crack about “guy measurements” in the comments section. I’ll never learn.

So my voice has come and gone a few times today and my lungs want to seize up from time to time probably partly due to me taking NyQuil again which people with asthma shouldn’t really take just for that reason. But that leaves absolutely nothing an asthmatic can take to stop the constant coughing, the runny nose, the headache, and severe sore throat. I tell you if the bird flu makes it here, I’m a goner. It’s as simple as that. I’ll be lucky if I get out my last “tweet tweet.”

I’m certain I picked up this latest cold at Dick’s Christmas party Saturday night. More people showed up to that thing than I think even he expected. And I literally felt micro-sprayed with saliva several times as people got close to me to tell me this or that funny anecdote. One of them had to be carrying something.

December 20, 2005

WS here, substituting for B, who is down and out today with a nasty cold that looks like it’s a resurgence of her prior cold that followed Thanksgiving week, but never completely cleared up.

So here I am, sitting on the couch with the kitties, letting B sleep while I cycle through movies like the couch-toad I used to be. Some observations on the channel-fly:

Hitch: Thumbs up. Some seriously laugh-out-loud-funny bits that lived up to the previews and a rather cute story line as well.
Blade – Trinity: The other end of the scale. Though this is the one role that Wesley Snipes seemed destined to play, this sequel manages to trash the whole Blade mess.
A Christmas Carol (1951, Alistair Sim): Always a pleasure and one of the best renditions ever.
A Night at the Roxbury: This is just the kind of flick I feel guilty about liking. ‘Emilio!!!’
Shaun of the Dead: While I have to admit this does not hit my funny bone the way it does many others, but I did get a kick out of the opening scenes that showed exactly how close we are in our daily routine to the walking dead.

Please think good thoughts for B in the hope that she’ll be feeling back to normal soon. I don’t think I’m cut out for this substitute poster thing.

December 22, 2005

Well, if having this prolonged cold isn’t about as much fun as falling into a barrel of pissed off monkeys drunk on prune juice, I don’t know what could be worse. Wait a minute. Yes I do know what could be worse. Let’s just step away from that subject and hopefully, no one will get hurt.

I started to feel a bit better yesterday morning when I awoke without a sore throat for the first time in three weeks. Although my headache continued, little did I know that my day was going to get considerably better before it was over. WS bought home the mail after work and in it we got an incredible snowflake-filled card from Mary Lou (This is your BEST card ever, ML!) and TWO cards from Lostdawill, both absolutely hilarious and fits us to a tee! Not only was that a surprise, but it’s our first correspondence from Canada, a country we love dearly, even if they won’t let us move there. I can’t thank you two enough!

Then, a surprise of surprises, a package from Canada; a little something WS ordered a few weeks ago after we were sitting around watching a Canadian hockey game on TV. It’s sitting under the tree unopened for the time being but I know what’s in it. *Squeals of delight abound!*

If you are a regular reader here, you know that we don’t generally do the whole Christmas gift buying thing. In years past and when I’ve had a job we had the tendency to buy gifts whenever the urge struck us year-round. We didn’t need a special holiday for it. Now that money is almost as tight as when we first became a couple we’re still Okay without buying gifts at Christmas. For me I guess I just want everyone else to get whatever they are wishing for. I always liked giving gifts rather than receiving them anyway.

But for WS, this year might be different. He was a real good boy at work recently and received a healthy monetary reward for his efforts. Naturally, I think he should use it for himself, he having earned it and all. But WS, Mr. Technology and Super Enginerd all rolled into one, thinks he wants an iPod. Thankfully enough, he doesn’t want one bad enough to go ahead and just buy one. Anything like that needs weeks if not months of research done on it first, something WS is famous for doing and of which always brings up the negatives versus positives of owning one. Fortunately, the negatives are outweighing the positives right now – scratched screens, battery life, those horrible ear bud things, etc.

In doing a smidge of research myself because that’s one of the things that will come to define your life when you’re married to an anal retentive engineer, I’ve found it’s best to equate buying an iPod to purchasing crack cocaine.

Sure, you can go out and buy a little chunk of the stuff but you can’t really do much with just the chunk. NOOoooo, to really do it up good you need a spoon and a lighter and a pipe and maybe a syringe and something to tie your arm off so your veins pop out. And then you need a nice place to enjoy the high but don’t forget a bucket or at least something you can barf into because almost everyone pukes at some point.

