and over 133 thousand page views.
Yet, this place no longer feels like home.
Most of my followers no longer exist. Many of those that are still around have sold out to companies or succumb to product advertising. Some have passed away. Others have privatized. I suppose I've been dragging this out. I keep saying that I'll come back and then...
... nothing.
It's time to move.
Come by an visit once and a while, won't ya?
http://formerlysurvivingboys.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, June 21, 2016
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
Cough... Cough... Is This Thing On?
Wait...
Here it is...
Wayyy in the back... covered in a thick yellowish green layer of pollen, not unlike every other surface of this house.
It's been a while.
And yet, not much has changed.
Two weeks ago I sent my wedding ring out for some cleaning up. It seems that grouting the tub surround and digging in the dirt for the last six years isn't great for fine jewelry. When I picked it up I had forgotten how beautiful it was. The brilliance of the white gold. The clarity of the diamond solitaire. The precision clean lines of the channel set diamonds in the band.
Beautiful. Clean. New. Simple.
Such the opposite of my days lately.
I met Mum for breakfast as I do every Wednesday. Then to the grocery store and the bank to take care of the husband's long neglected business. His avoidance of this simple last thing within our control pertaining to his mother's estate, lends itself to the magnitude of the bigger issues surrounding it, and it was just time to deal with it. So I did.
Next up was getting swim trunks for Youngest who has long since outgrown his child size wardrobe, then on to order my maid of honor dress for my friend's wedding. Still 12 months away, decisions have to be made, and I send off a barrage of texts to her regarding final hair appointments, rentals, cake details and the like. I am tired of the indecision and again just take it upon myself. After all, this is why she chose me to be in the wedding, because I just take the ball and run. I pick up my rings, head to the cupcake place, purchasing a belated birthday treat to drop on the appropriate desk at work, and then head home where I spend two more hours returning Scout emails and researching paperwork from 2014. Because when else would you ask a question regarding things from 2014 than in 2016?
By 2 PM I was waiting on Oldest to get his cavity filled at the dentist, returning phone calls, discussing new conditions with the surgeon and my upcoming surgery, while the receptionist rolls her eyes that I am just outside the building, and not in the waiting room.
I return home. More emails. The husband. Youngest's eighth grade graduation celebration, because everything needs to be a big production now, beckons in a mere 60 minutes. And at this point I'm not sure if it's all the adulting I have done today, or that the summer's heat is finally here, but I have a pain on my backside that just won't quit.
Needless to say, an hour in a hot sweaty auditorium on plastic bleachers did not help the situation and my back side is now covered in welts. Regardless, I sat through all 211 names, clapping for each one. The PTA presidents had their moment, and thanked those members who would not be there next year. The two women they recognized deserved their names to be called without question. But as I sat there I thought, I have sat through every meeting over the last 3 years. For two of those years I was the ONLY parent that attended that wasn't on the board. I did every fundraiser, helped rewrite the bi-laws, was the swing vote for the incoming president, worked honors breakfasts, and helped plan field trips. I missed many, MANY nights with my family feeling guilty if I didn't go. And while I didn't want flowers, a shout out would have been nice. And that's when it hit me...
... what the hell am I doing this for?
I forgot to eat. I took care of everyone and everything today and forgot to eat anything past breakfast. I am forgetting to take care of me, and at that moment it had literally chapped my ass.
My life has become as stifling as the auditorium. It is tired. Worn.
So unlike my ring that I slipped on my finger six years ago. And I can't help but think, maybe it's time to send my life out for a cleaning. Maybe I am no longer Surviving Boys like I was seven years ago when this all started, maybe now I am just trying to survive myself.
And barely at that.
Maybe it's time to change that.
Maybe it's time to start everything over....
Here it is...
Wayyy in the back... covered in a thick yellowish green layer of pollen, not unlike every other surface of this house.
It's been a while.
And yet, not much has changed.
Two weeks ago I sent my wedding ring out for some cleaning up. It seems that grouting the tub surround and digging in the dirt for the last six years isn't great for fine jewelry. When I picked it up I had forgotten how beautiful it was. The brilliance of the white gold. The clarity of the diamond solitaire. The precision clean lines of the channel set diamonds in the band.
Beautiful. Clean. New. Simple.
Such the opposite of my days lately.
I met Mum for breakfast as I do every Wednesday. Then to the grocery store and the bank to take care of the husband's long neglected business. His avoidance of this simple last thing within our control pertaining to his mother's estate, lends itself to the magnitude of the bigger issues surrounding it, and it was just time to deal with it. So I did.
Next up was getting swim trunks for Youngest who has long since outgrown his child size wardrobe, then on to order my maid of honor dress for my friend's wedding. Still 12 months away, decisions have to be made, and I send off a barrage of texts to her regarding final hair appointments, rentals, cake details and the like. I am tired of the indecision and again just take it upon myself. After all, this is why she chose me to be in the wedding, because I just take the ball and run. I pick up my rings, head to the cupcake place, purchasing a belated birthday treat to drop on the appropriate desk at work, and then head home where I spend two more hours returning Scout emails and researching paperwork from 2014. Because when else would you ask a question regarding things from 2014 than in 2016?
By 2 PM I was waiting on Oldest to get his cavity filled at the dentist, returning phone calls, discussing new conditions with the surgeon and my upcoming surgery, while the receptionist rolls her eyes that I am just outside the building, and not in the waiting room.
I return home. More emails. The husband. Youngest's eighth grade graduation celebration, because everything needs to be a big production now, beckons in a mere 60 minutes. And at this point I'm not sure if it's all the adulting I have done today, or that the summer's heat is finally here, but I have a pain on my backside that just won't quit.
Needless to say, an hour in a hot sweaty auditorium on plastic bleachers did not help the situation and my back side is now covered in welts. Regardless, I sat through all 211 names, clapping for each one. The PTA presidents had their moment, and thanked those members who would not be there next year. The two women they recognized deserved their names to be called without question. But as I sat there I thought, I have sat through every meeting over the last 3 years. For two of those years I was the ONLY parent that attended that wasn't on the board. I did every fundraiser, helped rewrite the bi-laws, was the swing vote for the incoming president, worked honors breakfasts, and helped plan field trips. I missed many, MANY nights with my family feeling guilty if I didn't go. And while I didn't want flowers, a shout out would have been nice. And that's when it hit me...
... what the hell am I doing this for?
I forgot to eat. I took care of everyone and everything today and forgot to eat anything past breakfast. I am forgetting to take care of me, and at that moment it had literally chapped my ass.
My life has become as stifling as the auditorium. It is tired. Worn.
So unlike my ring that I slipped on my finger six years ago. And I can't help but think, maybe it's time to send my life out for a cleaning. Maybe I am no longer Surviving Boys like I was seven years ago when this all started, maybe now I am just trying to survive myself.
And barely at that.
Maybe it's time to change that.
Maybe it's time to start everything over....
Tuesday, April 5, 2016
Truth Is...
....it's Tuesday again. And I've been less than stellar at posting my antics here.
Let's see...
