My son mentioned briefly in a blog recently that a button phobia was a silly thing. I beg to differ. Fear of buttons is a real and serious phobia. It even has a name, koumpounophobia. There are thousands of koumpounphobiacs. Steve Jobs, Apple founder, was one. On a forum (knitting) I visit daily, one woman mentioned that she had a problem with buttons and the response was amazing. Within minutes thirty or forty people had gone on detailing their problems with buttons. I have noticed that persons suffering from button phobia are generally quite intelligent. Perhaps it is this very intelligence that makes us sufferers so much more aware of the danger posed by theses seemingly harmless, supposedly inanimate objects.
I was not always onto the devious deadly button problem. As a child my mother routinely asked me to get out her button box and find a button to replace one lost from my father's shirt. It was only over time that I became aware of the problem. It started with a shudder when I saw a loose button, then a shudder and trembling if I was required to pick it up.
My husband and children learned never to ask me to sew on a loose button. If I could force myself to try, halfway through I would have to run to the bathroom and lose my lunch. Now it is painful to walk past the button aisle at Joann stores. I cannot look or I will get sick. If a button comes off my husband's shirt in the dryer I can get it out, but it involves putting on rubber gloves, a big wad of paper towels, and holding my breath until it is out, safely in the garbage can and I have made it to the bathroom where I again lose my lunch.
It is curious that I am not in any way afraid of much anything else. I pick up snakes, never met any animal that frightened me. Thunder and lightning invigorate me. Not afraid of the dark, except when entering the house after dark and in those last five steps before you make it to the door when you are most at risk of being caught by the monsters before you can get inside.
My friends waste a good deal of energy attempting to convince me that buttons are harmless. So sad that they are going through life clueless about the dangers that surround them. The buttons also apparently have the power to make my friends, otherwise nice people, into cruel hard persons. I think almost every single person who has found out about my koumpounophobia has at one time or another said, "Hey Cathy. Hold out your hand. I have something for you." Then they drop a button in my open hand and laugh hysterically when I run for the bathroom and vomit.
Perhaps I could stop the abuse with some avoidance therapy. Next time I think I won't run for the bathroom. I'll just let her rip onto their carpeting. Maybe give them a bit of emotophobia, fear of vomit. Ha!
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Saturday, February 1, 2014
Christine's return home
Yesterday I posted about Christine's fuel problem . I was a bit apprehensive about how she would behave at the garage. I shouldn't have worried. The woman at the desk smiled as I came in and said cheerfully that my car had behaved perfectly, no flashing lights, no locking and unlocking, no alarms. She was all fixed and ready to go.
I was so relieved. The bill was paid, they handed over my keys and I went to my car. I stopped for a moment behind the car and looked over the rather deep scratch on her back bumper that happened as we were being pushed. "It's not so bad", I told the car. "We can get this fixed and a scratch is sure better than a $100 tow charge."
Smiling, I got in my car. I put the keys in the ignition, adjusted seat and put on my seat belt, but before I touched the key to start the car, the doors locked and unlocked loudly and the car alarm went off. Panicked I pulled the key and kept pressing the remote to turn off the alarm, but it didn't work. Finally after I was sure my ears would burst the alarm went abruptly silent.I looked over at my son, who had driven me to the garage. He rolled down his car window and smiled at me. "I don't think Christine is too pleased with your casual attitude towards her scratch. Better promise to get it fixed pronto."
I promise, Christine. We'll fix that scratch. I keep reminding myself that 42 mpg is worth it.
I hope.
I was so relieved. The bill was paid, they handed over my keys and I went to my car. I stopped for a moment behind the car and looked over the rather deep scratch on her back bumper that happened as we were being pushed. "It's not so bad", I told the car. "We can get this fixed and a scratch is sure better than a $100 tow charge."
Smiling, I got in my car. I put the keys in the ignition, adjusted seat and put on my seat belt, but before I touched the key to start the car, the doors locked and unlocked loudly and the car alarm went off. Panicked I pulled the key and kept pressing the remote to turn off the alarm, but it didn't work. Finally after I was sure my ears would burst the alarm went abruptly silent.I looked over at my son, who had driven me to the garage. He rolled down his car window and smiled at me. "I don't think Christine is too pleased with your casual attitude towards her scratch. Better promise to get it fixed pronto."
I promise, Christine. We'll fix that scratch. I keep reminding myself that 42 mpg is worth it.
I hope.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Advantages of a Haunted Car
There are some advantages to having a haunted car.
Yesterday I had a bit of trouble starting Christine as I left karate. I wasn't too concerned but on the way home as I was going up a very steep hill, the car suddenly stalled. Not panicking I pushed in the clutch and tried to restart. Electrical seemed fine but clearly no fuel was getting through. The car began to slow and I realized it was going to stop in a bad place. On coming cars would not be able to see me stalled in the road the other side of the crest of the hill but the cars coming up behind me would not be able to see over the crest to the on coming cars if they tried to pass me. I moaned out loud, "Oh no, Christine. We're going to get hit if we stop here." Ever so slightly I felt her pick up a bit of speed (going up hill!) and she continued to roll till we crested the hill and moved away from the danger spot until we were visible to both lanes of traffic. I pulled off as far as I could as we came to a stop and thanked Christine for getting us up that hill.
I called Ron and he suggested calling a tow truck but I didn't have enough money to do that, so Ron said he would come. It turns out there was a garage specializing in import cars just 200 yards from where we stopped. Ron stopped behind me and a moment later a state trooper pulled up behind us. Ron told him that he was going to try to push my car with his and the trooper put on his lights to escort us safely to the garage. Made it! The trooper laughed at us before he left saying it was a pretty good way to save a $100 tow bill.
At the garage I left Christine, but I warned the woman at the desk that Christine was a haunted car. She might lock and unlock her doors at will and there was only the one key. I also warned of moving mirrors. Without missing a beat the woman assured me that it would be no problem. They had dealt with possessed cars before. At least I know Christine is in good hands!
They have examined her and found the cause of the problem (the original 13 year old fuel filter!!! and burnt out glow plugs.) I am waiting for the call that she is fixed. I hope she will be pleased when she gets home. I'll let you know what happens.
Yesterday I had a bit of trouble starting Christine as I left karate. I wasn't too concerned but on the way home as I was going up a very steep hill, the car suddenly stalled. Not panicking I pushed in the clutch and tried to restart. Electrical seemed fine but clearly no fuel was getting through. The car began to slow and I realized it was going to stop in a bad place. On coming cars would not be able to see me stalled in the road the other side of the crest of the hill but the cars coming up behind me would not be able to see over the crest to the on coming cars if they tried to pass me. I moaned out loud, "Oh no, Christine. We're going to get hit if we stop here." Ever so slightly I felt her pick up a bit of speed (going up hill!) and she continued to roll till we crested the hill and moved away from the danger spot until we were visible to both lanes of traffic. I pulled off as far as I could as we came to a stop and thanked Christine for getting us up that hill.
I called Ron and he suggested calling a tow truck but I didn't have enough money to do that, so Ron said he would come. It turns out there was a garage specializing in import cars just 200 yards from where we stopped. Ron stopped behind me and a moment later a state trooper pulled up behind us. Ron told him that he was going to try to push my car with his and the trooper put on his lights to escort us safely to the garage. Made it! The trooper laughed at us before he left saying it was a pretty good way to save a $100 tow bill.
At the garage I left Christine, but I warned the woman at the desk that Christine was a haunted car. She might lock and unlock her doors at will and there was only the one key. I also warned of moving mirrors. Without missing a beat the woman assured me that it would be no problem. They had dealt with possessed cars before. At least I know Christine is in good hands!
They have examined her and found the cause of the problem (the original 13 year old fuel filter!!! and burnt out glow plugs.) I am waiting for the call that she is fixed. I hope she will be pleased when she gets home. I'll let you know what happens.
Friday, January 17, 2014
More on Christine
I have posted a story on my haunted car, Christine. My husband read it and just shook his head. He has even ordered a new locking system for the door. He claims this will solve the problems and I will stop saying my car is haunted. I'm not so sure.
Example. I drove Christine on Monday. All was normal, no sudden unexplained locking, no alarms going off. Came home and parked . The next morning I went out and got in the car to go to karate and............The rear view mirror was now turned toward the house and a pair of gloves were now on the passenger seat! I would have thought that my son or husband was playing a trick on me, but there were no footprints in the snow by my car except the ones I made getting out the night before.
Next. I always put my keys in an exterior pocket of my purse. I am compulsive about it because I only have one ignition key and haven't had the time or money to go to Volkswagen to get another set. I have never put the key any other place except in a pocket if I am not carrying my purse. I always put the keys in the outside pocket of my purse before I get out of the car so I won't drop them. Wednesday I went out and got in the car to go to choir practice. Opened the zippered pocket and went for my keys. They weren't there. Panicked, I dumped my purse out. Nothing. I went in the house and checked the pockets of the jacket I had worn last and through the pockets of the jeans from the day before. I went back out to the car and checked the floor and under the seats. I tried to think about the previous day. Had I done something different? I remembered that I had decided to check the mail before I went in the house. I remembered leaving my purse on the seat, with the door open so it couldn't accidentally lock me out when I went down the driveway to the mailbox. Just scooped up my purse and coffee cup when I came back and shut the door and went to the house.
