I could spend another hour sitting here trying to think of something to post about, but I'm afraid it wouldn't do me very much good. I'm so tired that I could fall asleep sitting up. I can't think, I can't function, I don't even know if I can make it up the stairs to bed. And right now, sleeping on the couch seems like the way to go, despite its general uncomfy-ness.
So I'm out, I'm gone, I'm to bed ... Perhaps to sleep, perchance to dream.
Going Back to the Grind
And it's up early and back to work today. All thoughts of vacation sadly gone from my mind ...
But since I've only 15 crucial minutes to pull myself together, which requires me getting dressed, blow drying my hair and nabbing a piece of toast before heading out the door, I need to get a move on now. Fashionably late, not exactly fashionable in my neck of the woods ...
Oh well ... I can't put it off any longer.
But since I've only 15 crucial minutes to pull myself together, which requires me getting dressed, blow drying my hair and nabbing a piece of toast before heading out the door, I need to get a move on now. Fashionably late, not exactly fashionable in my neck of the woods ...
Oh well ... I can't put it off any longer.
Waiting For the Storm
It's the still before the storm.
Outside no wind, no movement on any kind. Just the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance as azure blue skies darken to black. Inside the television cries its warnings in high pitched staccato beeps, as a line of red lettering flashes across the bottom of the screen, advising those in the path of the storm to seek shelter immediately.
Depressed KC lounges on the couch, kicking off her shoes no longer on her way outside to play. And with the windows shut, at least most of the way but not quite all, we simply wait. Wait for the weather to do what it will, good or bad.
Outside the trees begin to rustle in the wind, the top of their branches swaying back and forth like drunken sailors on leave. I watch for a moment, slightly unconcerned as the thunder draws closer, enjoying the feeling of the storm. A tumultuous energy, unbridled and fierce, the essence of strength, combined with the power of destruction.
And now would be a good time for me to go, before this weather gets much worse. It wouldn't do to fool around with Mother Nature, especially considering my laptop is still brand new.
Outside no wind, no movement on any kind. Just the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance as azure blue skies darken to black. Inside the television cries its warnings in high pitched staccato beeps, as a line of red lettering flashes across the bottom of the screen, advising those in the path of the storm to seek shelter immediately.
Depressed KC lounges on the couch, kicking off her shoes no longer on her way outside to play. And with the windows shut, at least most of the way but not quite all, we simply wait. Wait for the weather to do what it will, good or bad.
Outside the trees begin to rustle in the wind, the top of their branches swaying back and forth like drunken sailors on leave. I watch for a moment, slightly unconcerned as the thunder draws closer, enjoying the feeling of the storm. A tumultuous energy, unbridled and fierce, the essence of strength, combined with the power of destruction.
And now would be a good time for me to go, before this weather gets much worse. It wouldn't do to fool around with Mother Nature, especially considering my laptop is still brand new.
Saturday At Home
Hmmm ... An interesting turn of events around the house this afternoon. On one side new neighbors moving in, and on the other, a somewhat lengthy conversation with the man who lives next door, thanks to a few fact probing questions. And all I have to say is hubba hubba, even though blonde headed men aren't usually my thing.
Thanks to KC deeming us the welcoming committee, I've had to play nice for the last several minutes - not that I'm not usually a nice sort of person, I'm just not a big fan of constant interruptions. Of which in the past few minutes there have been many ... But I'm still smiling, though it may not last much longer if KC insists of taking everyone for a tour of our house. (Cleaning day being tomorrow ... if you get my drift.)
In fact, now might be an advantageous time to take a trip down to Dad's and jump into the pool since it's one hell of a scorcher today. Beads of sweat are dripping down my face a mile a minute as I sit here baking - with sunscreen - and despite it being a good hair day, the humidity curling my hair up in cute little brown ringlets, I'm ready for a cool dip and the peaceful sound of silence.
And just as I expected, things around here are going to be getting even better. The new neighbor guy just took the resident problem child to task for the loudness of his music. And while I do quite agree that loud music after a certain hour can be annoying, I don't have much of a problem with it in the middle of the afternoon. In fact I'm rather enjoying the song, right along with the kid cranking the volume up and down every few seconds to further prove his overall annoying-ness. Somebody get me some popcorn, I am thoroughly entertained ...