Truth is... Youngest and I finally got around to cleaning his fish tank and putting in all the new roman column decorations he got for Christmas. We did an 80% water change since the water quality was horrendous, but so as to not shock the fish any further, we used warm water to replace the old. Except Youngest took that to mean water piped straight from the depths of hell, skyrocketing the temp in the tank to nearly 100 degrees. So we did the only logical thing... we gathered snow from outside and dumped it in by the bucketful.
Yes my friends, we made indoor icebergs. It was awesome. Even more awesome... the fish seem to be doing fine and loving their new decor. Youngest opted to use some stacked stone from the yard and made multiple level tunnels and caves. As his red tipped shark swam through the stone caverns, he looked at me and said "It's like the tunnels of the Mexican drug cartels.".
*sigh*
Truth is... yes, you are not mistaken, I said SNOW outside. We had the pleasure of dragging out the snow blower yesterday and digging through the garage for the long put away shovel for an unexpected 8 inches of snow. Delivering mail in it? Awesome. Sticking my fingers in the vent of the car to regain feeling because I have no idea where my good gloves are? Even more awesome. I still have no idea where the ice scraper went. But on the plus side, we did not lose power and we'll be seeing the grass in about a week.
Truth is... we went through a count at work. A count is when the Post Office literally counts every piece of mail, scan code, parcel, and every step we take during the day to determine how much to pay us. It's tedious, antiquated, and a giant pain in the a$$. Which is why it's only done office wide every 4 years or so. I was opted into this count since my route is heavily over burdened. And, as expected, my route came back about 5 hours over what they can pay me. Which means that while I will subject to another pay cut, my workload will also be lessened... just in time for summertime sunshine.
Awesome right? Except on the day everything was finalized, Boston decided to automate all of our catalogs. Which means another count in 5 weeks. And a GIANT pay cut. One that there is no way I can prepare for. And while we are all keeping our fingers crossed that it turns out for the best, I must admit I am not really looking forward to having over a thousand customers.
Truth is... my vacation can not come soon enough. It's days away my friends. Yes, it's badly timed and involves thousands of dollars being spent on a location I'd rather not go. But man oh man, I can not wait to walk away from work for ten days regardless of the reason.
Truth is... Youngest and I are headed to the island shortly for a 50 mile bike ride with the Scouts. I will not be camping unless you count staying in a Spa on the other end of the island. I want to ride the entire 50 miles, really I do. But there comes a time in every mom's life when she must say to herself, "What the hell am I doing? I'm not earning a badge.... I should stay in and eat a nice breakfast and just meet them half way. It's my vacation too." And that's just what I intend to do. :)
Truth is... I am at the point where I just don't even care what happens at work while I am gone. I'm considering it practice for when I go out for my carpal tunnel surgery and then later for my abdominal surgery. Three weeks for one, and 6 to 8 for the other. It has occurred to me that while I've been trying to make things easier for my sub that he's never actually doing anything for himself, and therefore leaving a giant ass mess for me to clean up the next day. So it's time for a bit of tough love.
Truth is... we lost two of my favorite people this past weekend. One to adult CF, the other to ALS. Funny thing about obituaries, there's so much more to a person than what you think you know. I met them both in the last 13 years of their lives, completely forgetting that they had an entire life before that, when they were young and full of opportunities.
Truth is... that abut sums it up here.
.....What's going on for your Tuesday?
Let's see...
Truth is... Youngest and I finally got around to cleaning his fish tank and putting in all the new roman column decorations he got for Christmas. We did an 80% water change since the water quality was horrendous, but so as to not shock the fish any further, we used warm water to replace the old. Except Youngest took that to mean water piped straight from the depths of hell, skyrocketing the temp in the tank to nearly 100 degrees. So we did the only logical thing... we gathered snow from outside and dumped it in by the bucketful.
Yes my friends, we made indoor icebergs. It was awesome. Even more awesome... the fish seem to be doing fine and loving their new decor. Youngest opted to use some stacked stone from the yard and made multiple level tunnels and caves. As his red tipped shark swam through the stone caverns, he looked at me and said "It's like the tunnels of the Mexican drug cartels.".
*sigh*
Truth is... yes, you are not mistaken, I said SNOW outside. We had the pleasure of dragging out the snow blower yesterday and digging through the garage for the long put away shovel for an unexpected 8 inches of snow. Delivering mail in it? Awesome. Sticking my fingers in the vent of the car to regain feeling because I have no idea where my good gloves are? Even more awesome. I still have no idea where the ice scraper went. But on the plus side, we did not lose power and we'll be seeing the grass in about a week.
Truth is... we went through a count at work. A count is when the Post Office literally counts every piece of mail, scan code, parcel, and every step we take during the day to determine how much to pay us. It's tedious, antiquated, and a giant pain in the a$$. Which is why it's only done office wide every 4 years or so. I was opted into this count since my route is heavily over burdened. And, as expected, my route came back about 5 hours over what they can pay me. Which means that while I will subject to another pay cut, my workload will also be lessened... just in time for summertime sunshine.
Awesome right? Except on the day everything was finalized, Boston decided to automate all of our catalogs. Which means another count in 5 weeks. And a GIANT pay cut. One that there is no way I can prepare for. And while we are all keeping our fingers crossed that it turns out for the best, I must admit I am not really looking forward to having over a thousand customers.
Truth is... my vacation can not come soon enough. It's days away my friends. Yes, it's badly timed and involves thousands of dollars being spent on a location I'd rather not go. But man oh man, I can not wait to walk away from work for ten days regardless of the reason.
Truth is... Youngest and I are headed to the island shortly for a 50 mile bike ride with the Scouts. I will not be camping unless you count staying in a Spa on the other end of the island. I want to ride the entire 50 miles, really I do. But there comes a time in every mom's life when she must say to herself, "What the hell am I doing? I'm not earning a badge.... I should stay in and eat a nice breakfast and just meet them half way. It's my vacation too." And that's just what I intend to do. :)
Truth is... I am at the point where I just don't even care what happens at work while I am gone. I'm considering it practice for when I go out for my carpal tunnel surgery and then later for my abdominal surgery. Three weeks for one, and 6 to 8 for the other. It has occurred to me that while I've been trying to make things easier for my sub that he's never actually doing anything for himself, and therefore leaving a giant ass mess for me to clean up the next day. So it's time for a bit of tough love.
Truth is... we lost two of my favorite people this past weekend. One to adult CF, the other to ALS. Funny thing about obituaries, there's so much more to a person than what you think you know. I met them both in the last 13 years of their lives, completely forgetting that they had an entire life before that, when they were young and full of opportunities.
Truth is... that abut sums it up here.
.....What's going on for your Tuesday?
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
Distracting Myself (and You) With Photos...
At 4 pm this afternoon I found myself walking through the grocery aisles of Walmart singing out loud. Truth is, I wanted to be left alone and typically people tend to avoid strangers who talk to themselves or sing loudly in public. Apparently this would have worked better had I been singing something random and not along to the music, because my bee-bopping along made me a magnet for small children wanting to be entertained.
Anyhoo... music... loud and badly.... it's what I do when I'm working through... stuff.