Buying an iPod isn’t much different. You can’t just buy an iPod. No, you HAVE to buy all this other stuff just so you can enjoy the thing. And you will enjoy it. Trust me, you’ll enjoy it all right…at first. Yeah, it’ll be fun to clip it to your belt, maybe even attach it to an armband so you can constantly listen to your favorite music all the time no matter where you are – at home, in the kitchen, while you exercise, while you’re relaxing, while you’re on the toilet. You’ll see the commercials on TV and smugly smile knowing you are one with the iPod world and should you happen to run into someone else with an iPod you can talk the iPod language and drop words like “Sound Docks,” “iTrips,” “iM11,” and “DLO FM TransPod Digitals.” Yes, you are cool and you’d swear on all your mother’s bridge partner’s graves that everyone wishes they were as trendy as you.

And without knowing it, it begins. You begin to shop around looking to buy stuff for your innocent iPod; stuff you justify to yourself you NEED for it. Stuff like dock connectors and power adaptors because you’ll want to hook your iPod up to your work computer and your home computer and maybe even to your home stereo too. And you’ll tell yourself you need a way to listen to it in your car. And then you’ll start buying cute little protective covers, pouches, and cases for it because “you need to” and then different headphones with amplifiers built in and the new Griffin FM attachment and a voice activation add-on and the camera connector. And let’s not forget the remote or the speakers or the microphones or the voice recorders or the stands and the mounts that are so pretty they could make you cry. And before you know it, your bank account is drained, you have dark circles under your eyes from staying up at all hours looking for new accessories to buy online, and then, just when you’ve realized that you’ve spent more on accessories than for the iPod itself and perhaps you need to take a step back and assess the damage, Apple releases a newer, cooler iPod version!

Obviously someone has to put their foot down in this household and now that I’m feeling a bit better, it might as well be me. While I have to give him kudos for taking care of me over the past few days when I was under the weather, I can’t let him get sucked into the slick and shiny marketing. And I’m sure he’ll agree as soon as he is feeling better too. Unfortunately, he seems to have caught my cold this time around, but in this house, it’s better to get hooked on NyQuil than some plastic and metal thing that plays music. It’s less expensive anyway.

December 23, 2005

Okay, this is where you all grumble and moan at the bad Christmas links.

It just isn’t Christmas to me unless I run across goofy Christmas things like these. And since the day is nearly upon us, I guess I had better post them pronto.

December 24, 2005

We’ve decided to give ourselves and the makers of Zicam a very Merry Christmas. For ourselves, we’re certain we’ll find relief from our nasty colds. For the makers of Zicam, I’m sure this will go a little way toward lining their pockets come the next financial quarter.

(No, we don’t think we’ll need all this but lately there has been a run on Zicam products in our area. When we saw the shelves newly restocked yesterday, we grabbed all we could.)

According to NORAD, Santa is just about finished delivering presents to all of Europe, and the Atlantic. He’s rapidly heading to Antarctica as I type this. He won’t be here for another seven hours. Here’s to hoping he finds your house and doesn’t find you awake!

Merry Christmas all!

WS & Blogeois

December 26, 2005

Happy Boxing Day to all those who have and celebrate that day. Personally, I’d like to be out there celebrating it but we’re both still a smidge under the weather and don’t know where we’d go anyway, not that we have any thing to spend either.

Mary Lou, WS sent you an email on your comments problem. Don’t listen to what the news says. We aren’t without power, though I heard the wind and aren’t surprised to hear that some people lost power. 55 mile an hour whooshes recorded here in town, nearly 100 at the coast, and out of practically nowhere. I thought maybe Santa was flying really low for a while there but then I discounted it to the Zicam.

Speaking of Zicam, that is powerful stuff; a bit too powerful for my stomach because of the high dosage of zinc in some of the products. I actually had to take an anti-nausea pill twice after Zicam-ing it up before bed or risk losing it all in the porcelain throne. My system and zinc don’t play nice together unless I’ve got a full stomach and am taking a tiny amount of the stuff.