Eventually I found the keys. I had again dumped my purse out and was shaking it when I noticed a tiny bulge in an interior zippered pocket. Opened that and found my keys. Ok, I can hear you thinking I must have put them in the wrong pocket, except I don't use that pocket because it is really hard to unzip. The purse lining is not attached inside well and it is really hard to unzip that pocket. I have to set the purse down and hold and pull on the fabric to get the zipper to move at all. I couldn't have done that accidentally. It takes effort to do. I never use that pocket but,.........my purse was alone in Christine when I went to the mail box.
Have to leave for karate now. I'm a little afraid of what I might find.
I am beginning to believe my own story about a "haunted " car. Yikes!
Example. I drove Christine on Monday. All was normal, no sudden unexplained locking, no alarms going off. Came home and parked . The next morning I went out and got in the car to go to karate and............The rear view mirror was now turned toward the house and a pair of gloves were now on the passenger seat! I would have thought that my son or husband was playing a trick on me, but there were no footprints in the snow by my car except the ones I made getting out the night before.
Next. I always put my keys in an exterior pocket of my purse. I am compulsive about it because I only have one ignition key and haven't had the time or money to go to Volkswagen to get another set. I have never put the key any other place except in a pocket if I am not carrying my purse. I always put the keys in the outside pocket of my purse before I get out of the car so I won't drop them. Wednesday I went out and got in the car to go to choir practice. Opened the zippered pocket and went for my keys. They weren't there. Panicked, I dumped my purse out. Nothing. I went in the house and checked the pockets of the jacket I had worn last and through the pockets of the jeans from the day before. I went back out to the car and checked the floor and under the seats. I tried to think about the previous day. Had I done something different? I remembered that I had decided to check the mail before I went in the house. I remembered leaving my purse on the seat, with the door open so it couldn't accidentally lock me out when I went down the driveway to the mailbox. Just scooped up my purse and coffee cup when I came back and shut the door and went to the house.
Eventually I found the keys. I had again dumped my purse out and was shaking it when I noticed a tiny bulge in an interior zippered pocket. Opened that and found my keys. Ok, I can hear you thinking I must have put them in the wrong pocket, except I don't use that pocket because it is really hard to unzip. The purse lining is not attached inside well and it is really hard to unzip that pocket. I have to set the purse down and hold and pull on the fabric to get the zipper to move at all. I couldn't have done that accidentally. It takes effort to do. I never use that pocket but,.........my purse was alone in Christine when I went to the mail box.
Have to leave for karate now. I'm a little afraid of what I might find.
I am beginning to believe my own story about a "haunted " car. Yikes!
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Rebuttal to Brian's Car Wash Story
It has come to my attention that my son is planning on relating an incident that occurred while taking my car through the car wash. Should any of you follow his blog, The Dreamer's Door, (and you really should. He's very interesting) please be aware that his version of the event does not agree with mine.
The facts are quite simple.I had opened my door while paying for the wash because I couldn't quite reach the machine to swipe my card. I failed to close it all the way and when the car wash started some water came into my car. Here is where we differ on the following events. Brian claims I began to use a certain word and kept it up for the entire wash and all the way home plus a while longer after we got back. Certainly anyone who has ever met me could never even begin to imagine that a sweet, kind, gentle, patient person like myself could use that superfluous vulgarity at all, much less for twenty whole minutes.
I believe that when the water began to get in the car I said something like "Oh dear me. I am getting wet"
My son replied with something like "Well shut the door you crazy old woman!!!"
Not all that much water got in. My phone didn't even get wet because my purse floated to the back seat and my dash really did need a good cleaning. I did get the door properly shut and we simply finished the wash and headed home. My son would never tell a lie but he certainly remembers the event incorrectly. I think I can explain his confusion. First he had a bit of soap in his ears, (though I had a more.) Secondly he was laughing at his poor old mother a bit too much. In fact I remember thinking that I would,er, I mean he could hurt himself if he didn't stop laughing so hard. I have even figured out why he mistakenly thought I might have said a certain bad word. I put on my window wipers and they were making a sound kind of like "fwuck, fwuck, fwuck" as they went back and forth. Through his cruel laughter he must have misheard that sound and shockingly thought that I was making such a noise.
So there it is, all easily explained.
PS, And I only had those wipers going not a second over fifteen minutes.
The facts are quite simple.I had opened my door while paying for the wash because I couldn't quite reach the machine to swipe my card. I failed to close it all the way and when the car wash started some water came into my car. Here is where we differ on the following events. Brian claims I began to use a certain word and kept it up for the entire wash and all the way home plus a while longer after we got back. Certainly anyone who has ever met me could never even begin to imagine that a sweet, kind, gentle, patient person like myself could use that superfluous vulgarity at all, much less for twenty whole minutes.
I believe that when the water began to get in the car I said something like "Oh dear me. I am getting wet"
My son replied with something like "Well shut the door you crazy old woman!!!"
Not all that much water got in. My phone didn't even get wet because my purse floated to the back seat and my dash really did need a good cleaning. I did get the door properly shut and we simply finished the wash and headed home. My son would never tell a lie but he certainly remembers the event incorrectly. I think I can explain his confusion. First he had a bit of soap in his ears, (though I had a more.) Secondly he was laughing at his poor old mother a bit too much. In fact I remember thinking that I would,er, I mean he could hurt himself if he didn't stop laughing so hard. I have even figured out why he mistakenly thought I might have said a certain bad word. I put on my window wipers and they were making a sound kind of like "fwuck, fwuck, fwuck" as they went back and forth. Through his cruel laughter he must have misheard that sound and shockingly thought that I was making such a noise.
So there it is, all easily explained.
PS, And I only had those wipers going not a second over fifteen minutes.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Jack the Wonder dog
Jack is a wonder dog along the lines of I wonder why I have him. I wonder if he will ever grow up. I wonder if he will ever stop using the little dogs as chew toys. (Alas, all my bichons now have hairless ears and tails.)
I wonder if he will ever stop making surprise lunges while he is on the leash.
I also wonder if he will ever meet a person he doesn't like. I wonder why he is so happy all the time. (Whoo hoo!!! I'm going out side!! Whoohoo, I'm coming inside.) I wonder if he will ever stop greeting me when I leave the room for ten seconds just as excitedly as when I've been gone all day.
I wonder what goes through his head..
A few weeks ago Jack spent almost three days studying me. He would sit and stare at me while I watched TV, or read a book. He watched while I talked on the phone. He watched me when Ron or Brian came home. On the third day I had had enough. "What are you looking at, you crazy dog?"
Slowly and deliberately while gazing at my face he lifted his lips in a perfect smile, his tail wagging like crazy.
Apparently he was studying me to learn how to smile. After that first try he now smiles alot! He smiles when he wants a treat, when I come home, when I say his name.
The first time he smiled at Brian he gave a huge goofy grin showing all his impressive white teeth. Brian had a brief second of wondering if he was about to get eaten, but soon realized what was going on. Now Jack not only smiles at us, he has also taught Ron's dog Pepper to smile and they sometimes smile at each other.
Now I wonder, how did we manage to get along without Jack the Wonder dog.
I wonder if he will ever stop making surprise lunges while he is on the leash.
I also wonder if he will ever meet a person he doesn't like. I wonder why he is so happy all the time. (Whoo hoo!!! I'm going out side!! Whoohoo, I'm coming inside.) I wonder if he will ever stop greeting me when I leave the room for ten seconds just as excitedly as when I've been gone all day.
I wonder what goes through his head..
A few weeks ago Jack spent almost three days studying me. He would sit and stare at me while I watched TV, or read a book. He watched while I talked on the phone. He watched me when Ron or Brian came home. On the third day I had had enough. "What are you looking at, you crazy dog?"
Slowly and deliberately while gazing at my face he lifted his lips in a perfect smile, his tail wagging like crazy.
Apparently he was studying me to learn how to smile. After that first try he now smiles alot! He smiles when he wants a treat, when I come home, when I say his name.
The first time he smiled at Brian he gave a huge goofy grin showing all his impressive white teeth. Brian had a brief second of wondering if he was about to get eaten, but soon realized what was going on. Now Jack not only smiles at us, he has also taught Ron's dog Pepper to smile and they sometimes smile at each other.
Now I wonder, how did we manage to get along without Jack the Wonder dog.
Friday, December 27, 2013
Christine
I have a haunted car.
A couple of months ago I decided to do something about the terrible mileage I was getting on my car. The car was perfectly fine, but was only getting 22 or 23 miles per gallon. It's a fifty six mile round trip to church and I have to make the trip at least three times a week so I was spending quite a bit on gas when you add in all my other driving. There is a reason for the saying poor as a church mouse. Spending so much on gas was eating up our budget. Some months anything beyond Ramen noodles seemed like a luxury!
I was at the used car lot with my son who was actually shopping for a car, his old Ranger having finally rusted out beyond any hope of repair, when out of the corner of my eye I caught a flash of silver. I wandered down the lot curiously when I came to the source of the flash, a VW Beetle tucked between two big SUVs.
She was a beautiful silver with a saucy racing stripe running up her hood and over the car. I like cars with nice "faces" and her's was sweet. She seemed to be smiling at me. As I admired her the lot owner came up and "innocently" asked me if I would like to try her out. "Oooooowhahaha, she's a wonderful car," he said, as he slipped the key into my hand. "You'll love her, ooooooowhhahaha"
So, unaware that my life was about to change I took her for a test drive. She was wonderful, peppy and responsive, the manual transmission so much fun. She had heated seats and a beautiful leather interior. We drove around a while and I began to think I needed this car.