I finally broke down two weeks ago and saw a specialist for my hands who told me the news that I've known was coming for ten years... surgery... on both. He gave me a cortisone shot in one wrist which was A-MAZE-ING, but is only a temporary fix. I will say that I had no idea how much rotation I had been missing over the years and how nice it is to not wake several times through the night from the pain. The tingles still happen and the aching is slowly coming back, so I will be headed into Boston for nerve testing in the next two weeks to see if they can pin point the source of the nerve damage. Odds are it's in my neck or shoulders, with higher odds being my shoulders, which will also warrant surgery. But that's a story for another day...
Today's need for isolation was brought on by a different news of surgery, another that I have put off for many years, that needs to be done. The plan is to do them together, as the hands are covered under workman's comp and I can limit the amount of additional time I will need to use from the second surgery, which of course freaks my husband out, but like I reminded him, unless he somehow grows the parts, or is a fat old white republican member of Congress, he doesn't get to decide what I do with my body.
So yeah... there's that going on... with about a bazillion other things. None of them bad, per say, just complicated. Rather than talk about that, what do you say we tell you about what we did last Wednesday?
The day was gorgeous here... 69 degrees, sunny... a rarity even with the mild winter we've had. And being a half day at school, Youngest and I ditched out, grabbed the bikes and headed south...
And hopped the ferry to the Island...
Very quintessential New England, no? I love the Vineyard, but sadly my dreams of living the island life were long ago extinguished due to my lack of winning the lottery and my husband's deep hatred of all things awesome.
Our bike ride started down the coastal ways between Vineyard Haven and Oaks Bluff....
About three miles down, over the only functioning drawbridge on the island, the bike paths finally open up...
Eight feet of wide open paved "road" just for bikers and the occasional pedestrian. Being off season we saw only a handful the entire time. We were headed towards Edgartown, tracing the bike route we would be doing with the Scouts later this year. Aside from the occasional stopping, we made the first 11 miles to the Edgartown harbor, home to the Harbormaster and Chappy Island ferry, fairly quickly. The neighborhood was quiet, waiting for it's summer residents to arrive. The smaller of the homes along this stretch rent for $25K a week in season. This is their most popular hotel....
The Children's Memorial Lighthouse has a cobble stone with children's names engraved. I'm not sure of the story behind it, although I did find out it's only open to the public twice a year.
Youngest claimed his place on the base of the lighthouse, and snacked on some Fritos while I scouted for bathrooms and signs of life. Not finding much, we meandered through the neighborhood back towards our main route. We stopped and had lunch at some little hole in the wall, and while it lacked in decor, it made up in in the yummiest of food.
We headed inland, towards West Tisbury, where you find a bit of a different kind of New England...
Farms.... lots of them. Lots of open space, wind power, homemade goods, Alpacas... coolness.
There is also a State Forest on the island, and while it is very secluded, the paths are very well traveled, even by fowl-kind, apparently...
And this, my friends, is where our fun half day trip takes a turn for the not so fun. We took a left... and got very lost. And in trying to get un-lost, we got more lost. So lost even Suri had no idea where we were. So we retraced, got to the main road, and discovered our mistakes. But now, instead of being 19 miles into our trip we were 25 miles in, and Youngest's awesome "king of the world" feeling he had at the light house had faded into a full on, throw the bike on the ground, "this sucks" kind of feeling. Not gonna lie, I too was looking for a bus stop and wondering if I called the non emergency police number if they could come get us.
But we carried on... another 4 miles to Oaks Bluff... where I saw the ferry. Barely able to contain my excitement, calculating that we could catch the ferry here and pay the difference, we cruised on in and realized... it's closed. Like under construction kind of closed. Setting sights on Vineyard Haven, we begrudgingly started our last 3 miles, up island.
*sigh*
So yeah... there are no pictures for this, since we were now nearing 5 pm and we had no plan for night riding. We sailed into Vineyard Haven just in time to watch the sun go down and darkness take over.
Thirty two miles.
I slept great for the next two days, and remarkably was only sore where my legs had rubbed the seat for 8 hours. There is something about high mileage cycling that I really love, so much so that I'm thinking of getting a hybrid for both Youngest and myself.
Because as fun as it was, I think it would have been easier had we not been on 26" mountain bikes with mostly flat tires.
So... that sums up the most interesting of what we've been doing... how about you?
Anyhoo... music... loud and badly.... it's what I do when I'm working through... stuff.
I finally broke down two weeks ago and saw a specialist for my hands who told me the news that I've known was coming for ten years... surgery... on both. He gave me a cortisone shot in one wrist which was A-MAZE-ING, but is only a temporary fix. I will say that I had no idea how much rotation I had been missing over the years and how nice it is to not wake several times through the night from the pain. The tingles still happen and the aching is slowly coming back, so I will be headed into Boston for nerve testing in the next two weeks to see if they can pin point the source of the nerve damage. Odds are it's in my neck or shoulders, with higher odds being my shoulders, which will also warrant surgery. But that's a story for another day...
Today's need for isolation was brought on by a different news of surgery, another that I have put off for many years, that needs to be done. The plan is to do them together, as the hands are covered under workman's comp and I can limit the amount of additional time I will need to use from the second surgery, which of course freaks my husband out, but like I reminded him, unless he somehow grows the parts, or is a fat old white republican member of Congress, he doesn't get to decide what I do with my body.
So yeah... there's that going on... with about a bazillion other things. None of them bad, per say, just complicated. Rather than talk about that, what do you say we tell you about what we did last Wednesday?
The day was gorgeous here... 69 degrees, sunny... a rarity even with the mild winter we've had. And being a half day at school, Youngest and I ditched out, grabbed the bikes and headed south...
Our bike ride started down the coastal ways between Vineyard Haven and Oaks Bluff....
We headed inland, towards West Tisbury, where you find a bit of a different kind of New England...
But we carried on... another 4 miles to Oaks Bluff... where I saw the ferry. Barely able to contain my excitement, calculating that we could catch the ferry here and pay the difference, we cruised on in and realized... it's closed. Like under construction kind of closed. Setting sights on Vineyard Haven, we begrudgingly started our last 3 miles, up island.
*sigh*
So yeah... there are no pictures for this, since we were now nearing 5 pm and we had no plan for night riding. We sailed into Vineyard Haven just in time to watch the sun go down and darkness take over.
Thirty two miles.
I slept great for the next two days, and remarkably was only sore where my legs had rubbed the seat for 8 hours. There is something about high mileage cycling that I really love, so much so that I'm thinking of getting a hybrid for both Youngest and myself.
Because as fun as it was, I think it would have been easier had we not been on 26" mountain bikes with mostly flat tires.
So... that sums up the most interesting of what we've been doing... how about you?
Wednesday, March 2, 2016
Casting Votes...
Yesterday I worked a 9 and a half hour day, with no lunch and no breaks Which is inexcusable since I have an assigned substitute carrier and I was only out for two days. It should not take me that long to clean p after him, but it did. And now I'm off today, so I'll be cleaning up tomorrow, but that's a gripe for another day.
Any hoo...
Nine and a half hours. I promptly started dinner as I got home, wondering where the hell my husband had gone off to when he came through the door and announced that he "had done it."
Crap.
I forgot to vote.
Getting dinner into a good holding pattern, I threw my sneakers and coat on and headed out the door.
"Youngest, I'm off to cast my vote for Vermin Supreme!" I yell down the stairs.