Thanks to KC deeming us the welcoming committee, I've had to play nice for the last several minutes - not that I'm not usually a nice sort of person, I'm just not a big fan of constant interruptions. Of which in the past few minutes there have been many ... But I'm still smiling, though it may not last much longer if KC insists of taking everyone for a tour of our house. (Cleaning day being tomorrow ... if you get my drift.)
In fact, now might be an advantageous time to take a trip down to Dad's and jump into the pool since it's one hell of a scorcher today. Beads of sweat are dripping down my face a mile a minute as I sit here baking - with sunscreen - and despite it being a good hair day, the humidity curling my hair up in cute little brown ringlets, I'm ready for a cool dip and the peaceful sound of silence.
And just as I expected, things around here are going to be getting even better. The new neighbor guy just took the resident problem child to task for the loudness of his music. And while I do quite agree that loud music after a certain hour can be annoying, I don't have much of a problem with it in the middle of the afternoon. In fact I'm rather enjoying the song, right along with the kid cranking the volume up and down every few seconds to further prove his overall annoying-ness. Somebody get me some popcorn, I am thoroughly entertained ...
The Vacation Chronicles, The Final Chapter
A lazy Friday morning. And everything is so still. Still and quiet as I enjoy this, the last day of my vacation, and I'm a bit glum thinking about having to relinquish my freedom once again come Monday.
It's such a shame vacations are meant to last forever ...
Emma is at her usual position, begging for a scratch beside the computer as I type. And it's no wonder some of these posts take so long for me to complete with constant interruptions to make my little furball happy, content and glad to have been rescued from the animal shelter and brought to our sometimes chaotic though loving home. I smile to think back upon it now.
Emma, was one of those dual Christmas gifts. KC wanted desperately to have a pet and I had gone far too long without one. And so it seemed the perfect solution, find a cat, dress her up with a bow, and bring her home. But finding her wasn't all that easy.
When I was a child, Mom always insisted we get our pets from the animal shelter whenever possible. And though back then I believed her to be biased against those with pedigrees, it always turned out, that the rescued animal, be it dog or cat, always turned out to be the favorite of them all. Whether they were grateful for the rescue, or simply happy to be chosen on personal merit alone, we always managed to find animals full of personality and love.
Not that they always loved everyone equally. Because as far as Brat (a midnight black cat with amber eyes) was concerned there were only two people she loved, my Mom and myself. Anyone else was swattable from atop the kitchen fridge, and worthy of a mighty hiss of attitude.
Sadie however loved everyone, which perhaps was more because she was what one might call the village idiot. She is the only dog I can ever remembering owning too stupid to realize that she'd been hit by a car. Here the frantic driver came rushing to the door with his oh my God's and I'm so sorry's and there's Sadie ambling on over with her short legged gait, tongue and tail wagging away in the wind, with an adorable but completely dumb expression on her face. Stupid but true.
Sadie was so much loved, that Mom eventually handed over ownership to my Grandmother, where she spent the rest of her life eating doggie bon bons and being spoiled like no hound ever has. It's no wonder Grandma still keeps a picture of sweet Sadie in a place of honor on her night table.
So with Mom's lessons ringing in my ears, I headed immediately for the nearest shelter, ready to find a new addition to our home. But the first shelter I went to was depressing. Walking in the door, I expected to be greeted by one of the four people sitting around a circular table playing cards, but instead I was ignored ... Completely.
Regardless of this, I wandered into the next room where cats of all ages, colors and sizes sat in cages stacked one on top of the other. Most of them however were hesitant to initiate contact with me through the bars, choosing instead to cower at the back of their cages when I came too near. And though I was eager to bring someone home, none of the animals seemed to be the perfect choice I was looking for.