Which brings me to full stomachs; for Christmas dinner we decided to throw all tradition out the window this year and go with something completely different. We reached back to a small portion of my upbringing and went with a Southwestern Christmas feast of tamales, garlic-butter shrimp, enchiladas, and salsa – all made without any cheese because that would have prolonged our stuffy noses. It was absolutely wonderful and we’re sure the fresh tomatoes, onion, cilantro, and of course, the jalapenos helped us toward feeling better today. Let’s hear it for Mexican leftovers, one of my favorites! Yippee!

We’ve learned and observed a bit about our new neighbors, the Wall Streets, over the past couple of days and even spoke to one of them briefly this morning. I’ll divulge in that tomorrow though. Salsa is calling me.

December 27, 2005

So, we went to a mall yesterday. One of the larger ones a ways south of us and I have to say given its been three years since I last actively shopped at a mall (how 80’s!), I thought I had seen enough crap back then, but nooo. Apparently, malls are all about marketing all the crap nowadays. And for all the younger generations claim that mall shopping is something only their parents would be caught dead doing, the mall here was filled with anything but parents. Looks like it’s THE place to see and be seen again, at least for all the emos and Nuevo Goths. And the shops! What? Doesn’t anyone shop for anything but old jeans and cell phones? Too bad I’m not interested in either. Once again the marketing machines have left out my demographic…but then again, they never catered to me anyway.

It’d be pretty safe to say I didn’t see anything good yesterday.

But I did see something different on Christmas Eve day right out front of my house.

Ms. Wall Street from next door walked across the street to the community mailbox and looked like she was having all kinds of trouble getting into her mailbox. Maybe it was her first time using the key or maybe she didn’t have the right key. Maybe she’d never used a key in her life, who knows for sure. But one thing was certain and that was that she was PISSED because she couldn’t figure out how to get her mail because after she stood over there stomping her petite Gap-Look mid calf boots, she gave up, walked halfway back across the street, and then dramatically threw her key ring down in the middle of the road and stomped into her house, slamming doors left and right. Minutes later, Mr. Wall Street calmly walked out into the street, picked up the key ring, which looked like there were twenty or more keys on it, and went over and collected the mail without incident.

I’m just saying that was not something you see everyday.

Yesterday morning as I stepped out front to put food in Limpy’s bowl by our front door (honest, he isn’t our cat), Mr. Wall Street was standing out in his driveway and called over “Good Morning.” I returned the greeting, noting he was wearing jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt – definitely NOT Gap-looking attire, and I added, “Welcome to the neighborhood” because I thought I ought to say something other than to ask if his wife was a psycho or just had a problem with keys.

He thanked me and I gave him a lame excuse about us having nasty colds and not being able to stop over and welcome them officially which was mostly true and then I coughed a little to punctuate that point. We exchanged names and he said they had moved here from Sacramento and that he had gotten a job here two months before they found a house. I didn’t ask him what he did as I prefer at this early stage of the game to believe that not everything the SportsOrNothings told us about them was a fabrication.

I told him that if there was anything he needed or wanted to know about the area to just let us know. WS stepped outside then and we all exchanged names all over again and Mr. Wall Street said after they get more settled in they would stop by and properly introduce themselves which in this day and age and in this neighborhood probably means we’ll never see them again which would be perfectly okay with me being as they have a four year old and a seven month old and are looking to pop out more just as soon as they can. Young mothers with babies on the brain have never held my interest and me theirs so I’m sure we’ll just all end up smiling and occasionally waving to one another over the course of the next few years and leaving it at that. He didn’t ask if we had kids and I’m going to assume that they already know we don’t as if looking into our backyard and what’s in our garage for vehicles (two 2-doors and no SUV or mini van) wouldn’t be a pretty good tip off to that.

I would normally go on record at this point and give them credit for keeping their kids quiet to date, a surprising feat in this neighborhood but as soon as I would officially do so, we’d hear nothing but baby screaming.

We’re feeling a bit better today, cold-wise. The glands in my neck are still big and painful to the touch and have given me grief over the past couple of nights when trying to sleep. I tend to tuck my hands up under my neck when I sleep and that did nothing but keep me away. Of course keeping my hands somewhere else wasn’t as comfortable and that kept me awake too. But somewhere around 4 a.m. I drifted off only to wake before 9. If I keep this up, an afternoon nap might need to be in order.

December 29, 2005

Finally, finally, our bad colds are releasing their grips on us and since I’ve had a lot of time lying around feeling like crap over the past few days, I’ve developed a theory around the Zicam products we’re taking which contains zinc.