"You do that! Ponies for everyone and mandatory teeth bushing!" He replies.
In truth, I would have felt better about casting my vote for the guy that wears a boot on his head and promises a pony based economy. At least you'd know what you're getting. And who wouldn't love a security team of flying monkeys? On the mile drive to the elementary school I pondered my choices...
A chick that's completely untrustworthy, who basically has stated little, if no new ideas for the country, but sadly is the most qualified.
An old guy, funded at $25 a whack, who's ideas I like a lot, but even I know are not possible.
The Donald. *shudder*
A guy that may or may not be eligible, since he only denounced his Canadian citizenship when he figured he'd throw his hat in the ring, that is also not trustworthy.
A guy who doesn't show up for work and is predicted unlikely to win his own state.
A doctor who looks as though he's been doing a lot of self medicating and who I'm not sure knows he's still running.
And the guy from Ohio, who is seemingly the only one making any sense, simply by keeping his mouth shut.
Being Independent, I can pick which party to vote in. So do I vote against who I like the least, knowing full well that's how it will go anyway? OR do I switch the party and vote against the biggest of all evils, just so that that candidate doesn't get that extra vote?
Or do I write in Vermin and ensure we'd all have fresh breath, and a funded time travel program?
It's a vexing problem indeed.
In the end, I voted to try and upset the apple cart. Which it did not. I did learn that according to CBS, Vermin won 4th in NH, coming in with more votes than the Republican Senator Gilmore. I also learned that "How to move to Canada" internet searches skyrocketed shortly after the polls closed.
We. Are. Doomed.
I sure hope Canada is ready for our refugees...
Any hoo...
Nine and a half hours. I promptly started dinner as I got home, wondering where the hell my husband had gone off to when he came through the door and announced that he "had done it."
Crap.
I forgot to vote.
Getting dinner into a good holding pattern, I threw my sneakers and coat on and headed out the door.
"Youngest, I'm off to cast my vote for Vermin Supreme!" I yell down the stairs.
"You do that! Ponies for everyone and mandatory teeth bushing!" He replies.
In truth, I would have felt better about casting my vote for the guy that wears a boot on his head and promises a pony based economy. At least you'd know what you're getting. And who wouldn't love a security team of flying monkeys? On the mile drive to the elementary school I pondered my choices...
A chick that's completely untrustworthy, who basically has stated little, if no new ideas for the country, but sadly is the most qualified.
An old guy, funded at $25 a whack, who's ideas I like a lot, but even I know are not possible.
The Donald. *shudder*
A guy that may or may not be eligible, since he only denounced his Canadian citizenship when he figured he'd throw his hat in the ring, that is also not trustworthy.
A guy who doesn't show up for work and is predicted unlikely to win his own state.
A doctor who looks as though he's been doing a lot of self medicating and who I'm not sure knows he's still running.
And the guy from Ohio, who is seemingly the only one making any sense, simply by keeping his mouth shut.
Being Independent, I can pick which party to vote in. So do I vote against who I like the least, knowing full well that's how it will go anyway? OR do I switch the party and vote against the biggest of all evils, just so that that candidate doesn't get that extra vote?
Or do I write in Vermin and ensure we'd all have fresh breath, and a funded time travel program?
It's a vexing problem indeed.
In the end, I voted to try and upset the apple cart. Which it did not. I did learn that according to CBS, Vermin won 4th in NH, coming in with more votes than the Republican Senator Gilmore. I also learned that "How to move to Canada" internet searches skyrocketed shortly after the polls closed.
We. Are. Doomed.
I sure hope Canada is ready for our refugees...
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
It's Personal...
11:30 pm
Clang, Clang, Clang.
Silence
Clang, Clang, Bang!
"Did you put the kids to bed?"
"Yup."
"Are you sure they went?"
"Yup"
"Ohhhhh... I know what that is."
And as the kitchen light clicked on, all the noise stopped.
It had been three days since I baited behind the kitchen trash to catch some critters. I have been slowly cleaning out every nook in the house, and when I cleaned under the kitchen sink, where we keep the trash, I found... evidence. And while I will not bait the garage or a shed, it is just not acceptable for us to share our living space with a mouse.
Our home is 75 years old. Despite my best efforts, it's nearly impossible to seal every crack and crevice, no matter how many cans of spray foam I have purchased. Having the cat would be a huge advantage in the war against wildlife, if he actually did anything. In fact, as the two of us tried to figure out what to do with our new found house guest, he laid sound asleep like a ten pound anchor on the foot of the bed.
That was Friday night. On Saturday, after work, I came home and cleaned the basement. Our basement measures about 6'4" at it's highest, which means that at 6'2", my husband would be of little long term help. I started in the laundry room, moving the washer, vacuuming cobwebs, sorting through items to donate, searching for anywhere there could be a nest. I took down walls. Removed insulation. Destroyed panel board. Reworked wiring.
Nothing.
I moved onto Tony's section. The section that houses approximately 70,000 baseball cards... in boxes... in stacks... in books. I moved every box. Inspected them all for damage. Chew marks. extra evidence. It is a haven for mouse nesting material. Yet, nothing.
In fact, I found zero evidence of mice anywhere in the basement. Every trap we had strategically placed out of reach from the cat was empty. At one point Tony came down to find out why he had heard the power tools.
"Was that wall structural?"
"I hope not. It came down in 3 kicks."
"I don't think I like it. We almost have too much room now."
"You can not fill it with more crap."
Six hours later, the basement was sparkly clean. The trash bags and demo debris was thrown on the back lawn for disposal on Sunday. Donations were bagged and boxed for drop off. I felt a bit better thinking that maybe, just maybe, the nest was not inside the house. We went to bed, traps set, and were woken again at 430 Monday morning.
*sigh*
Exhausted, Tony opted to wait until 530 when he would be getting up for work. The clanging had subsided, so we figured he had given up on the struggle. When the time came to retrieve the trap, we were in for a surprise.
The mastermind had propped the trap between the copper pipes and pried himself off, leaving nothing but a tuft of fur and a piece of popcorn.
Oh, HELL NO.
Game on.
I came home from work with multiple traps. I set four under the cabinets. Two more down stairs under the pipes that lead into the cabinets. I emptied an entire can of spray foam darkening every speck of light I could find. I prepped the bucket, and went to bed.
1130 pm.
Clang, clang. rattle, rattle, rattle.
I filled the bucket from the tub. Tony scooped the tiny mouse into the bucket for a quick execution and stuck the bucket outside. We washed up and returned to bed where the cat had decided, now that the coast was clear, he'd go have a snack, his tag clanging against the water bowl.
Pft. *eye roll* Useless.
Today I did some more cleaning to see if I could find evidence anywhere else. I pulled the oven, nothing. As best as I could see, under the fridge also showed virtually no evidence of activity, although the dust bunnies are ferocious. I am tempted to pull the dishwasher as I suspect that if there is a nest, it would be in the corner of wasted space, but that is a project for another day.
For now, we wait....
This time, it's personal.
Clang, Clang, Clang.
Silence
Clang, Clang, Bang!
"Did you put the kids to bed?"
"Yup."
"Are you sure they went?"
"Yup"
"Ohhhhh... I know what that is."
And as the kitchen light clicked on, all the noise stopped.