On my return to the lot the lot owner approached with a smile. "Isn't she great? She gets great mileage too. The former owner said he got over 40 per gallon and in the summer it got up to 50 a gallon. Can't beat theses diesel engines."
"Why did he get rid of her if he liked her so much?"
"Oh he just mummble, mummble erhem mummble."
"What?"
"Cone on, let's get the paperwork going"
So, a few minutes later I had a car!
As I pulled out of the lot in my new car, the doors suddenly locked with a loud ominous thunk. I should have turned back then, but I was in love.
At home I had two days of bliss then I went to start her on the third day and the check engine light was on. I called the car lot. "It's just the glow plug sensor. Don't worry about it. We'll put a new one in next time you come out here."
That didn't sound too bad, but as I hung up the phone in the house I heard a horn beep in the driveway and the loud thunk of car doors locking. My nightmare was beginning. The car began to lock and unlock at will while driving, at night, at odd times during the day. The interior lights went on and off. No light when I got in and out at night , but working fine in the daytime.
I complained to my son . He laughed and said, "You should call her Christine, after that haunted movie car"
Out in the driveway, "Christine" beeped her horn and locked and unlocked her doors. My son said, "See? She likes that name."
She does like that name. I entered the car after a hair cut. I was sitting texting my husband to let him know I would be home soon. Christine suddenly locked the doors and set off the car alarm.
Approaching her in the parking lot I saw an elderly woman passing by and as she did Christine locked the doors and blew her horn. The poor woman dropped her bags and clutched her chest.
Even after a new glow plug sensor, the check engine light goes on and off, staring at me when I'm driving.
I am not sure what the future holds. I try to treat her nicely, giving her car washes and filling her with her favorite diesel fuel and i got her new wiper blades, but I'm not sure how long this tentative peace will last. Even as I write this, I can hear her lock going on and off in the driveway.
My husband says, "You are aware that it is just a short in the door locking mechanism aren't you?"
So he says, but he hasn't seen the dash light winking at me or heard her sinister chuckle when the doors snap locked. Where this will end????? I just don't know.
A couple of months ago I decided to do something about the terrible mileage I was getting on my car. The car was perfectly fine, but was only getting 22 or 23 miles per gallon. It's a fifty six mile round trip to church and I have to make the trip at least three times a week so I was spending quite a bit on gas when you add in all my other driving. There is a reason for the saying poor as a church mouse. Spending so much on gas was eating up our budget. Some months anything beyond Ramen noodles seemed like a luxury!
I was at the used car lot with my son who was actually shopping for a car, his old Ranger having finally rusted out beyond any hope of repair, when out of the corner of my eye I caught a flash of silver. I wandered down the lot curiously when I came to the source of the flash, a VW Beetle tucked between two big SUVs.
She was a beautiful silver with a saucy racing stripe running up her hood and over the car. I like cars with nice "faces" and her's was sweet. She seemed to be smiling at me. As I admired her the lot owner came up and "innocently" asked me if I would like to try her out. "Oooooowhahaha, she's a wonderful car," he said, as he slipped the key into my hand. "You'll love her, ooooooowhhahaha"
So, unaware that my life was about to change I took her for a test drive. She was wonderful, peppy and responsive, the manual transmission so much fun. She had heated seats and a beautiful leather interior. We drove around a while and I began to think I needed this car.
On my return to the lot the lot owner approached with a smile. "Isn't she great? She gets great mileage too. The former owner said he got over 40 per gallon and in the summer it got up to 50 a gallon. Can't beat theses diesel engines."
"Why did he get rid of her if he liked her so much?"
"Oh he just mummble, mummble erhem mummble."
"What?"
"Cone on, let's get the paperwork going"
So, a few minutes later I had a car!
As I pulled out of the lot in my new car, the doors suddenly locked with a loud ominous thunk. I should have turned back then, but I was in love.
At home I had two days of bliss then I went to start her on the third day and the check engine light was on. I called the car lot. "It's just the glow plug sensor. Don't worry about it. We'll put a new one in next time you come out here."
That didn't sound too bad, but as I hung up the phone in the house I heard a horn beep in the driveway and the loud thunk of car doors locking. My nightmare was beginning. The car began to lock and unlock at will while driving, at night, at odd times during the day. The interior lights went on and off. No light when I got in and out at night , but working fine in the daytime.
I complained to my son . He laughed and said, "You should call her Christine, after that haunted movie car"
Out in the driveway, "Christine" beeped her horn and locked and unlocked her doors. My son said, "See? She likes that name."
She does like that name. I entered the car after a hair cut. I was sitting texting my husband to let him know I would be home soon. Christine suddenly locked the doors and set off the car alarm.
Approaching her in the parking lot I saw an elderly woman passing by and as she did Christine locked the doors and blew her horn. The poor woman dropped her bags and clutched her chest.
Even after a new glow plug sensor, the check engine light goes on and off, staring at me when I'm driving.
I am not sure what the future holds. I try to treat her nicely, giving her car washes and filling her with her favorite diesel fuel and i got her new wiper blades, but I'm not sure how long this tentative peace will last. Even as I write this, I can hear her lock going on and off in the driveway.
My husband says, "You are aware that it is just a short in the door locking mechanism aren't you?"
So he says, but he hasn't seen the dash light winking at me or heard her sinister chuckle when the doors snap locked. Where this will end????? I just don't know.
Friday, July 26, 2013
People Watching
I love to stop when I am out and get lunch at the mall so I can enjoy a little people watching. It is endlessly fascinating to me. I love to see couples in their 70s and 80s holding hands and clearly still in love. I have noticed an interesting phenomenon with really beautiful women too. You really often see a jaw droppingly gorgeous woman happily walking and holding hands with a really plain guy. I admit I think maybe the beautiful women tried really handsome guys and found a lot of them more in love with themselves but the average guys treat their girlfriends better. Just a idle guess, but the people who really make me laugh are usually young people who clearly think they are really "cool". It's the guys in the saggy pants and over sized shirts and giant baggy shorts. At what point does a young guy look in a mirror and suddenly decide he looks sexy and dangerous by looking like a baby with a big load in his diaper. I saw a twenty something year old with his pants sagging, showing his underwear walk past a eighty something year old guy whose pants sagged exactly the same. Really? This looks sexy? Nothing about the filled diaper look seems sexy to me. I like jeans that show off a nice butt!
The opposite of the saggy pants look is the girlfriends of the saggers. They seem to favor the "if I can squeeze myself into it, it fits" theory. You see girls whose pants are so tight they can't even get them up and rolls of fat hang over the waist band. This is hot? Their shirts are also tight so every roll of fat is emphasized and jiggling as they strut past.
I was sitting next to a table of college age guys and they too were people watching. I heard one of them point out a girl that was passing. He said she wasn't bad looking and he thought she might even look hot if she had on clothes that fit her. See? I'm not the only one.
The problem though is that I am me. Sometimes I get so amused I get involved. I saw a young man strutting around showing off his dirty diaper look. As I passed him I gave him a big smile and said, "Oh my, you're just so cute," you should have seen his face. I bet he went straight home and burned his outfit! I am an evil old lady.
The opposite of the saggy pants look is the girlfriends of the saggers. They seem to favor the "if I can squeeze myself into it, it fits" theory. You see girls whose pants are so tight they can't even get them up and rolls of fat hang over the waist band. This is hot? Their shirts are also tight so every roll of fat is emphasized and jiggling as they strut past.
I was sitting next to a table of college age guys and they too were people watching. I heard one of them point out a girl that was passing. He said she wasn't bad looking and he thought she might even look hot if she had on clothes that fit her. See? I'm not the only one.
The problem though is that I am me. Sometimes I get so amused I get involved. I saw a young man strutting around showing off his dirty diaper look. As I passed him I gave him a big smile and said, "Oh my, you're just so cute," you should have seen his face. I bet he went straight home and burned his outfit! I am an evil old lady.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Jack and My Interesting Life
I have written about my puppy Jack and my interesting life. (Getting glued to a theater seat certainly is interesting!) Jack, six months old now, is still the smartest pup I've ever met and the most stubborn. He has pretty much stopped chewing on my arms, but he still plays way, way too rough with my Bichons. He actually throws them up in the air then catches them. Not all that much fun for the bichons. Working hard to get his "playfulness" under control. None of the dogs ever try to stop him, even as they get bruised and chewed. He does keep life interesting.
Case in point. Last night I fell asleep on the couch watching TV. Around 5AM Jack decided he needed to go out. Like a good pup he attempted to wake me up. I had left the foot rest up on the couch so he put his front paws on that and began to lick my face. I started to wake up but hadn't moved so he decided to jump onto the footrest. Well, as his weight (around 60 lbs now) landed full on the footrest I suddenly found myself on the floor with a huge leather couch on top of me. Not a wake up method I would recommend! I have knee replacements and they are pretty old, so getting up at best is problematic. Had to lift the couch off me, twist around, but another problem....bare feet on smooth hard wood floors! Ice should be so slippery! My dear family blissfully slept through the crash, my groaning, my calls for help, Jack's startled yelps, my repeated slips and crashes back to the floor. Nevertheless, I am super woman. Made it up, let the sweet pup out and back in, got out the aspirin and went back to bed. Husband looked puzzled in the morning at my hysterical laughter when he asked me if I'd slept well.
Never a dull moment.