Zinc helps shorten the duration of colds and flu however it’s a bit strong for sensitive stomachs and has to be taken with food. If not, puking is definitely on the immediate bill of fare but afterward you will feel much better. A word to the wise: Don’t leave the house until you know whether you’re past the prime queasy stomach feeling.

If you take it after eating, a day later you’ll poop like there’s no tomorrow. And I’m not talking about an ordinary bathroom visit where you spent some time on the pot reading a book. I’m talking explosive, fast bodily evacuating pooping. A word to the wise: Have lots of toilet paper ready and one hand one the flush handle.

Obviously, zinc causes expulsion from one end of a body or the other and it’s that in itself which rids a body of a virus. Kind of like how Ebola works to bring up a similar example from the extreme other end of the scale. Yes, this is how my mind works sometimes when I’m ill.

So with feeling a tad better, yesterday we were able to go out into the world again. Last Monday evening we visited a mall some miles away which did nothing but remind us how horrible mall shopping can be as well as prove that there is too much inbreeding going on in South Portland.

Yesterday we decided to visit a new shopping area which we will call Pretentious Port Village. Sure, the shopping area is pretty and layout gives off a charming European feel but again, what’s with all the clothing stores? If it’s not clear by now, I am anything but a clothes whore. And all the petite clothing shops? Sizes I personally only experienced all too briefly before I turned six years old.

But we did find the Apple store and finally got to fondle the various iPod models. And while they are small and sleek and sexy, again, the accessories required were sparse and well picked through and although there were a ton of employees, none of them seemed to want to take the time to talk to us. They only wanted to talk to people who looked like the iPod types; something we definitely don’t look like.

There is a game we play from time to time with salespeople and it’s only their own faults that we even came up with the game. The game is to walk into some place with the clear intent to purchase something, often something that most people only talk about wishing to buy, and then seeing how long, if ever, it takes for a salesperson to help us. Often, we end up leaving empty handed because, and I’m assuming, because to salespeople we don’t look like spenders. We look like browsers.

Neither one of us are clothes, shoes, or jewelry people. We don’t own suits or dresses and while we do shower daily, WS shaves and I apply a very modest amount of makeup, we are always clad in clean clothes and shoes: Ordinary jeans, sneakers, comfortable dress shirt or t-shirt and nylon jackets. Our hairs are regularly cut but not styled with curls, waves, or gel. In general, we look like boring, average people and definitely not the kind who would walk into a place and plunk down the money to buy a BMW or an antique mid-century sideboard or a fully decked out, latest generation iPod. And so, we tend to get ignored. Sometimes, even when we ask to be helped. It’s at that point that the game begins. Often it ends with a salesperson’s loss of commission and some bad publicity later when I tell everyone I know what a pretentious ass that salesperson was.

There wasn’t any one person in the Apple store I can talk bad about – they were all equally snooty toward us – and so we left empty handed. Maybe we’ll revisit an iPod purchase later, maybe not but it won’t be from that place if we do. So then we walked into a known pretentious jewelry store nearby to look at something I wanted to gaze upon with my own eyes just once in my life to see what all the hub-bub was all about: The Hearts on Fire diamonds. And I discovered part of the reason the diamonds are so sparkly are because the jewelry store lights them with special colored halogen lights, just as I suspected. Oh how I hate trickery.

I didn’t want to see one up close. Looking at them through the glass case as we breezed by was fine by me and obviously fine by all the salespeople who were standing around looking at us down their perfectly upturned noses because not a one said a peep or even looked like they might be inconvenienced by asking us if they might be able to help us. But we did notice that everyone who entered the store after us was greeted with at least a “Hello. How are you today?” Not for us. We were snubbed again and inwardly, we smiled because we consider this a point in our column and we mentally add that business to our list of places we’ll never enter again.

There was one thing in that jewelry store that made an odd impression on me however. Along their back wall they have a “refreshment” bar set up only it didn’t just have coffee, tea, and water available to their shoppers but a whole assortment of some of the finest alcohol on the market. Gin, scotches, whiskies, and vodkas all lined up for shoppers to partake in. One decidedly soused-looking old guy sat sipping something while a younger significant other haggled nearby over the investment quality of a huge diamond solitaire. I tried not to stare as I wandered by but it was hard not to.