It had been three days since I baited behind the kitchen trash to catch some critters. I have been slowly cleaning out every nook in the house, and when I cleaned under the kitchen sink, where we keep the trash, I found... evidence. And while I will not bait the garage or a shed, it is just not acceptable for us to share our living space with a mouse.
Our home is 75 years old. Despite my best efforts, it's nearly impossible to seal every crack and crevice, no matter how many cans of spray foam I have purchased. Having the cat would be a huge advantage in the war against wildlife, if he actually did anything. In fact, as the two of us tried to figure out what to do with our new found house guest, he laid sound asleep like a ten pound anchor on the foot of the bed.
That was Friday night. On Saturday, after work, I came home and cleaned the basement. Our basement measures about 6'4" at it's highest, which means that at 6'2", my husband would be of little long term help. I started in the laundry room, moving the washer, vacuuming cobwebs, sorting through items to donate, searching for anywhere there could be a nest. I took down walls. Removed insulation. Destroyed panel board. Reworked wiring.
Nothing.
I moved onto Tony's section. The section that houses approximately 70,000 baseball cards... in boxes... in stacks... in books. I moved every box. Inspected them all for damage. Chew marks. extra evidence. It is a haven for mouse nesting material. Yet, nothing.
In fact, I found zero evidence of mice anywhere in the basement. Every trap we had strategically placed out of reach from the cat was empty. At one point Tony came down to find out why he had heard the power tools.
"Was that wall structural?"
"I hope not. It came down in 3 kicks."
"I don't think I like it. We almost have too much room now."
"You can not fill it with more crap."
Six hours later, the basement was sparkly clean. The trash bags and demo debris was thrown on the back lawn for disposal on Sunday. Donations were bagged and boxed for drop off. I felt a bit better thinking that maybe, just maybe, the nest was not inside the house. We went to bed, traps set, and were woken again at 430 Monday morning.
*sigh*
Exhausted, Tony opted to wait until 530 when he would be getting up for work. The clanging had subsided, so we figured he had given up on the struggle. When the time came to retrieve the trap, we were in for a surprise.
The mastermind had propped the trap between the copper pipes and pried himself off, leaving nothing but a tuft of fur and a piece of popcorn.
Oh, HELL NO.
Game on.
I came home from work with multiple traps. I set four under the cabinets. Two more down stairs under the pipes that lead into the cabinets. I emptied an entire can of spray foam darkening every speck of light I could find. I prepped the bucket, and went to bed.
1130 pm.
Clang, clang. rattle, rattle, rattle.
I filled the bucket from the tub. Tony scooped the tiny mouse into the bucket for a quick execution and stuck the bucket outside. We washed up and returned to bed where the cat had decided, now that the coast was clear, he'd go have a snack, his tag clanging against the water bowl.
Pft. *eye roll* Useless.
Today I did some more cleaning to see if I could find evidence anywhere else. I pulled the oven, nothing. As best as I could see, under the fridge also showed virtually no evidence of activity, although the dust bunnies are ferocious. I am tempted to pull the dishwasher as I suspect that if there is a nest, it would be in the corner of wasted space, but that is a project for another day.
For now, we wait....
This time, it's personal.
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Truth Is...
... it's been a month since my last confession post, and so as to not make this feel too much like sneaking into church late, I'm just going to jump right in. Mmmmkay.... shall we?
Truth is.... this was the temperature here on Sunday, Valentine's Day...
Nope. -14 is not the windchill, it was the actual temperature at 6 am (as per our friend's weather station) and yes, that is a -31 degree windchill. When I went out at 10 am it had warmed to a balmy -2 with a wind chill of flash-freeze-upon-contact. Four days earlier I was out delivering mail in shorts and a t-shirt. Two days earlier I was sliding all over the road in 8 inches of snow. On Monday I was out delivering in a blizzard. By Wednesday I was in jeans and a T-Shirt, with barely any evidence of snow piles left to show for it all.
Truth is... I think Mother Nature is drunk.
Truth is... I have been purging the cabinets. It began simply with the bathroom cabinet. I tossed all the expired medicines, moved on to my old cosmetics, nail polish, etc. A few days later I moved onto the kitchen cabinets. A full trash bag though ancient spices, when the hell did I buy this? and why do I have 4 boxes of corn starch???, I realized I am a hoarder of baking good intentions. So many goodies, so little time....
Truth is... upon cleaning out the cabinet under the sink, I discovered we have had a visitor. Likely seeking shelter from the extreme temps, he happened upon a baby bell cheese snack that had been tossed in the trash.
Truth is... there is now a perimeter of glue traps laid everywhere the cat can not get into. I will not be calling an exterminator, this time.... it's personal.
Truth is... I had to prepare Youngest of the realities of glue traps. The only way a mouse could survive a glue trap is to shave them off. I then had to convince him that no one would respect a bald mouse army and that his plans of world domination would need to be carried out by other means. He is bummed, but understands.
Truth is... he's taking this much better than he did a few years ago when Mr. Chewey Cat caught the only other mouse we've ever had here due to a door being left open all night. He seriously wanted to nurse it back to health. It was a sad, sad day folks.
Truth is... the cat is fired.
Truth is... the roof finally went on the house! About a month later we finished the installation of a sun tube in the bathroom. Here's the before picture of my tiny bathroom, about noon time on a bright sunny day...
And then with the sun tube, at 8am, on a cloudy day...
Crazy, right? So far I'm loving it. Even at night, it collects the light from a full moon and I can get up and pee without turning on the light! Awesome...
Truth is... about two days later the bathroom fan died and I had to work around the newly installed sun tube to retro fit the new one. *sigh*
Truth is... I finally finished the valance for the bedroom. I used up the last of some fabric I had from another project (to be posted later) and utilized some large grommets and voila! $22 later I had curtains.
The bedroom has been a giant work in progress... at some point I will reveal the gory details, but for now you can see the valance. You're welcome.
Truth is.... Have you ever seen photos of people at paint night and there's always that one person who does something so completely different and you wonder if they were in the same class? Apparently, when I turned my canvas the "wrong way" and painted clouds through my moon and wanted glitter for the snow, I became that person.
Truth is.... this could also explain why no one wants to go to next Wednesday's class with me.
Truth is... I'm also trying my hand at coloring to relax at night....
I have to use markers because I have trouble getting the color I want from pencils, with the whole hands going numb thing. I have paint markers and watercolor ones. So far, I'm not hating it. But it is taxing my hands, so I have to limit it to two drawings per night.
Truth is... my appointment to assess the nerve damage in my hands is next Monday.
Truth is... I'm beyond sick of medical appointments.
Truth is... I've missed it here...
Truth is.... this was the temperature here on Sunday, Valentine's Day...
Nope. -14 is not the windchill, it was the actual temperature at 6 am (as per our friend's weather station) and yes, that is a -31 degree windchill. When I went out at 10 am it had warmed to a balmy -2 with a wind chill of flash-freeze-upon-contact. Four days earlier I was out delivering mail in shorts and a t-shirt. Two days earlier I was sliding all over the road in 8 inches of snow. On Monday I was out delivering in a blizzard. By Wednesday I was in jeans and a T-Shirt, with barely any evidence of snow piles left to show for it all.