Case in point. Last night I fell asleep on the couch watching TV. Around 5AM Jack decided he needed to go out. Like a good pup he attempted to wake me up. I had left the foot rest up on the couch so he put his front paws on that and began to lick my face. I started to wake up but hadn't moved so he decided to jump onto the footrest. Well, as his weight (around 60 lbs now) landed full on the footrest I suddenly found myself on the floor with a huge leather couch on top of me. Not a wake up method I would recommend! I have knee replacements and they are pretty old, so getting up at best is problematic. Had to lift the couch off me, twist around, but another problem....bare feet on smooth hard wood floors! Ice should be so slippery! My dear family blissfully slept through the crash, my groaning, my calls for help, Jack's startled yelps, my repeated slips and crashes back to the floor. Nevertheless, I am super woman. Made it up, let the sweet pup out and back in, got out the aspirin and went back to bed. Husband looked puzzled in the morning at my hysterical laughter when he asked me if I'd slept well.
Never a dull moment.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
The son in law
I am beginning to think my son in law Paul is a wee bit disrespectful. He addresses me as "the old coot". That's not too bad. After all a coot is a rather attractive duck, but I'm thinking he might not be using the term in that vein. His subtle mentions of things like, did I have a pet dinosaur growing up and did I mind giving up my horse for a horseless carriage, are beginning to make me think he might be thinking that I'm old. Me! Old?!
On my birthday this month I knew he was thinking about me because I saw a post on Facebook from him. He was asking if anyone knew of an app that mimicked ancient runes chiseled on rock. He said he was trying to find a medium I could relate to. Really, Paul. A note neatly inked with a quill would have been just fine.
On my birthday this month I knew he was thinking about me because I saw a post on Facebook from him. He was asking if anyone knew of an app that mimicked ancient runes chiseled on rock. He said he was trying to find a medium I could relate to. Really, Paul. A note neatly inked with a quill would have been just fine.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Frogs
When I was a child I desperately wanted a dog and a pony. It was pretty much an obsession, but my mother always said no (thus my disturbing over compensation now. See, it really is all my mother's fault). My dreams squashed at every turn I sought alternative pets. I was thinking about this while I was watching a big bull frog on my goldfish pond today. I frequently brought home frogs and toads and snakes, baby birds and pretty much anything I could catch. It was a while before I learned that some things were better left in the ponds and forests where they belonged. It was a hard lesson.
One of my favorite places to hunt was Wintergreen Gorge, that backed a cemetery of that name. It was a five mile bike ride from my house. Once there I would go through the cemetery to the gorge itself, behind the small chapel. I'm pretty sure no one is allowed to go there any more. It was a very steep climb down to the river that ran through the gorge. Multiple people had fallen and died even back then, but I and the occasional friend who accompanied me just found the climb fun. We would anchor ourselves with wild grape vines and inch our way down, using select trees to stop us from falling. Once down we would wade in the shallow water or swim in the deeper pools. It was a quiet, beautiful place to spend an afternoon. One memorable day I discovered a small pool filled with tiny black tadpoles. True to my nature I had brought along collecting jars in my back pack. I must have caught 200 of them. The climb back up was really hard carrying glass jars full of tadpoles but I made it and biked the five miles back home. Once there my long suffering mom asked me what I intended to do with 200 tadpoles. Well, I planned on keeping them. She reasonably asked what they ate. That was a bit of a problem. I figured they ate "things in the water". Exactly what that was I wasn't too sure. Still reasonable, she asked me if I thought it was fair to cram them in jars away from their home. By the next morning I was feeling sort of guilty about the poor things all crammed in my jars, so nobly, I decided to do the right thing. I carefully re-packed my back pack and set off to return the tadpoles to their natural environment. Five miles later I was back to Wintergreen Gorge. As I rode through the gates I noticed the large pond near the front gate. Thinking about how long it would take to climb back down to the creek in the gorge I decided to let the tadpoles loose in the pond. It was much nicer than the almost puddle I had taken them from, (and I reasoned I would get home a lot sooner) so I threw my bike down on the neat lawn around the pond and got out my jars. Feeling virtuous and noble returning the future frogs to nature, I uncapped the lids and dumped my babies into the pond.
It took ten seconds for every single one of them to be eaten by the fish that swarmed this sudden free meal.
I DID NOT EXPECT THAT.
Didn't feel quite so virtuous going home, but I never again took 200 tadpoles from their puddle again either.
One of my favorite places to hunt was Wintergreen Gorge, that backed a cemetery of that name. It was a five mile bike ride from my house. Once there I would go through the cemetery to the gorge itself, behind the small chapel. I'm pretty sure no one is allowed to go there any more. It was a very steep climb down to the river that ran through the gorge. Multiple people had fallen and died even back then, but I and the occasional friend who accompanied me just found the climb fun. We would anchor ourselves with wild grape vines and inch our way down, using select trees to stop us from falling. Once down we would wade in the shallow water or swim in the deeper pools. It was a quiet, beautiful place to spend an afternoon. One memorable day I discovered a small pool filled with tiny black tadpoles. True to my nature I had brought along collecting jars in my back pack. I must have caught 200 of them. The climb back up was really hard carrying glass jars full of tadpoles but I made it and biked the five miles back home. Once there my long suffering mom asked me what I intended to do with 200 tadpoles. Well, I planned on keeping them. She reasonably asked what they ate. That was a bit of a problem. I figured they ate "things in the water". Exactly what that was I wasn't too sure. Still reasonable, she asked me if I thought it was fair to cram them in jars away from their home. By the next morning I was feeling sort of guilty about the poor things all crammed in my jars, so nobly, I decided to do the right thing. I carefully re-packed my back pack and set off to return the tadpoles to their natural environment. Five miles later I was back to Wintergreen Gorge. As I rode through the gates I noticed the large pond near the front gate. Thinking about how long it would take to climb back down to the creek in the gorge I decided to let the tadpoles loose in the pond. It was much nicer than the almost puddle I had taken them from, (and I reasoned I would get home a lot sooner) so I threw my bike down on the neat lawn around the pond and got out my jars. Feeling virtuous and noble returning the future frogs to nature, I uncapped the lids and dumped my babies into the pond.
It took ten seconds for every single one of them to be eaten by the fish that swarmed this sudden free meal.
I DID NOT EXPECT THAT.
Didn't feel quite so virtuous going home, but I never again took 200 tadpoles from their puddle again either.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Kiya Natasha
When I was in my twenties I wanted to get involved in dog shows. The AKC at the time only allowed pure bred registered dogs in obedience competition so I began to look around at various breeds. The Siberian husky caught my eye right away. They were beautiful and from the working group so I figured they would make good obedience dogs. I should have talked with more owners! Beautiful yes. Hard workers yes. Obedient NO. I should have expected the stubborn independence. After all I had grown up reading "White Fang" and "Call of the Wild". I knew that the lead dog sometimes had to refuse an order because he sensed danger the sled driver might not have known about, weak ice for example. Working huskies had to have a mind of their own, but I ignored that facet of the breed and began my search for my dog. On a budget, I was interested when I saw an ad in the paper for a registered Siberian husky for only $25. I called and went to take a look. The house was a mansion with white pillars. Next to it, set under a pine tree was a dog house built to look just like the house. As I pulled into the driveway, the most perfect husky I had ever seen came out of the house and went to the end of her chain and watched with interest as I got out of the car. I almost left then. This was not a $25 dog. This was a real show dog. The owners came out then and introduced me to the dog, Kiya Natasha, two years old. They had her papers with them and showed them to me. Every dog on it was a champion. Very uncomfortable, I asked if the price was a mistake. No, they reassured me. We just want to get rid of her. I asked they why and they said they had paid $800 for her and had sent her to a professional trainer, but she just wouldn't come when called and they wanted something smarter. I had a lot of confidence in my dog training abilities so with no argument I handed over my cash and took the dog.
I had a German Shepherd at the time and he took to her right away. I traced her ancestry and her line went back to Balto of the famed Nome serum run. I took her to my dog training club and began to work with her and I was thrilled. You only had to show her something once and she got it. She heeled like a dream, sat perfectly, came when called (on a long leash) and was a perfect lady in every way. I entered her in our first dog show. The day of the show it was perfect. We entered the ring and began our run. She responded to my commands as if she was sleep walking, totally unlike our training sessions, but we were squeaking through until the long down. This is an exercise where you make your dog lie down, tell her to stay and cross to the other end of the ring and wait for three minutes till ordered to return to your dog. She lasted 30 seconds them got up and sauntered over to the judge. Disqualification!
Undaunted I entered another show. Same thing. Disqualification. Show after show. You have to qualify in three shows to win your obedience title. Finally we passed one show then a second, but then show after show we failed. Finally after three more years (!!!!!) of showing I had all but given up but decided to try one final time at a show near my home. Right before we entered the ring I leaned over to Kiya and whispered, "A steak if you qualify and you can even pick it out". About ten of my dog training friends watched outside the ring. We made it to the final long down and behind me I could hear barely audible whispers, "Oh please let her stay put. Please, please, please". One minute, two minutes, two and a half. Everyone was holding their breath. Yes! We did it. The dogs were called back into the ring for their scores. First place was announced to polite applause. Then second place then third, and down the line and in very last place, qualifying by 1/2 a point was Kiya Natasha. Cheering erupted from everywhere, my friends and strangers who had seen us fail year after year in other shows went crazy. My friends rushed the ring and carried us out like we were the best in show, much to the judge's mystification. It was so exciting. She was now officially Kiya Natasha, CD. Later when we went to our car to return home, Kiya, who always rode in the back jumped into the front seat and took her place as royalty. True to my word I took her to the grocery store on the way home and I took her right into the store to the stares of the other shoppers. We went straight to the meat counter. She stood up against the counter and carefully looked over the steaks. Finally she selected one, carefully lifted it out and turned and carried it to the checkout. The clerk took my money, handed the bag to Kiya and we went home. She allowed me to cook it slightly then enjoyed her reward. Thereafter she acted like royalty and went back to being the perfect dog. I guess I should have offered her the steak four years earlier!