I ended up leaving that shelter empty handed, depressed for all the animals I couldn't take home, and irritated with the fact that no one bothered to assist me while I was there. Unlike a pet store, someone going to a shelter - nine times out of ten - is there to find an animal, rescue it and bring it home. They're not there to browse the pretty kitties and leave ... And so, I was extremely agitated that the employees there didn't even try to pretend one iota of caring for the animals in their charge. Had their attitudes been different, I could have left that day with an animal by my side.
But life works in mysterious ways ...
Online I found just the shelter I was looking for, one that cared enough to post a website complete with pictures and information on the animals they had up for adoption. With my heart set on a black cat, I scrolled down the list of available felines until I finally found what I was looking for, a short hair domestic, completely black and only a few months old, brought in as a stray. They called her Jaylyn.
With a quick call to my sister Jodi, as much for moral support as well as restraint, we made quick work navigating through a few small towns on our way to the shelter.
Immediately upon getting there, we were greeted by an extremely friendly and helpful staff. And I was all at once positive that this shelter should have been my first stop all along. Giving us the full run of the cat adoption room, they left us in peace to take our time greeting each individual cat, with the instructions to feel free to open any of the cages and take them out one by one for closer inspection.
But there was only one cat on my mind, and as I began walking down the row, my eyes searched each and every cage for a sign of black fluff. "When I find the right cat, it will choose me," came back my own words from a conversation I had had at work earlier and so when a quick flash of small black paw reached out from inbetween the bars to paw at my dangling sleeve - I was wearing one of those shirts with the ridiculously long and flowing sleeves at the time - it was like instant recognition, I may have even squealed in joy ...
Throwing the latch and reaching in, the small black cat virtually hopped into my arms, leaving me with little doubt that it was complete and utter love at first sight. And with no reason to wait, I sent Jodi off to deliver the message to the lady at the desk, the little one who had been lost, had now been found and we were going home.
30 minutes of paperwork later and a promissary note to have her spayed within a month's time, Jodi and I carried our precious cargo to the car, having changed her name from the stomach churning name of Jaylyn to Emma, thanks to Jodi and her list of thought provoking questions of things I liked. I always knew my love of Jane Austen would come in handy one day ...
It's been heaven ever since. Emma keeping me company whenever KC's not home and providing KC with enough amusement to keep her occupied when she is. Although there have been plenty of times when Emma may have wished that KC would completely forget about her, like the time when she decided to deck the cat out in multicolored hair pretties ... Still despite small events of torture and too much loving, Emma has never once scratched KC in anger or otherwise. Me on the other hand she goes to town with whenever her friskier side requires blood. But you know what, I wouldn't change it for the world.
It's such a shame vacations are meant to last forever ...
Emma is at her usual position, begging for a scratch beside the computer as I type. And it's no wonder some of these posts take so long for me to complete with constant interruptions to make my little furball happy, content and glad to have been rescued from the animal shelter and brought to our sometimes chaotic though loving home. I smile to think back upon it now.
Emma, was one of those dual Christmas gifts. KC wanted desperately to have a pet and I had gone far too long without one. And so it seemed the perfect solution, find a cat, dress her up with a bow, and bring her home. But finding her wasn't all that easy.
When I was a child, Mom always insisted we get our pets from the animal shelter whenever possible. And though back then I believed her to be biased against those with pedigrees, it always turned out, that the rescued animal, be it dog or cat, always turned out to be the favorite of them all. Whether they were grateful for the rescue, or simply happy to be chosen on personal merit alone, we always managed to find animals full of personality and love.
Not that they always loved everyone equally. Because as far as Brat (a midnight black cat with amber eyes) was concerned there were only two people she loved, my Mom and myself. Anyone else was swattable from atop the kitchen fridge, and worthy of a mighty hiss of attitude.
Sadie however loved everyone, which perhaps was more because she was what one might call the village idiot. She is the only dog I can ever remembering owning too stupid to realize that she'd been hit by a car. Here the frantic driver came rushing to the door with his oh my God's and I'm so sorry's and there's Sadie ambling on over with her short legged gait, tongue and tail wagging away in the wind, with an adorable but completely dumb expression on her face. Stupid but true.