Truth is... I think Mother Nature is drunk.
Truth is... I have been purging the cabinets. It began simply with the bathroom cabinet. I tossed all the expired medicines, moved on to my old cosmetics, nail polish, etc. A few days later I moved onto the kitchen cabinets. A full trash bag though ancient spices, when the hell did I buy this? and why do I have 4 boxes of corn starch???, I realized I am a hoarder of baking good intentions. So many goodies, so little time....
Truth is... upon cleaning out the cabinet under the sink, I discovered we have had a visitor. Likely seeking shelter from the extreme temps, he happened upon a baby bell cheese snack that had been tossed in the trash.
Truth is... there is now a perimeter of glue traps laid everywhere the cat can not get into. I will not be calling an exterminator, this time.... it's personal.
Truth is... I had to prepare Youngest of the realities of glue traps. The only way a mouse could survive a glue trap is to shave them off. I then had to convince him that no one would respect a bald mouse army and that his plans of world domination would need to be carried out by other means. He is bummed, but understands.
Truth is... he's taking this much better than he did a few years ago when Mr. Chewey Cat caught the only other mouse we've ever had here due to a door being left open all night. He seriously wanted to nurse it back to health. It was a sad, sad day folks.
Truth is... the cat is fired.
Truth is... the roof finally went on the house! About a month later we finished the installation of a sun tube in the bathroom. Here's the before picture of my tiny bathroom, about noon time on a bright sunny day...
And then with the sun tube, at 8am, on a cloudy day...
Truth is... about two days later the bathroom fan died and I had to work around the newly installed sun tube to retro fit the new one. *sigh*
Truth is... I finally finished the valance for the bedroom. I used up the last of some fabric I had from another project (to be posted later) and utilized some large grommets and voila! $22 later I had curtains.
Truth is.... Have you ever seen photos of people at paint night and there's always that one person who does something so completely different and you wonder if they were in the same class? Apparently, when I turned my canvas the "wrong way" and painted clouds through my moon and wanted glitter for the snow, I became that person.
Truth is.... this could also explain why no one wants to go to next Wednesday's class with me.
Truth is... I'm also trying my hand at coloring to relax at night....
I have to use markers because I have trouble getting the color I want from pencils, with the whole hands going numb thing. I have paint markers and watercolor ones. So far, I'm not hating it. But it is taxing my hands, so I have to limit it to two drawings per night.
Truth is... my appointment to assess the nerve damage in my hands is next Monday.
Truth is... I'm beyond sick of medical appointments.
Truth is... I've missed it here...
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
Bench Warming....
If there's one undeniable thing about New England it's that we are a sports town. Even when our teams suck.... like Patriots in the 80's suck.... we are still die hard fans. It's almost sacrilegious to not follow any sports, but alas... I am not a sports fanatic.
Sure, I will watch my share of hockey and soccer. They move fast enough to hold my attention. Basketball has grown on me, mostly because I have figured out how to (mostly) block out the squeaky sneaker sounds. But football? Forget it. Actually, the only thing I truly find appealing about football is the super bowl nachos. And not even the tight pants and nice buns of baseball will entice me to turn the channel. That is unless of course, you throw in reasonable seats at Fenway, a beautiful day, and all I can eat hot dogs and fudge sundaes... because then it becomes an event... not just a sport.
Mmmmm ice cream... where was I? Ah, yeah... my avoidance of sports.
I am also not too proud to say that I avoided sports entirely for the better part of the boys' early years. There was no T-Ball, no Mighty Mites hockey, not even a rec league soccer game. As a single mom it was very hard to just juggle work, day care, and the basics of keeping them alive, and while I eventually caved and put them both into a rec league dodgeball event (6 weeks, 2 times a week, same league) and Youngest experimented in Karate (made it all the way to his blue belt) I had successfully navigated my way around every "team" sport and all of the mind numbing, time sucking, soccer mom-ing that came with it.
Until 3rd and 4th grade, respectively, and the basketball rec league took over our lives. The first year wasn't so bad. Even though the boys were on different teams they were in the same league. The second and third years, Tony coached on both leagues, which meant 4 nights a week, and that from November to February the living room was fair game for running plays and faking out your opponent...from 6am to 10pm. We also had multiple snow cancellations those years, so the February end date pushed straight into mid March, where we lived and breathed the full effects of March "madness".
Youngest likes the rec. league. He can suck and no one cares, he'll always get playing time, and he can goof off with his friends. Oldest has always been more competitive, trying out for the 7th grade school team as well, knowing full well with 42 kids trying out and two spots to fill, he'd likely never make it. And he didn't. He went on to play rec. league, and when summer came, he signed up for the High School's skills clinic.
In eight grade he tried out again. About 60 kids this time, with about 10 spots to fill. He made the first and second cuts, but failed to make the final. Disappointed, he went back to rec. league where again, he worked on his skills, enrolled in the summer clinic, and joined a summer tournament league where they got their arses handed to them every. single. game. But he showed up for every game and practice, one of only 3 kids that consistently did, and it showed.
The recreational league for High School here is limited. Perhaps their is a lack of interest by that age, or a lack of gym space, but it leaves a lot to be desired. None the less, Oldest was fine with playing rec again, but wanted to tryout for the freshman team. I was less than enthused. To be honest, I just didn't want him heartbroken again, and his practice ethics from the summer tourney league were waning. I tried to prepare him for the blow.
"You're not practicing enough."
"There's a LOT of kids trying out, and not many spots."
"You don't have the stamina."
"Imagine the practices of the summer tourney league, but WAY harder."
Yes, I know... parents of the year. But we wanted him to be prepared.
He ignored us completely. A hundred and sixty dollars and an updated physical later, he was trying out, one of 30 kids for what would inevitably be maybe four not already determined spots.
He was exhausted every practice. The other kids said he'd never make it.... he'd never made a team. The coaches yelled at him every practice to work harder, get faster, stay focused. And yet, he just kept coming back, even when his enthusiasm wavered and he began to rethink his choice, he didn't quit.
And, he made the team.
We have never been so proud to have been so wrong. Season started in November, right after Thanksgiving. They practice SIX days a week for an hour and a half every day. They play a full rotation, and work their b-ass-kets off. He doesn't get much playing time, and tonight as I finally made it to an away game, he got no playing time. But he is there, working hard, belonging to the team. Slowly the team is taking shape, and while their record sucks, it is slowly coming together.
The plan was never for him to play JV. When he initially watched the tryouts they had to endure it was completely off the table. Now, it's peaking his interest. The JV coach has started noticing him, he gets along well with the other players, it's less like work and more like play...sometimes... others times it's more like "I can't move even my eyelashes, can you get me some chocolate milk?" But he's thinking about it. And this time, I am sitting quiet.
Because as much as I want to protect him from falling, I have never been so proud of his determination.
Even if all he ever does is warm the bench.
Sure, I will watch my share of hockey and soccer. They move fast enough to hold my attention. Basketball has grown on me, mostly because I have figured out how to (mostly) block out the squeaky sneaker sounds. But football? Forget it. Actually, the only thing I truly find appealing about football is the super bowl nachos. And not even the tight pants and nice buns of baseball will entice me to turn the channel. That is unless of course, you throw in reasonable seats at Fenway, a beautiful day, and all I can eat hot dogs and fudge sundaes... because then it becomes an event... not just a sport.