I had a German Shepherd at the time and he took to her right away. I traced her ancestry and her line went back to Balto of the famed Nome serum run. I took her to my dog training club and began to work with her and I was thrilled. You only had to show her something once and she got it. She heeled like a dream, sat perfectly, came when called (on a long leash) and was a perfect lady in every way. I entered her in our first dog show. The day of the show it was perfect. We entered the ring and began our run. She responded to my commands as if she was sleep walking, totally unlike our training sessions, but we were squeaking through until the long down. This is an exercise where you make your dog lie down, tell her to stay and cross to the other end of the ring and wait for three minutes till ordered to return to your dog. She lasted 30 seconds them got up and sauntered over to the judge. Disqualification!
Undaunted I entered another show. Same thing. Disqualification. Show after show. You have to qualify in three shows to win your obedience title. Finally we passed one show then a second, but then show after show we failed. Finally after three more years (!!!!!) of showing I had all but given up but decided to try one final time at a show near my home. Right before we entered the ring I leaned over to Kiya and whispered, "A steak if you qualify and you can even pick it out". About ten of my dog training friends watched outside the ring. We made it to the final long down and behind me I could hear barely audible whispers, "Oh please let her stay put. Please, please, please". One minute, two minutes, two and a half. Everyone was holding their breath. Yes! We did it. The dogs were called back into the ring for their scores. First place was announced to polite applause. Then second place then third, and down the line and in very last place, qualifying by 1/2 a point was Kiya Natasha. Cheering erupted from everywhere, my friends and strangers who had seen us fail year after year in other shows went crazy. My friends rushed the ring and carried us out like we were the best in show, much to the judge's mystification. It was so exciting. She was now officially Kiya Natasha, CD. Later when we went to our car to return home, Kiya, who always rode in the back jumped into the front seat and took her place as royalty. True to my word I took her to the grocery store on the way home and I took her right into the store to the stares of the other shoppers. We went straight to the meat counter. She stood up against the counter and carefully looked over the steaks. Finally she selected one, carefully lifted it out and turned and carried it to the checkout. The clerk took my money, handed the bag to Kiya and we went home. She allowed me to cook it slightly then enjoyed her reward. Thereafter she acted like royalty and went back to being the perfect dog. I guess I should have offered her the steak four years earlier!
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Bad Patient
My husband says that I am a bad patient. I dispute this. I am a very good patient if the doctor actually listens to me and also allows me to make the decisions regarding treatment. An example; I go to the doctor and give him the reason for my visit. He says "mmmmmmm" and writes out a prescription and hands it to me. He then gets up to leave the examination room.
"Wait", I say. "What is actually wrong with me and is this the only treatment and do I really need a drug for this? Is there something herbal or alternative? And what are the side effects of this drug should I choose to take it?"
At this point most doctors begin to get angry. They are used to being unchallenged and obeyed. I do not feel a stranger should make all the decisions for me. Certainly the doctor knows more than I do, but it is my body and I reserve the right to participate in and approve any treatment. Several of my family members were of the "if the doctor says it, it must be right" attitude. It was not wise of them.
Two weeks ago I was awakened by some pretty severe chest discomfort. While quite painful and unnerving, I checked my pulse and blood pressure and they were normal. So I decided to wait and see how I felt in the morning. I sort of thought I might have had a heart attack so I went to karate class. I figure if it was my heart it would act up while taking class and if it felt better it probably wasn't my heart. (Did I mention that although I want to make my own decisions that doesn't mean they are good decisions?) I did feel better but over a few days the pain returned and I decided to go to the hospital. With a high risk family history the hospital assumed it must be my heart, but after tests they determined that it was not my heart. The second day a nurse came in, handed me a pill. I asked her what it was and what it was for. She told me it was a beta blocker to help regulate my blood pressure. I asked if my blood pressure was high and she said no. So I asked her why do I need more medicine to control my blood pressure if my blood pressure was not high. I refused the pill and then a senior nurse came and questioned me. Again I asked if my blood pressure was high and she said no so again I asked her why I need a pill for it. No answer and again I refused. Shortly after that a doctor came in and asked me why I refused the pill. Again I asked and again I was told my pressure was fine. The real reason for the pill was to cover their behinds in case I had a heart attack during the stress test. They thought I was being difficult but I think I was being reasonable.
The second day they sent me home. I asked what caused the pain which I was still having and they told me they had no idea but not to worry because it wasn't my heart. How reassuring.
I did go see my own doctor who is a very fine doctor, for a followup and he questioned me. When I explained that because I thought I might have had a heart attack I went to karate he called me a knucklehead and told my husband that he was a saint to put up with me. He says he only keeps me as a patient so he has good stories to tell if he goes to a medical convention. See? I'm not a bad patient. I'm good for something.
"Wait", I say. "What is actually wrong with me and is this the only treatment and do I really need a drug for this? Is there something herbal or alternative? And what are the side effects of this drug should I choose to take it?"
At this point most doctors begin to get angry. They are used to being unchallenged and obeyed. I do not feel a stranger should make all the decisions for me. Certainly the doctor knows more than I do, but it is my body and I reserve the right to participate in and approve any treatment. Several of my family members were of the "if the doctor says it, it must be right" attitude. It was not wise of them.
Two weeks ago I was awakened by some pretty severe chest discomfort. While quite painful and unnerving, I checked my pulse and blood pressure and they were normal. So I decided to wait and see how I felt in the morning. I sort of thought I might have had a heart attack so I went to karate class. I figure if it was my heart it would act up while taking class and if it felt better it probably wasn't my heart. (Did I mention that although I want to make my own decisions that doesn't mean they are good decisions?) I did feel better but over a few days the pain returned and I decided to go to the hospital. With a high risk family history the hospital assumed it must be my heart, but after tests they determined that it was not my heart. The second day a nurse came in, handed me a pill. I asked her what it was and what it was for. She told me it was a beta blocker to help regulate my blood pressure. I asked if my blood pressure was high and she said no. So I asked her why do I need more medicine to control my blood pressure if my blood pressure was not high. I refused the pill and then a senior nurse came and questioned me. Again I asked if my blood pressure was high and she said no so again I asked her why I need a pill for it. No answer and again I refused. Shortly after that a doctor came in and asked me why I refused the pill. Again I asked and again I was told my pressure was fine. The real reason for the pill was to cover their behinds in case I had a heart attack during the stress test. They thought I was being difficult but I think I was being reasonable.
The second day they sent me home. I asked what caused the pain which I was still having and they told me they had no idea but not to worry because it wasn't my heart. How reassuring.
I did go see my own doctor who is a very fine doctor, for a followup and he questioned me. When I explained that because I thought I might have had a heart attack I went to karate he called me a knucklehead and told my husband that he was a saint to put up with me. He says he only keeps me as a patient so he has good stories to tell if he goes to a medical convention. See? I'm not a bad patient. I'm good for something.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
More on Jack
Jack is now 10 weeks old and still remarkably resistant to the no chew rule. My arms are decorated with tiny puncture marks, rather like a junkie who shoots up any old place on his arm. Yesterday he was sitting next to me on the couch and he crawled into my lap and began to lick my chin." How sweet", I thought to myself." He's learning to be gentle". That was three seconds before he launched himself at my nose. Not too much damage from that, just one nice big puncture that kind of looks like a giant zit on the end of my nose. My reading glasses are not safe either. Being a woman of a certain age I keep reading glasses all over the house. Now I have four pair of them all with the temple pieces chewed in half. He has also begun to train me to give treats on command. I had tried to get him to pay attention by offering him a treat if he sat and looked at me. Only needed a handful of times and he got it. Now when he needs a treat he comes to me, sits in front of me and tilts his head to the side cutely while wagging his tail. How can I resist that!
His leash skills have not improved either. Ten weeks old and 25 pounds and he's still strong enough to drag me down the drive way! Pretty embarrassing when you consider that I trained and showed dogs in obedience competition at dog shows for years, though now that I think of it, a few of those dogs trained me a bit too. Perhaps I'll tell you sometime about my husky, Kiya and her rough road to her obedience title.
His leash skills have not improved either. Ten weeks old and 25 pounds and he's still strong enough to drag me down the drive way! Pretty embarrassing when you consider that I trained and showed dogs in obedience competition at dog shows for years, though now that I think of it, a few of those dogs trained me a bit too. Perhaps I'll tell you sometime about my husky, Kiya and her rough road to her obedience title.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
One tough rabbit
I was out in the yard watching Jack tracking the bunnies that play in our yard. They are rather tame, having learned that the dogs can't get through the dog run fence. So far they pretty much ignore Jack, who I keep on the leash, unless we get too close. They are so cute and they made me think about the rabbit I had as a pet growing up. His name was Nosey, a big white rabbit. My mom got him for me one year in the hope (vain) that I would stop asking for a dog. My dad built a nice big hutch for him and Nosey got really tame after a while. I had a harness for him and I would tale him out for walks. (Like he was a dog!) We walked around the yard and the street in front of our house. Not only did I enjoy the walks so did Nosey. Somehow he figured out how to unlatch the door to his hutch and rather often I would find him impatiently stamping the porch outside the kitchen door in the morning waiting for his walk.