Sadie was so much loved, that Mom eventually handed over ownership to my Grandmother, where she spent the rest of her life eating doggie bon bons and being spoiled like no hound ever has. It's no wonder Grandma still keeps a picture of sweet Sadie in a place of honor on her night table.
So with Mom's lessons ringing in my ears, I headed immediately for the nearest shelter, ready to find a new addition to our home. But the first shelter I went to was depressing. Walking in the door, I expected to be greeted by one of the four people sitting around a circular table playing cards, but instead I was ignored ... Completely.
Regardless of this, I wandered into the next room where cats of all ages, colors and sizes sat in cages stacked one on top of the other. Most of them however were hesitant to initiate contact with me through the bars, choosing instead to cower at the back of their cages when I came too near. And though I was eager to bring someone home, none of the animals seemed to be the perfect choice I was looking for.
I ended up leaving that shelter empty handed, depressed for all the animals I couldn't take home, and irritated with the fact that no one bothered to assist me while I was there. Unlike a pet store, someone going to a shelter - nine times out of ten - is there to find an animal, rescue it and bring it home. They're not there to browse the pretty kitties and leave ... And so, I was extremely agitated that the employees there didn't even try to pretend one iota of caring for the animals in their charge. Had their attitudes been different, I could have left that day with an animal by my side.
But life works in mysterious ways ...
Online I found just the shelter I was looking for, one that cared enough to post a website complete with pictures and information on the animals they had up for adoption. With my heart set on a black cat, I scrolled down the list of available felines until I finally found what I was looking for, a short hair domestic, completely black and only a few months old, brought in as a stray. They called her Jaylyn.
With a quick call to my sister Jodi, as much for moral support as well as restraint, we made quick work navigating through a few small towns on our way to the shelter.
Immediately upon getting there, we were greeted by an extremely friendly and helpful staff. And I was all at once positive that this shelter should have been my first stop all along. Giving us the full run of the cat adoption room, they left us in peace to take our time greeting each individual cat, with the instructions to feel free to open any of the cages and take them out one by one for closer inspection.
But there was only one cat on my mind, and as I began walking down the row, my eyes searched each and every cage for a sign of black fluff. "When I find the right cat, it will choose me," came back my own words from a conversation I had had at work earlier and so when a quick flash of small black paw reached out from inbetween the bars to paw at my dangling sleeve - I was wearing one of those shirts with the ridiculously long and flowing sleeves at the time - it was like instant recognition, I may have even squealed in joy ...
Throwing the latch and reaching in, the small black cat virtually hopped into my arms, leaving me with little doubt that it was complete and utter love at first sight. And with no reason to wait, I sent Jodi off to deliver the message to the lady at the desk, the little one who had been lost, had now been found and we were going home.
30 minutes of paperwork later and a promissary note to have her spayed within a month's time, Jodi and I carried our precious cargo to the car, having changed her name from the stomach churning name of Jaylyn to Emma, thanks to Jodi and her list of thought provoking questions of things I liked. I always knew my love of Jane Austen would come in handy one day ...
It's been heaven ever since. Emma keeping me company whenever KC's not home and providing KC with enough amusement to keep her occupied when she is. Although there have been plenty of times when Emma may have wished that KC would completely forget about her, like the time when she decided to deck the cat out in multicolored hair pretties ... Still despite small events of torture and too much loving, Emma has never once scratched KC in anger or otherwise. Me on the other hand she goes to town with whenever her friskier side requires blood. But you know what, I wouldn't change it for the world.
The Vacation Chronicles, Chapter 4
I am a half baked lobster.
My poor skin has been fried beyond belief, all due to my own stupidity of forgetting to put on sunscreen. And it occurs to me, that I am an idiot. An idiot on fire ...
I suppose this is what I get for volunteering to take all the kids over to Grandpa's house for a swim. My parting gifts, a headache from refereeing pool fights and a third degree sunburn. The story of my life ...
With the kids annoying each other in the other room, I'm hiding out in the dining room, waiting for the clay dragon I made to finish baking in the oven. It's a rather last minute present I made for Jen's birthday - which was yesterday. Thanks to absolutely no one for being kind enough to fill me in ... cough, cough, cough, Amy.