Mmmmm ice cream... where was I? Ah, yeah... my avoidance of sports.
I am also not too proud to say that I avoided sports entirely for the better part of the boys' early years. There was no T-Ball, no Mighty Mites hockey, not even a rec league soccer game. As a single mom it was very hard to just juggle work, day care, and the basics of keeping them alive, and while I eventually caved and put them both into a rec league dodgeball event (6 weeks, 2 times a week, same league) and Youngest experimented in Karate (made it all the way to his blue belt) I had successfully navigated my way around every "team" sport and all of the mind numbing, time sucking, soccer mom-ing that came with it.
Until 3rd and 4th grade, respectively, and the basketball rec league took over our lives. The first year wasn't so bad. Even though the boys were on different teams they were in the same league. The second and third years, Tony coached on both leagues, which meant 4 nights a week, and that from November to February the living room was fair game for running plays and faking out your opponent...from 6am to 10pm. We also had multiple snow cancellations those years, so the February end date pushed straight into mid March, where we lived and breathed the full effects of March "madness".
Youngest likes the rec. league. He can suck and no one cares, he'll always get playing time, and he can goof off with his friends. Oldest has always been more competitive, trying out for the 7th grade school team as well, knowing full well with 42 kids trying out and two spots to fill, he'd likely never make it. And he didn't. He went on to play rec. league, and when summer came, he signed up for the High School's skills clinic.
In eight grade he tried out again. About 60 kids this time, with about 10 spots to fill. He made the first and second cuts, but failed to make the final. Disappointed, he went back to rec. league where again, he worked on his skills, enrolled in the summer clinic, and joined a summer tournament league where they got their arses handed to them every. single. game. But he showed up for every game and practice, one of only 3 kids that consistently did, and it showed.
The recreational league for High School here is limited. Perhaps their is a lack of interest by that age, or a lack of gym space, but it leaves a lot to be desired. None the less, Oldest was fine with playing rec again, but wanted to tryout for the freshman team. I was less than enthused. To be honest, I just didn't want him heartbroken again, and his practice ethics from the summer tourney league were waning. I tried to prepare him for the blow.
"You're not practicing enough."
"There's a LOT of kids trying out, and not many spots."
"You don't have the stamina."
"Imagine the practices of the summer tourney league, but WAY harder."
Yes, I know... parents of the year. But we wanted him to be prepared.
He ignored us completely. A hundred and sixty dollars and an updated physical later, he was trying out, one of 30 kids for what would inevitably be maybe four not already determined spots.
He was exhausted every practice. The other kids said he'd never make it.... he'd never made a team. The coaches yelled at him every practice to work harder, get faster, stay focused. And yet, he just kept coming back, even when his enthusiasm wavered and he began to rethink his choice, he didn't quit.
And, he made the team.
We have never been so proud to have been so wrong. Season started in November, right after Thanksgiving. They practice SIX days a week for an hour and a half every day. They play a full rotation, and work their b-ass-kets off. He doesn't get much playing time, and tonight as I finally made it to an away game, he got no playing time. But he is there, working hard, belonging to the team. Slowly the team is taking shape, and while their record sucks, it is slowly coming together.
The plan was never for him to play JV. When he initially watched the tryouts they had to endure it was completely off the table. Now, it's peaking his interest. The JV coach has started noticing him, he gets along well with the other players, it's less like work and more like play...sometimes... others times it's more like "I can't move even my eyelashes, can you get me some chocolate milk?" But he's thinking about it. And this time, I am sitting quiet.
Because as much as I want to protect him from falling, I have never been so proud of his determination.
Even if all he ever does is warm the bench.
Thursday, January 7, 2016
The Year Of New...
Christmas eve 2015 was a bit of a mess for me. Not so much a nightmare, but more of a day of irritations and disappointments. The days started out as routine as any, my getting ready for work, the last day of my eleven day stretch. Showered, check. Dressed, check. I was standing in the bathroom, hair pulled back into the perfect pony tail when , snap... the elastic goes flying and lands in the toilet. And for some ungodly reason, decent hair elastics are like searching for the pot of gold in this house.
After about 15 minutes of destroying the bathroom closet I come up with one, hastily throw my hair back up, and head out the door. Getting in the car I can see something is.... off.... like everything is out of where it usually is.... off. Apparently, not just 10 feet away from our bedroom window someone had decided to break into my car and look for some last minute Christmas goodies. *sigh*
They took nothing, of course, because I keep nothing of real value in my car, but it was hugely violating, on Christmas Eve no less. Undeterred, I went to work, swinging by the Police Station on the way. Apparently my neighbor's car had also been broken into for some stocking stuffers of cash and 2 packs of smokes.
Work dragged through the day, customers coming to the counter over and over wanting to know why their package wasn't there. None of them seeing or even acknowledging that I had done 3 package runs the day before to ensure every over priced, last minute, after thought purchase of theirs was available for pick up. Whatever. Nearing the tail end of my day, I started having sharp pains in my back and discovered that my Dear Aunt Flo was indeed showing up right on time for the holidays.
I hate her.
Onward to my mother's to retrieve the boys, drove 40 minutes home, nearly hit the neighborhood coyote who clearly has seen better days, squared away the kids, and waited for Tony to arrive home with Bonus Brother so we could all go to my sister's (3 miles from where I just came from) as a family. Of course, by the time he picked him up, dropped off the gifts for his nieces and nephews's empty house, the two of them had found better plans. His texts to his family went unanswered, as did his calls, and he was left to celebrate his mother's birthday alone. Trying to salvage his day, the two of them called to say they were going to see Star Wars, and I trucked the boys back to my sister's house alone, where we exchanged gifts and smiled pretty as the chaos insured, fielding questions of why my husband was not there.
Exhausted, I headed home around 730, to find, Dory, the female of my mated pair of clown fish, that we have watched and loved for five years, dead. The male, Hunky, died later on Christmas morning, finishing off the tank. I had started the tank with them, and they just couldn't survive this new strain of bacteria that took over the community.
It was a sad, sad night. Made even sadder by the fact that I couldn't even stay awake until midnight to open gifts. Around 9 pm Tony arrived home, and at 10:30 we decided to just open everything. Fifteen minutes later, I was passed out in bed ready to put Christmas and all things December, behind me.
Christmas was uneventful but nice. We visited my brother's and I caught up on laundry. The rest of the week slid into the next. I have often found that awkward week between Christmas and New Years difficult, having lost all sense of what day it is and where I am supposed to be. None the less, we rang the New Year in as we usually do....
...completely asleep by 9 pm.
2016
A year for new things.
Things like, locking the car every night, and enjoying the new roof that doesn't leak, or the trim that will not rot.
Or, like deleting the Face Book app off my phone in an effort to make more actual face time this year and setting up the Chrome Cast to try and cut the "cable" cord.
Even opening a new deodorant seemed appropriate considering the year we'd had. Never let them see you sweat, right?
And accepting that I do not have the time for salt water fish anymore....