One morning I looked out the window and saw Nosey had again gotten out and since it was rather early, he was taking the time to munch on the little clover flowers that grew in the yard. I wasn't worried. He never left the yard on his own, so I decided to get my breakfast before our walk. I sat down at the table with my cereal to eat and looked out at him. I saw a movement at the far end of the yard and a beagle came through the tall plants there, clearly tracking. As I started to get up the dog saw my rabbit and he began to bay and run at Nosey. I dropped my spoon and ran for the door. It was locked and as I fumbled with the lock I heard the sounds of a fight. Frantic to save my rabbit, I couldn't get the door open. The noise outside escalated. Finally I managed the lock and threw open the door. I rushed into the yard expecting to see my bunny torn to shreds by the dog but what I saw was the dog being torn to shreds by my bunny! Nosey had his teeth firmly embedded in the beagle's ear and was using his back feet to kick and tear at the poor dog. The dog was already covered in long bleeding scratches and desperately trying to get away. The dog was frantic and snapping at Nosey fruitlessly and Nosey was intent on disemboweling the dog! Suddenly Nosey let go and the poor dog ran off as fast as he could, crying piteously. As I stared dumbfounded Nosey sat up on his back legs and began to groom himself, calmly wiping dog blood off his nose. He then went to the back porch climbed the stairs and sat down. As I followed him to the house, he turned and looked at me and stamped his foot impatiently. Walk Time! That was one tough bunny!
One morning I looked out the window and saw Nosey had again gotten out and since it was rather early, he was taking the time to munch on the little clover flowers that grew in the yard. I wasn't worried. He never left the yard on his own, so I decided to get my breakfast before our walk. I sat down at the table with my cereal to eat and looked out at him. I saw a movement at the far end of the yard and a beagle came through the tall plants there, clearly tracking. As I started to get up the dog saw my rabbit and he began to bay and run at Nosey. I dropped my spoon and ran for the door. It was locked and as I fumbled with the lock I heard the sounds of a fight. Frantic to save my rabbit, I couldn't get the door open. The noise outside escalated. Finally I managed the lock and threw open the door. I rushed into the yard expecting to see my bunny torn to shreds by the dog but what I saw was the dog being torn to shreds by my bunny! Nosey had his teeth firmly embedded in the beagle's ear and was using his back feet to kick and tear at the poor dog. The dog was already covered in long bleeding scratches and desperately trying to get away. The dog was frantic and snapping at Nosey fruitlessly and Nosey was intent on disemboweling the dog! Suddenly Nosey let go and the poor dog ran off as fast as he could, crying piteously. As I stared dumbfounded Nosey sat up on his back legs and began to groom himself, calmly wiping dog blood off his nose. He then went to the back porch climbed the stairs and sat down. As I followed him to the house, he turned and looked at me and stamped his foot impatiently. Walk Time! That was one tough bunny!
Friday, April 5, 2013
A dog I loved
Having a puppy is certainly a challenge sometimes. Jack has grown alot in two weeks. He's up to 15 pounds now and already outgrown the puppy collar I had. He loves to track rabbits in the back yard and he is not making a lot of progress in the "no teeth!" program. He is an absolute delight.
When I sit and watch him playing I can't help but think about all the wonderful dogs that have shared my life but the one that I miss the most was Boy, a German Shepherd. I was single and in my 20's and Boy was my constant companion. I took him everywhere, even to work when I could. He was one of those dogs that seem to read your mind. He always knew what I wanted and he never disappointed. He, on his own, learned to carry groceries back from the store, without ever tearing the brown paper bags they used to use. He never needed a leash, always staying by my side. He knew when I was happy and when I needed comfort. It was like he was a living breathing piece of my soul.
All that being said, I'm glad I had him back then when people were not so quick to sue or complain, because he knew how to use his teeth and he he wasn't shy about it. He just could not tolerate a man being aggressive towards a woman. If a man yelled at a woman that earned him a level stare and a deep growl, but if the man was foolish enough to raise his hand to woman, Boy would take him down. I remember a time we were out for a walk and came around a corner just in time to see a man punch a woman in the face knocking her to the ground. Before I could react, Boy had hit the man full on, knocking him to the ground and he had his teeth firmly around the man's throat, all the while snarling. Boy kept a firm grip but didn't puncture the man's throat. I helped the woman up and took my time getting to the man. "I don't think my dog likes men who hit women." The man lay perfectly still but said, "Call him off. She made me mad." Boy bit down just a hair harder. "Please" the man said carefully. "I won't hit her again." Casually I told Boy to let go. He did immediately and backed off but didn't stop growling. I told the man that if he hit the woman again he was going to get another visit from us and the dog might get a little more rough. I even gave the woman my phone number. Today we might have gotten arrested or sued, but then all the man wanted was to get away from us.
Boy also knew just how much force was needed. Once we were on our front porch watching while two young neighbor girls played with a boy from down the street. The boy was a bit of a bully and at one point he put a pail on the younger girl's head and began to hit the pail with a stick. Boy was off the porch in a flash. He grabbed a firm mouthful of the seat of the boy jeans without getting the boy himself and set off down the street dragging the boy backwards till he reached the boy's house, then he carefully backed him up the porch to the door and shifted his eyes to me. I got the hint and rang the doorbell. In a moment the mother answered. She took in the sight of her son being firmly gripped by a large German Shepherd and said with a sigh, "What's he done now." "He was getting a little rough on the neighbor girls up by my house."
Without a word she grabbed her son, which Boy had let go of, and gave Boy a pat on the head. "Good dog" she told him."Thanks for bringing him home."
Can't picture someone being casual about that today, but then I expect the boy was going to get in trouble over scaring the little girl. Last .thing I heard as we headed to our house was, "Wait until your father gets home."
thing i heard as Boy and I headed home was a faint, "Wint until your father gets home!"
When I sit and watch him playing I can't help but think about all the wonderful dogs that have shared my life but the one that I miss the most was Boy, a German Shepherd. I was single and in my 20's and Boy was my constant companion. I took him everywhere, even to work when I could. He was one of those dogs that seem to read your mind. He always knew what I wanted and he never disappointed. He, on his own, learned to carry groceries back from the store, without ever tearing the brown paper bags they used to use. He never needed a leash, always staying by my side. He knew when I was happy and when I needed comfort. It was like he was a living breathing piece of my soul.
All that being said, I'm glad I had him back then when people were not so quick to sue or complain, because he knew how to use his teeth and he he wasn't shy about it. He just could not tolerate a man being aggressive towards a woman. If a man yelled at a woman that earned him a level stare and a deep growl, but if the man was foolish enough to raise his hand to woman, Boy would take him down. I remember a time we were out for a walk and came around a corner just in time to see a man punch a woman in the face knocking her to the ground. Before I could react, Boy had hit the man full on, knocking him to the ground and he had his teeth firmly around the man's throat, all the while snarling. Boy kept a firm grip but didn't puncture the man's throat. I helped the woman up and took my time getting to the man. "I don't think my dog likes men who hit women." The man lay perfectly still but said, "Call him off. She made me mad." Boy bit down just a hair harder. "Please" the man said carefully. "I won't hit her again." Casually I told Boy to let go. He did immediately and backed off but didn't stop growling. I told the man that if he hit the woman again he was going to get another visit from us and the dog might get a little more rough. I even gave the woman my phone number. Today we might have gotten arrested or sued, but then all the man wanted was to get away from us.
Boy also knew just how much force was needed. Once we were on our front porch watching while two young neighbor girls played with a boy from down the street. The boy was a bit of a bully and at one point he put a pail on the younger girl's head and began to hit the pail with a stick. Boy was off the porch in a flash. He grabbed a firm mouthful of the seat of the boy jeans without getting the boy himself and set off down the street dragging the boy backwards till he reached the boy's house, then he carefully backed him up the porch to the door and shifted his eyes to me. I got the hint and rang the doorbell. In a moment the mother answered. She took in the sight of her son being firmly gripped by a large German Shepherd and said with a sigh, "What's he done now." "He was getting a little rough on the neighbor girls up by my house."
Without a word she grabbed her son, which Boy had let go of, and gave Boy a pat on the head. "Good dog" she told him."Thanks for bringing him home."
Can't picture someone being casual about that today, but then I expect the boy was going to get in trouble over scaring the little girl. Last .thing I heard as we headed to our house was, "Wait until your father gets home."
thing i heard as Boy and I headed home was a faint, "Wint until your father gets home!"