Hopefully Jen will like it. I spent most of the afternoon creating the beast while the kids were having a grand old time splashing each other and carrying on like, well like kids in a pool usually do. I did have to draw the line at the JAWS game though, as Jay was taking it a bit too far. Besides, after listening to him humming away the JAWS theme for ten minutes straight, something had to give. Let's just say it didn't exactly fall under the heading of a difficult decision.
My niece is now begging to stay the night, and KC would like her to stay as well. But between you, me, and anyone else out there who happens to be listening, I think I've put in more than my share of quality Aunty time today, so as soon as I get the dragon done, we'll be on the road to take them home.
Now that they've taken themselves off to trash the upstairs, now seems like a good time ...
My poor skin has been fried beyond belief, all due to my own stupidity of forgetting to put on sunscreen. And it occurs to me, that I am an idiot. An idiot on fire ...
I suppose this is what I get for volunteering to take all the kids over to Grandpa's house for a swim. My parting gifts, a headache from refereeing pool fights and a third degree sunburn. The story of my life ...
With the kids annoying each other in the other room, I'm hiding out in the dining room, waiting for the clay dragon I made to finish baking in the oven. It's a rather last minute present I made for Jen's birthday - which was yesterday. Thanks to absolutely no one for being kind enough to fill me in ... cough, cough, cough, Amy.
Hopefully Jen will like it. I spent most of the afternoon creating the beast while the kids were having a grand old time splashing each other and carrying on like, well like kids in a pool usually do. I did have to draw the line at the JAWS game though, as Jay was taking it a bit too far. Besides, after listening to him humming away the JAWS theme for ten minutes straight, something had to give. Let's just say it didn't exactly fall under the heading of a difficult decision.
My niece is now begging to stay the night, and KC would like her to stay as well. But between you, me, and anyone else out there who happens to be listening, I think I've put in more than my share of quality Aunty time today, so as soon as I get the dragon done, we'll be on the road to take them home.
Now that they've taken themselves off to trash the upstairs, now seems like a good time ...
The Vacation Chronicles, Chapter 3
Have you ever been to a zoo that depressed you so much, you wanted to unlock all the cages and set the animals free? I have ... In fact, it was only yesterday I was there.
Walking the rutted paths that led from one sad cage to another, KC and I noticed that most of the animals were either too tired, and/or too depressed to move or care, though in some cases so desperate for attention they bleated out their grievances in loud, angry barks just as soon as you began to walk near or away. I couldn't help but hum Born Free, and as we continued our sad little procession through the park, I thought back to my debating days.
As a senior in high school, I used my public speaking class as a forum for debate on the subject of zoo's and what I considered their unjust cruelty to animals. From the reaction I got from the it's not okay to hunt animals, but it's okay to lock them up behind bars in the smallest of cages girl, I could tell I was going to have a time trying to convince my fellow students and faculty to my way of thinking.
Regulations, I had said were the key to solving the problem. Regulations that could enforce how animals in captivity should be kept, treated and viewed by the public. Animals, I contended were not put on this earth for our amusement and shouldn't be displayed as freak shows in a circus. And so, the responsibility for their care, should in no uncertain terms be of the highest standards, with laws limiting the number of animals that could or couldn't be displayed in a single enclosure, as well as what type of enclosure best provided the animal with the maximum amount of space, while remaining as true as possible to their native habitats.
I should have known that comments such as mine, were sure as shit to set my nemesis Tracy on fire.
"Stacey," she said, pausing dramatically to survey the room, catching the eyes of all her cohorts, "I don't understand how you can say zoo's are a form of animal cruelty, and then support the slaying of defenseless animals in the wild. It seems to me, you're a bit confused to have two such differing opinions."
Regarding her as I normally did, with an inward rolling of eyes and a soundless sigh, I took a breath and began to speak.
"Actually Tracy, captivity and conservation, are a bit more different then you think. In a perfect world, the zoo would function as a refuge for wild animals, serving to both cultivate and propagate species of animals that are slowly being overhunted or simply pushed from within their own boundaries into extinction. And while conservation certainly does hold true to these same beliefs, it also understands the need to regulate an animals population in the wild.