Freshwater cichlids this time. We've started out the tank with some yellow labs and some blue striped guys that I can't remember the name of. I am enjoying them more than I thought I would, watching them make caves in the sand, collecting their food pellets, hoarding them in their new homes. The best part my be that they are a fraction of the cost of salt water fish, are decently hardy, and the tank set up cost us nearly nothing. The stone you see in the background is extra flag stone we had in the back yard, stacked into caves.
It's a new year...
...and time to make the old new again.
After about 15 minutes of destroying the bathroom closet I come up with one, hastily throw my hair back up, and head out the door. Getting in the car I can see something is.... off.... like everything is out of where it usually is.... off. Apparently, not just 10 feet away from our bedroom window someone had decided to break into my car and look for some last minute Christmas goodies. *sigh*
They took nothing, of course, because I keep nothing of real value in my car, but it was hugely violating, on Christmas Eve no less. Undeterred, I went to work, swinging by the Police Station on the way. Apparently my neighbor's car had also been broken into for some stocking stuffers of cash and 2 packs of smokes.
Work dragged through the day, customers coming to the counter over and over wanting to know why their package wasn't there. None of them seeing or even acknowledging that I had done 3 package runs the day before to ensure every over priced, last minute, after thought purchase of theirs was available for pick up. Whatever. Nearing the tail end of my day, I started having sharp pains in my back and discovered that my Dear Aunt Flo was indeed showing up right on time for the holidays.
I hate her.
Onward to my mother's to retrieve the boys, drove 40 minutes home, nearly hit the neighborhood coyote who clearly has seen better days, squared away the kids, and waited for Tony to arrive home with Bonus Brother so we could all go to my sister's (3 miles from where I just came from) as a family. Of course, by the time he picked him up, dropped off the gifts for his nieces and nephews's empty house, the two of them had found better plans. His texts to his family went unanswered, as did his calls, and he was left to celebrate his mother's birthday alone. Trying to salvage his day, the two of them called to say they were going to see Star Wars, and I trucked the boys back to my sister's house alone, where we exchanged gifts and smiled pretty as the chaos insured, fielding questions of why my husband was not there.
Exhausted, I headed home around 730, to find, Dory, the female of my mated pair of clown fish, that we have watched and loved for five years, dead. The male, Hunky, died later on Christmas morning, finishing off the tank. I had started the tank with them, and they just couldn't survive this new strain of bacteria that took over the community.
It was a sad, sad night. Made even sadder by the fact that I couldn't even stay awake until midnight to open gifts. Around 9 pm Tony arrived home, and at 10:30 we decided to just open everything. Fifteen minutes later, I was passed out in bed ready to put Christmas and all things December, behind me.
Christmas was uneventful but nice. We visited my brother's and I caught up on laundry. The rest of the week slid into the next. I have often found that awkward week between Christmas and New Years difficult, having lost all sense of what day it is and where I am supposed to be. None the less, we rang the New Year in as we usually do....
...completely asleep by 9 pm.
2016
A year for new things.
Things like, locking the car every night, and enjoying the new roof that doesn't leak, or the trim that will not rot.
Or, like deleting the Face Book app off my phone in an effort to make more actual face time this year and setting up the Chrome Cast to try and cut the "cable" cord.
Even opening a new deodorant seemed appropriate considering the year we'd had. Never let them see you sweat, right?
And accepting that I do not have the time for salt water fish anymore....
Freshwater cichlids this time. We've started out the tank with some yellow labs and some blue striped guys that I can't remember the name of. I am enjoying them more than I thought I would, watching them make caves in the sand, collecting their food pellets, hoarding them in their new homes. The best part my be that they are a fraction of the cost of salt water fish, are decently hardy, and the tank set up cost us nearly nothing. The stone you see in the background is extra flag stone we had in the back yard, stacked into caves.
It's a new year...
...and time to make the old new again.
Saturday, January 2, 2016
The Witching Ball...
A witching ball is a colorful blown ball of glass, with delicate strands of glass left inside that hangs from the window. None of them are exactly the same. Legend has it that as the evil spirits and mojo enters your home, it would get caught in the strands, trapping it inside, rendering it harmless.
So of course, I had to have one.
After years of looking, I found one in the colors I wanted in a small gift store in Hyannis. Swirls of light blues and peaches, it hangs in the window of the sun room, gathering about as much evil mojo as dust now a days.
And while I am a rational person that knows that life is no more than a series of ebbing and flowing, there are days when I look at it and think to myself, "Maybe this thing's just so chock full of bad mojo that stuff's getting through."
Over the last few months, there's been a lot of days when I succumb to the superstition and I think maybe it's time to get a new one. I'd love to have one custom blown at the glass blowing place down the street, but given that it took me years to find the first one and that custom ones can be quite pricey, the idea has been long since thrown to the back burner.
Christmas was very simple this year, particularly for Tony and myself. Along with a 7 pound Resse's peanut butter cup, I had all of Tony's mother's photographs put into an album. And, after asking for a gift list virtually everyday, I finally told Tony to get me a waterproof camera, since my last one took a swim, so it was not unexpected when I opened a small Nikon camera, in highly visible neon yellow, along with a new memory card on Christmas morning. But quite unexpectedly, along side it, professionally wrapped in paper unlike all the rest, sat another small box with my name on it.
He had gone off the list Pen Pals....
Carefully wrapped in purple tissue paper was another witching ball.
Dark blue and purple, it reminds me of the rainbow iridescence you would see in an oil spill on the water's surface. It's hanging in the first of the four windows in the sun room, one window away from it's compliment, ready and waiting to catch this year's evil mojo as it's happens upon our home.
Because while know that we are due for an upswing of good fortune soon, a little witching magic never hurt anyone.
So of course, I had to have one.
After years of looking, I found one in the colors I wanted in a small gift store in Hyannis. Swirls of light blues and peaches, it hangs in the window of the sun room, gathering about as much evil mojo as dust now a days.
And while I am a rational person that knows that life is no more than a series of ebbing and flowing, there are days when I look at it and think to myself, "Maybe this thing's just so chock full of bad mojo that stuff's getting through."
Over the last few months, there's been a lot of days when I succumb to the superstition and I think maybe it's time to get a new one. I'd love to have one custom blown at the glass blowing place down the street, but given that it took me years to find the first one and that custom ones can be quite pricey, the idea has been long since thrown to the back burner.
Christmas was very simple this year, particularly for Tony and myself. Along with a 7 pound Resse's peanut butter cup, I had all of Tony's mother's photographs put into an album. And, after asking for a gift list virtually everyday, I finally told Tony to get me a waterproof camera, since my last one took a swim, so it was not unexpected when I opened a small Nikon camera, in highly visible neon yellow, along with a new memory card on Christmas morning. But quite unexpectedly, along side it, professionally wrapped in paper unlike all the rest, sat another small box with my name on it.
He had gone off the list Pen Pals....
Carefully wrapped in purple tissue paper was another witching ball.
Dark blue and purple, it reminds me of the rainbow iridescence you would see in an oil spill on the water's surface. It's hanging in the first of the four windows in the sun room, one window away from it's compliment, ready and waiting to catch this year's evil mojo as it's happens upon our home.
Because while know that we are due for an upswing of good fortune soon, a little witching magic never hurt anyone.
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