Thursday, April 4, 2013
FALLS
Why is it so funny when somebody falls down? Now don't look like that. You know exactly what I mean. Don't try to deny that you've watched Funniest Home Videos (which has made a ton of money pretty much just showing people falling down) and even while you are saying, "Wow, that must have hurt!" you are laughing your head off. Admit it.There is just something so funny about how people's faces look right before they hit the ground. I remember a time my brother fell. It doesn't really qualify as a normal fall because he was hit by lightning, but did he ever go down funny.His tent was in our back yard because he was "camping" out there. We heard the far off rumblings of thunder and he decided to take his tent down before it got wet. Mom might have told him to stay in the house but she was busy doing mom things so out he went. I was watching him out the back door from the safety of the kitchen.That rumbling was nearing really fast. In seconds it was a full scale lightning storm on us and he gave up his attempt to get his tent in and decided to make a run for the house, but for some reason he decided to keep hold of the metal center pole of his tent. He stopped about six feet from the back door and looked up. His mouth dropped open and kaboom! He stood there like a roman solider at attention grasping his spear. His hair stood on end and began to smoke in little spirals. He stood like that for a good ten seconds then he went face forward into the ground, metal pole still firmly in his grasp. I began to laugh even as I heard my mom yell at me to go check on my brother. She shouted she was going to check the attic. Apparently the same lightning that hit Tim also hit the house. Seems she thought it was more important to check the house than her son. Good thing she did. The bolt set the curtains on fire and might have set the house on fire if she hadn't torn them off and stamped out the fire. Meanwhile Tim began to crawl towards the house, totally unassisted by me. I wasn't going out there! He crawled all the way to the back door and pulled himself up the steps and never did let go of his tent pole till he was in the kitchen. (And in case you were wondering, he was perfectly ok. Dr. checked him out and except for a little melted hair there was no damage.)
I also saw one of my bosses take a pretty good fall. He had run across the street for coffee and was running back when he hit a patch of ice. His foot flew up in the air and he seemed to hang there a few feet off the ground for a whole minute. Kind of like Wiley Coyote when he runs off a cliff. His mouth opened and formed a perfect O and his eyes bugged out then - wham. Down he went. I began to laugh and I opened the door as he got up. He started to hop toward the door and it just made me laugh harder. Then, just as he reached the door and tried to enter, the door slipped from my hands because I was laughing so hard and bam. It shut and he ran into it and went down again. By the time the ambulance arrived the egg on his forehead from running into the door had swelled to comical proportions and I kept giggling even while they hauled him away. Surprisingly, he didn't fire me. He kind of saw the humor in it too.
When I took my one of my pratfalls, I slipped coming out of the grocery store. Now, while I find falls amusing my reaction to my own falls is more along the lines of, "Dear Lord, please don't let anyone have seen that!" Unfortunately someone had. I lay there for a moment on the pavement when I heard a timid voice ask if I was okay. I opened my eyes to see a miniature old gentleman hovering over me. He was about ninety, maybe 5 foot tall and seventy pounds soaking wet. I, on the other hand am not a tiny woman. This sweet fellow insisted on trying to help me up. I said no, I was okay, but he kept insisting. All I could picture was this tiny person somehow managing to get me halfway up when his strength would give out and we would crash to the pavement together, but this time I would land on him and squash him as sure as if I had landed on a bug! Embarrassing.
One other time I took a really spectacular fall. I had just finished laying out sheets of black plastic in my garden. Our yard had quite a steep incline and somehow I slipped on the plastic, did an earth shaking belly smack and slid on my tummy ten feet down the yard and ended up head first in a rose bush. Once again I prayed no one had seen, then I heard laughter coming from my neighbor's yard. She was laughing so hard tears were running down her face. Now you tell me you wouldn't have laughed too.
I also saw one of my bosses take a pretty good fall. He had run across the street for coffee and was running back when he hit a patch of ice. His foot flew up in the air and he seemed to hang there a few feet off the ground for a whole minute. Kind of like Wiley Coyote when he runs off a cliff. His mouth opened and formed a perfect O and his eyes bugged out then - wham. Down he went. I began to laugh and I opened the door as he got up. He started to hop toward the door and it just made me laugh harder. Then, just as he reached the door and tried to enter, the door slipped from my hands because I was laughing so hard and bam. It shut and he ran into it and went down again. By the time the ambulance arrived the egg on his forehead from running into the door had swelled to comical proportions and I kept giggling even while they hauled him away. Surprisingly, he didn't fire me. He kind of saw the humor in it too.
When I took my one of my pratfalls, I slipped coming out of the grocery store. Now, while I find falls amusing my reaction to my own falls is more along the lines of, "Dear Lord, please don't let anyone have seen that!" Unfortunately someone had. I lay there for a moment on the pavement when I heard a timid voice ask if I was okay. I opened my eyes to see a miniature old gentleman hovering over me. He was about ninety, maybe 5 foot tall and seventy pounds soaking wet. I, on the other hand am not a tiny woman. This sweet fellow insisted on trying to help me up. I said no, I was okay, but he kept insisting. All I could picture was this tiny person somehow managing to get me halfway up when his strength would give out and we would crash to the pavement together, but this time I would land on him and squash him as sure as if I had landed on a bug! Embarrassing.
One other time I took a really spectacular fall. I had just finished laying out sheets of black plastic in my garden. Our yard had quite a steep incline and somehow I slipped on the plastic, did an earth shaking belly smack and slid on my tummy ten feet down the yard and ended up head first in a rose bush. Once again I prayed no one had seen, then I heard laughter coming from my neighbor's yard. She was laughing so hard tears were running down her face. Now you tell me you wouldn't have laughed too.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Hunting
Let me say right now, I am not a hunter. Really no one in my whole family hunts. My Dad used to pretend to hunt. Every year he would get out his bow and put up hay bales in the back yard to practice on. I used to love to watch him and he got me my own bow so I could shoot with him, much to my mother's disapproval. She said it was unladylike to shoot a weapon. Can you imagine that. Here was her very own girl child who caught frogs and carried them around in pockets, who wanted to wear jeans all the time, who was the neighborhood Indian leg wrestling champion, and she thought I might be unladylike if I shot a bow and arrow. Poor woman. At any rate my dad ignored her on this and we practiced Saturday mornings. Then bow season came around and each year my dad would get his license and plan where to hunt. He spent a lot of time checking gear and maps and talking about his hunt. And each year he would go hunting and come back without a deer. I was mystified. He always hit the target in the yard. Why couldn't the man get a deer? Then one day I just asked him and he told my why he came back without shooting anything. He said he always found a deer and every year he would quietly take aim and pull back to shoot and then the doe would lift her head and look at him. He said those eyes were so sweet and gentle he just couldn't shoot. Even as young as I was then I understood. He really just wanted to be in the woods. He didn't have the heart to be to kill something. That was alright. We kept it our secret.
When I was in college my boy friend asked me if I wanted to go hunting with him and I said sure. Turns out he wasn't after Bambi, no, he was going for bear. I was not given a gun. My job apparently was to just be there for moral support. That and to set up camp and cook the food while the "men folk" were out there facing the dangerous wild animals. On the third day the "men" said they were having no luck because I was too noisy so I was told to be sure and stay on "my" side of the mountain while they hunted in the other direction. No food needing to be prepared at the moment I decided to explore my side of the mountain. I wandered around and saw alot of wild life, deer, a fox, rabbits , a weasel and a pair of big owls. I guess it was only bear bothered by my noise. A bit after noon I came across a downed tree and behind it I saw a little cave. I decided to explore. Hunching down a bit I entered and waited for my eyes to adjust and I saw it. Just inside the cave was a bear. It wasn't a big bear but it was a bear. We stared at each other then we both screamed at the exact same moment. We sounded exactly alike! Startled by that I stopped screaming and so did he. We stared at each other for a good long minute then realizing I was standing two feet from a wild bear I screamed again .....and so did he! I back pedalled and fell on my behind just outside the cave. He tried to run past me and tripped over the tree and landed on his behind. We sat there for a moment and stared at each other from about three feet. Slowly we both stood up. Our eyes met. He seemed to say to me in that long look, "No one has to know about this, us screaming like little girls." I nodded at him and we parted, him to quieter woods and me to the camp. Turns out I was the only one to even see a bear the whole trip, but I kept the secret and I believe the bear did too.
When I was in college my boy friend asked me if I wanted to go hunting with him and I said sure. Turns out he wasn't after Bambi, no, he was going for bear. I was not given a gun. My job apparently was to just be there for moral support. That and to set up camp and cook the food while the "men folk" were out there facing the dangerous wild animals. On the third day the "men" said they were having no luck because I was too noisy so I was told to be sure and stay on "my" side of the mountain while they hunted in the other direction. No food needing to be prepared at the moment I decided to explore my side of the mountain. I wandered around and saw alot of wild life, deer, a fox, rabbits , a weasel and a pair of big owls. I guess it was only bear bothered by my noise. A bit after noon I came across a downed tree and behind it I saw a little cave. I decided to explore. Hunching down a bit I entered and waited for my eyes to adjust and I saw it. Just inside the cave was a bear. It wasn't a big bear but it was a bear. We stared at each other then we both screamed at the exact same moment. We sounded exactly alike! Startled by that I stopped screaming and so did he. We stared at each other for a good long minute then realizing I was standing two feet from a wild bear I screamed again .....and so did he! I back pedalled and fell on my behind just outside the cave. He tried to run past me and tripped over the tree and landed on his behind. We sat there for a moment and stared at each other from about three feet. Slowly we both stood up. Our eyes met. He seemed to say to me in that long look, "No one has to know about this, us screaming like little girls." I nodded at him and we parted, him to quieter woods and me to the camp. Turns out I was the only one to even see a bear the whole trip, but I kept the secret and I believe the bear did too.