Considering the small areas of access left to wild animals, such as the common deer, responsible hunting serves the same purpose as a wild lion to a herd of impalas, providing both necessary nourishment, as well as a series of checks and balances that no one population should grow beyond its measure."
"That still doesn't answer how zoo's are cruel," she piped up once again, a bitchy smirk lighting her face.
"The concept of a zoo is a wonderful idea in theory, though not always in practice. My problem is with the zoo's that have issues of neglect in regards to the animals housing and overall care.
Imagine if you will, that you are a snow leopard. Inside your enclosure your floor is that of hard cement, one wall concrete behind you, one glass partition in front of you, and you're only view to the outside - the small door you use to gain access to your yard.
Outside there is only room to pace back and forth, as hordes of people cram themselves up against the fence to take a look at you, with no place for privacy, neither inside or out.
But now imagine a new space. A space that appears more in liking with the natural habitat of a snow leopard. Space enough to run, jump, take a nap, breathe fresh air, and take shelter from the elements and of course, let the public view you in all your natural glory." I paused, letting the picture sink in to those listening intently before me. "I don't imagine there is anyone in this room, who would raise their hand for option A.
Our opinions on zoos therefore need to change. A zoo is a place where we should go hoping to catch a glimpse of an animal, hoping to see them as they really are. It shouldn't be a place where we are guaranteed a view just for the fact alone that the animal cannot escape from prying eyes.
It should be a place where no animal is confined alone, but not in a group too large that spacing becomes an issue. Animal caregivers should be highly trained and qualified, understanding the needs of the animal and providing them with all things necessary for a balanced, fulfilling life in captivity. Parks as well, should be regularly maintained to provide both the best accommodations for the animals, as well as for the people who pass through their gates on a daily basis. It should be clean and open, with the feeling that captivity for these animals is a godsend and not a life sentence. And quite frankly, anything less than that should be considered inhumane."
And that as they say was that. I got my A, Tracy got her comeuppance and over the years my opinion hasn't changed. Which is why the deplorable condition at yesterday's zoo really set my teeth to grinding, leaving me wondering what, if anything, I can do to make a change.
* All opinions expressed are entirely my own and should not be used against me in comments. *
Walking the rutted paths that led from one sad cage to another, KC and I noticed that most of the animals were either too tired, and/or too depressed to move or care, though in some cases so desperate for attention they bleated out their grievances in loud, angry barks just as soon as you began to walk near or away. I couldn't help but hum Born Free, and as we continued our sad little procession through the park, I thought back to my debating days.
As a senior in high school, I used my public speaking class as a forum for debate on the subject of zoo's and what I considered their unjust cruelty to animals. From the reaction I got from the it's not okay to hunt animals, but it's okay to lock them up behind bars in the smallest of cages girl, I could tell I was going to have a time trying to convince my fellow students and faculty to my way of thinking.
Regulations, I had said were the key to solving the problem. Regulations that could enforce how animals in captivity should be kept, treated and viewed by the public. Animals, I contended were not put on this earth for our amusement and shouldn't be displayed as freak shows in a circus. And so, the responsibility for their care, should in no uncertain terms be of the highest standards, with laws limiting the number of animals that could or couldn't be displayed in a single enclosure, as well as what type of enclosure best provided the animal with the maximum amount of space, while remaining as true as possible to their native habitats.
I should have known that comments such as mine, were sure as shit to set my nemesis Tracy on fire.
"Stacey," she said, pausing dramatically to survey the room, catching the eyes of all her cohorts, "I don't understand how you can say zoo's are a form of animal cruelty, and then support the slaying of defenseless animals in the wild. It seems to me, you're a bit confused to have two such differing opinions."
Regarding her as I normally did, with an inward rolling of eyes and a soundless sigh, I took a breath and began to speak.
"Actually Tracy, captivity and conservation, are a bit more different then you think. In a perfect world, the zoo would function as a refuge for wild animals, serving to both cultivate and propagate species of animals that are slowly being overhunted or simply pushed from within their own boundaries into extinction. And while conservation certainly does hold true to these same beliefs, it also understands the need to regulate an animals population in the wild.