Today, WS is off from work until next week and he’s going to work on some computer stuff. It looks like Mary Lou’s ISP has added Haloscan to their list of blocked sites, something ISPs do from time to time simply because they can. If this is what happened, only an act of God will return access to the blocked site. We’ve seen this happen a few times before and often it is due to people complaining about receiving spam. Unfortunately, we’ve never heard of one returning access. Let’s hope that isn’t what is really going on with Mary Lou’s ISP and it turns out to be something simplier.

December 31, 2005

Well, it’s the end of another year. I am happy to see 2005 end as it’s been a very stressful year for WS and me both. A year ago today, we were both working for The Company just before they were bought out by the Big-Ass Corporation who was trying everything they could to get us to quit before laying us off in early January just so they wouldn’t have to pay us severance pay. This Big-Ass Corporation is in the middle of a big ol’ lawsuit right now because they refuse to pay all us ex-Company employees our owed stock money from the buyout. Who knows how long that will drag on but I’m willing to bet it will for just as long as it takes for all the money to be used up with court costs. Unlike MsNoManagementSkills, we aren’t relying on the money to be paid to us because we’ve done research and found that the Big-Ass Corporation does this with all the companies they buy up and hardly ever end up paying ex-employees anything.

This past year saw MsNoManagementSkills finally move out of our neighborhood. I guess she discovered it wasn’t as much fun watching us as she thought it was going to be. She never did catch us goofing off instead of working and that’s because WE DON’T GOOF OFF. But just try to tell her that. She won’t listen.

The latest news from her camp is that she’s being forced to find a job this coming year. She’s holding out only for what she wants to do – be a teacher’s helper. Unfortunately, she needs a college degree for that, which she doesn’t have, and I don’t think they are going to like finding that DorkMaster frequents porn chat rooms in his spare time…that is, if the school district even checks that deeply. Sad. DorkMaster’s kids continue to be terrors. Medicated terrors but terrors nonetheless. They are trying to get his oldest into some kind of tough-love counseling because she won’t stop stealing. Even visits to juvie and talks with the police hasn’t fazed her. MsNo and DM continue to ignore his middle kid who still talks about wanting to kill himself and they continue to over-medicate the youngest because of his violent temper tantrums. MsNo continues to complain that ever since she turned 30 this past year, life has gone downhill for her especially in the health department. I guess it doesn’t help that her mother brainwashed her into believing that life isn’t worth living much after turning the big 3-0. Good grief! My life didn’t even START until I turned 36.

This year has seen nearly everyone worth talking about in our neighborhood sell their homes and move on to greener pastures. It’s seen months upon months of stress with worrying if WS will have a job around the corner. It’s seen me come close to having a nervous breakdown over my layoff while recovering from surgery and a hysterectomy. It’s seen me try hard to control my weight after the surgery and try to deal with uncontrollable hot flashes, sometimes up to twenty a day. It’s seen a hip issue come up that has forced me to give up long distance pleasure driving and rotten car club people who have made me rethink the point of participating in car shows.

But in 2006, there are some bright spots we’re looking forward to. For me, I’ll be turning 50 next summer, something I have looked forward to my entire life however odd that sounds. I’m planning to rent a limo for that evening and take WS with me to dinner and on a tour of the town. I’m looking forward to finally getting the retaining wall work done in our backyard and spreading much needed bark mulch come April. I look forward to puttering around in the yard, something that was woefully ignored last summer because I didn’t want to work under MsNo’s constant scrutiny. I’m looking forward to enjoying a summer without worrying about whether my car is clean for the next car show. To not have to get up before dawn for a show and to sleep in late every weekend will be a treat for once. And I look forward to getting back to juicing regularly and a healthy eating pattern. I’m even looking forward to getting back onto the elliptical machine and WS’ rower; after I rid each of the cobwebs that is.

WS is looking forward to much of the same, I think, with the inclusion of learning more about photography. And of course, we’ll both be writing. I still need to pick back up my NaNo novel from this past November and finish it, but only after the March Roadster show. That thing has started to take on a life of it’s own and is sucking my very will to live. As that is my last car show as well, once that’s over, things ought to lighten up pretty well around here.

So c’mon 2006. I’m ready for ya! And I hope you all are ready as well. Have a safe and happy New Year’s Eve.

And as always, thank you so much for reading!