Friday, March 29, 2013
A Rant
Morning boys and girls. I will skip the humor today because this is going to be a rant. Have any of you noticed how bad drivers have been lately? I have been shocked at how careless and thoughtless drivers are whenever I go out. Yesterday I watched a tiny car that sounded like a lawn mower pass four cars at once on a double yellow, and the four were already going about ten over the speed limit. In the last four months I have seen three cars make a left turn on a red. Seriously guys? Right on a red is legal (if nothing is coming-alot of jerks forget that part). How about turn signals? Just for fun a few weeks ago I counted how many cars I saw turn and how many used their signals. Know what the totals were? 37 turns. 20 used their signals. I live across the street from a small Christian school. One of the most dangerous times for me to try to get out of my driveway is when they are dropping their kids off in the morning. What I see is; 75% of the mothers are talking on their phones, a bit more than half use any turn signals and almost all are apparently very late for something far more important than being courteous and safe. How about someone in a parking lot blocking the entire aisle because they saw someone get in their car and they want that parking spot. No matter that there are 300 spots only a few spaces away. And if you live around me,and there are alot of Amish may I remind you of two things. They are driving horses, not the calmest and brightest of animals out there. Give them a bit of space and just because the buggy is in your lane and you have to slow down, it is NOT OK TO PASS IT WHEN THERE ARE CARS IN THE OTHER LANE!!!! One other Amish related rant- Amish taxis. Now I am all for the Amish hiring van drivers to take them shopping. It is far safer for them than dodging the crazy cars while in a buggy, but!!! If you are a taxi driver and you have a handicap sticker, yes, it is legal for you to park in the handicap spots, but if you are not getting out and you are just going to take up one of the few handicapped spots and smoke your cigarettes while the able bodied amish are shopping, move for crying out loud and let someone who needs the space have it.
Now the reason for my rant today. I had to run to the grocery store. It's 15 minutes from my house. Sat at the stop sign on my corner waiting for a car to pass. At the last minute they turned, no signal of course. In town someone backed out in front of me, I had to slam the brakes. Got to the store and got my things. At the light waiting to pull out of the parking lot, my right turn signal on. The light turns green and I begin my turn and the woman across from me made a left turn while I was actually turning, cut me off, blew her horn at me and flicked me off. How dare I have the right of way and try to turn legally on my green light. A bit further down the road I saw a van start to come over into my lane. I tapped my horn and when he continued into my lane I blew my horn more frantically. He did not so much as glance in my direction. He was driving around a puddle in the road. He never slowed or glanced in my direction as he made sure he did not splash water on his dirty, rusty 15 year old van while I did a frantic bit of maneuvering to avoid hitting the telephone pole and stay out of the ditch off the berm. Made it back to my village and almost got rear ended when I slowed down to the village speed limit. That earned me a finger salute. Truck ahead of me pulling an extra long horse trailer ran the stop sign forcing two cars already on the road to come to a full stop. When I slowed (with turn signals on) to make the turn down my road I was again almost rear ended by the same car that almost hit me before. This one ended with them skidding to a stop half off the road, That one earned me a blast of their horn and another salute. And the sad thing is, that kind of shopping trip is not unusual.
No more ranting now. I started to think about those people who don't put their shopping carts in the cart return. Now that R-E-A-L-L-Y makes me mad!
Now the reason for my rant today. I had to run to the grocery store. It's 15 minutes from my house. Sat at the stop sign on my corner waiting for a car to pass. At the last minute they turned, no signal of course. In town someone backed out in front of me, I had to slam the brakes. Got to the store and got my things. At the light waiting to pull out of the parking lot, my right turn signal on. The light turns green and I begin my turn and the woman across from me made a left turn while I was actually turning, cut me off, blew her horn at me and flicked me off. How dare I have the right of way and try to turn legally on my green light. A bit further down the road I saw a van start to come over into my lane. I tapped my horn and when he continued into my lane I blew my horn more frantically. He did not so much as glance in my direction. He was driving around a puddle in the road. He never slowed or glanced in my direction as he made sure he did not splash water on his dirty, rusty 15 year old van while I did a frantic bit of maneuvering to avoid hitting the telephone pole and stay out of the ditch off the berm. Made it back to my village and almost got rear ended when I slowed down to the village speed limit. That earned me a finger salute. Truck ahead of me pulling an extra long horse trailer ran the stop sign forcing two cars already on the road to come to a full stop. When I slowed (with turn signals on) to make the turn down my road I was again almost rear ended by the same car that almost hit me before. This one ended with them skidding to a stop half off the road, That one earned me a blast of their horn and another salute. And the sad thing is, that kind of shopping trip is not unusual.
No more ranting now. I started to think about those people who don't put their shopping carts in the cart return. Now that R-E-A-L-L-Y makes me mad!
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Don't mess with a grandma
A new Wendy's opened up not too far from home. My friends, Mary and Cindy, and I decided to have lunch there. We had only just arrived and gotten in line to order when a man stormed up to the counter shoving people out of his way and swearing loudly. Apparently he had gotten his burger with catsup and he had ordered it without. Now this does not seem to me to be a problem of epic proportions. Just ask for a new burger. He, however, felt that they had put the catsup on in a dastardly attempt to ruin his lunch. The little girl working the counter looked about to cry but she bravely faced him and said she would get him a new burger. She took the offending sandwich away and returned a few moments later with a new one. He did not thank her. Instead he swore at her. The line began to move forward again but suddenly the irate man was back.
"This >?#%%ing burger #%#$#ing tastes *##$^ing terrible. You #%#ing blanks didn't make a new burger you just ##^!!#ing wiped the ""@#^$ing catsup off."
At this point the manager made an appearance. He assured the man that it was a new sandwich and he offered to refund his money if he wasn't satisfied. Instead of taking the refund or a new sandwich the man just continued to curse until he ran out of steam them threw the burger at the poor girl behind the counter and stormed out. We were all relieved but it was short lived. A few moments later he slammed back in and resumed cursing. Apparently catsup on a sandwich was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. The restaurant was full of people. At least ten adult men were in there. There were multiple tables with children. I had had enough.
"Knock it off. We all know you didn't like your sandwich. Now shut up and leave. There are children here and they don't need to hear any more of your foul mouth."
If he was mad before it was nothing compared to now with me telling him to shut up. I wondered idly if he would actually explode. His eyes were bulging out, the whites reddening.His skin turned purple with red blotches. He took a step towards me, spittle flying out of his mouth.
"How dare you....you.... you...." He could hardly spit out the words "You... you.... you're fat!"
"Seriously dude? Ten minutes of vulgar profanity and that's the best you can do?" I laughed at him.
He took another step towards me and I began to smile. I felt my wing men (Mary and Cindy) move up on either side of me. "Bring it on "I thought. I knew they were smiling too. It was at that moment the men in the restaurant finally decided to act. I guess it hadn't bothered them that he had screamed at the poor counter girl. It hadn't bothered them that he had probably taught the children an entire new vocabulary, but it seems they didn't want him attacking a sweet old lady like myself.
They moved to eject him and he gave up, spitting at me his parting curse, "You're still fat"
What the men didn't know was that they needn't have worried about my friends and me. They might have been able to throw the guy out, but we could have turned the sucker into a human pretzel. I am a black belt in karate and my friends advanced karate students and we had just come from a work out at our dojo. We really wanted to try those throws we had just been working.
This is just a cautionary tale. Remember next time you are out and want to throw a temper tantrum. Beware sweet little old ladies. We might surprise you.
"This >?#%%ing burger #%#$#ing tastes *##$^ing terrible. You #%#ing blanks didn't make a new burger you just ##^!!#ing wiped the ""@#^$ing catsup off."
At this point the manager made an appearance. He assured the man that it was a new sandwich and he offered to refund his money if he wasn't satisfied. Instead of taking the refund or a new sandwich the man just continued to curse until he ran out of steam them threw the burger at the poor girl behind the counter and stormed out. We were all relieved but it was short lived. A few moments later he slammed back in and resumed cursing. Apparently catsup on a sandwich was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. The restaurant was full of people. At least ten adult men were in there. There were multiple tables with children. I had had enough.
"Knock it off. We all know you didn't like your sandwich. Now shut up and leave. There are children here and they don't need to hear any more of your foul mouth."
If he was mad before it was nothing compared to now with me telling him to shut up. I wondered idly if he would actually explode. His eyes were bulging out, the whites reddening.His skin turned purple with red blotches. He took a step towards me, spittle flying out of his mouth.
"How dare you....you.... you...." He could hardly spit out the words "You... you.... you're fat!"
"Seriously dude? Ten minutes of vulgar profanity and that's the best you can do?" I laughed at him.
He took another step towards me and I began to smile. I felt my wing men (Mary and Cindy) move up on either side of me. "Bring it on "I thought. I knew they were smiling too. It was at that moment the men in the restaurant finally decided to act. I guess it hadn't bothered them that he had screamed at the poor counter girl. It hadn't bothered them that he had probably taught the children an entire new vocabulary, but it seems they didn't want him attacking a sweet old lady like myself.
They moved to eject him and he gave up, spitting at me his parting curse, "You're still fat"
What the men didn't know was that they needn't have worried about my friends and me. They might have been able to throw the guy out, but we could have turned the sucker into a human pretzel. I am a black belt in karate and my friends advanced karate students and we had just come from a work out at our dojo. We really wanted to try those throws we had just been working.
This is just a cautionary tale. Remember next time you are out and want to throw a temper tantrum. Beware sweet little old ladies. We might surprise you.
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