Considering the small areas of access left to wild animals, such as the common deer, responsible hunting serves the same purpose as a wild lion to a herd of impalas, providing both necessary nourishment, as well as a series of checks and balances that no one population should grow beyond its measure."
"That still doesn't answer how zoo's are cruel," she piped up once again, a bitchy smirk lighting her face.
"The concept of a zoo is a wonderful idea in theory, though not always in practice. My problem is with the zoo's that have issues of neglect in regards to the animals housing and overall care.
Imagine if you will, that you are a snow leopard. Inside your enclosure your floor is that of hard cement, one wall concrete behind you, one glass partition in front of you, and you're only view to the outside - the small door you use to gain access to your yard.
Outside there is only room to pace back and forth, as hordes of people cram themselves up against the fence to take a look at you, with no place for privacy, neither inside or out.
But now imagine a new space. A space that appears more in liking with the natural habitat of a snow leopard. Space enough to run, jump, take a nap, breathe fresh air, and take shelter from the elements and of course, let the public view you in all your natural glory." I paused, letting the picture sink in to those listening intently before me. "I don't imagine there is anyone in this room, who would raise their hand for option A.
Our opinions on zoos therefore need to change. A zoo is a place where we should go hoping to catch a glimpse of an animal, hoping to see them as they really are. It shouldn't be a place where we are guaranteed a view just for the fact alone that the animal cannot escape from prying eyes.
It should be a place where no animal is confined alone, but not in a group too large that spacing becomes an issue. Animal caregivers should be highly trained and qualified, understanding the needs of the animal and providing them with all things necessary for a balanced, fulfilling life in captivity. Parks as well, should be regularly maintained to provide both the best accommodations for the animals, as well as for the people who pass through their gates on a daily basis. It should be clean and open, with the feeling that captivity for these animals is a godsend and not a life sentence. And quite frankly, anything less than that should be considered inhumane."
And that as they say was that. I got my A, Tracy got her comeuppance and over the years my opinion hasn't changed. Which is why the deplorable condition at yesterday's zoo really set my teeth to grinding, leaving me wondering what, if anything, I can do to make a change.
* All opinions expressed are entirely my own and should not be used against me in comments. *
The Vacation Chronicles, Chapter 2
The art of having a good vacation, despite the hollow echoing sound of your wallet, is finding interesting things to do that cost nearly next to nothing, or if you're very lucky, aboslutely nothing at all.
Yesterday KC and I splurged and spent the afternoon at the movies. Much to our surprise, Princess Diaries 2: The Royal Engagement turned out to be a good flick. And though I'm always a bit iffy on sequals, I was pleased that even without the first movie, the second was good enough to stand on its own.
And since I'm crowing about the film, let me crow more in the direction of its writer, Meggin Cabot. Meg has more to her claim to fame then just the Princess Diaries. She's written two other charming, laugh out loud funny books that had me completely smitten with its characters as well as green with envy on the clever idea of writing an entire book comprised entirely of emails. And wouldn't you know it, researching the link, I've found a book I've missed! (Penciling in Barnes and Noble for a priority stop today.) And to think this was supposed to be a blog about vacationing on limited funds ...
As for today's plan, it's a toss up. I'm still debating a trip to the zoo or a day of crafts. Either one KC will enjoy, my only concern is whether or not it's going to stay warm enough today to be outside. My friends would be laughing to hear that coming from me, considering I'm the idiot girl who doesn't bother to wear a coat all winter long, despite below zero tempertures. But will, as they like to say, sport a windbreaker in the middle of summer, when its ninety degrees. I guess one can't help having their own little oddities.
We're off to discover!
Yesterday KC and I splurged and spent the afternoon at the movies. Much to our surprise, Princess Diaries 2: The Royal Engagement turned out to be a good flick. And though I'm always a bit iffy on sequals, I was pleased that even without the first movie, the second was good enough to stand on its own.
And since I'm crowing about the film, let me crow more in the direction of its writer, Meggin Cabot. Meg has more to her claim to fame then just the Princess Diaries. She's written two other charming, laugh out loud funny books that had me completely smitten with its characters as well as green with envy on the clever idea of writing an entire book comprised entirely of emails. And wouldn't you know it, researching the link, I've found a book I've missed! (Penciling in Barnes and Noble for a priority stop today.) And to think this was supposed to be a blog about vacationing on limited funds ...
As for today's plan, it's a toss up. I'm still debating a trip to the zoo or a day of crafts. Either one KC will enjoy, my only concern is whether or not it's going to stay warm enough today to be outside. My friends would be laughing to hear that coming from me, considering I'm the idiot girl who doesn't bother to wear a coat all winter long, despite below zero tempertures. But will, as they like to say, sport a windbreaker in the middle of summer, when its ninety degrees. I guess one can't help having their own little oddities.
We're off to discover!
Unlock the Silence
"Every year I feel the anniversary coming even before my conscious mind recognizes it. When the air crisps and the leaves begin to turn, I get this thing about taking out the trash. About oatmeal. The eyes in the back of my head, the ones that are never shut, begin to burn like the autumn colors, filling me with emotions I still can't encompass."
An excerpt from the essay, "Returns of the Day" by Nancy Venable Raine
After Silence: Rape and My Journey Back ... Also by Nancy Venable Raine
For those of us who dream to make a difference ... It's only one click away.Donate to RAINN
Together we can be heard.
The Vacation Chronicles, Chapter 1
Day 1, Vacation 2004
Blogging from the extremely exotic location of my dining room table, where sounds of the washer whirring and dryer drying can be heard over the sound of KC's new play station game.
I'm a bit of a crank this morning. Evidently staying local on your vacation means people believe it's okay to ring you at an ungodly hour. And while something after 8 may not seem so ungodly to some people, when you've stayed up late into the wee hours finishing a book you couldn't put down, let me assure you it is.
I am giving unplugging the phone for the remainder of the week some serious consideration ...
Other than that, I'm doing the bare minimum of morning chores before KC and I head to places unknown for the day. And as I always like to say, "Have credit card, will travel."
Which is an unfortunate un-truth, since the current state of my car prohibits any long and out of state trips. And it totally sucks, because I was giving some thought to packing up and driving to North Carolina, to surprise my Mom with an impromptu visit. You know the kind where you show up on the doorstep in the middle of the night and say, "Surprise! We're here!" and worry about whether they have room for you later, or not.
And sigh. It would have been nice to sit out on her deck, overlooking the lake while KC ran around the yard playing with the dog, or attempting to catch fish, with Grandpa unhooking her catch, because quite frankly, that's not in my job description. Runny noses, yes, the occasional vomiting session, disgustingly yes, but fish ... Absolutely not, I'd rather make a swift return back to the diaper days.
And I could have sat in the sun and shade, gloriously typing away pages to the novel I'm oh so slowly writing, with the feel of the summer breeze softly blowing against my cheeks and tousling my hair. And I could have relaxed. Gotten away from it all, them all, and anyone else who threatens to be even mildly annoying during my time of freedom and rest. And I'm sure Mom would have enjoyed the visit too ...
Ach well, even the best laid or never made plans tend to work themselves out eventually.
Blogging from the extremely exotic location of my dining room table, where sounds of the washer whirring and dryer drying can be heard over the sound of KC's new play station game.
I'm a bit of a crank this morning. Evidently staying local on your vacation means people believe it's okay to ring you at an ungodly hour. And while something after 8 may not seem so ungodly to some people, when you've stayed up late into the wee hours finishing a book you couldn't put down, let me assure you it is.
I am giving unplugging the phone for the remainder of the week some serious consideration ...
Other than that, I'm doing the bare minimum of morning chores before KC and I head to places unknown for the day. And as I always like to say, "Have credit card, will travel."
Which is an unfortunate un-truth, since the current state of my car prohibits any long and out of state trips. And it totally sucks, because I was giving some thought to packing up and driving to North Carolina, to surprise my Mom with an impromptu visit. You know the kind where you show up on the doorstep in the middle of the night and say, "Surprise! We're here!" and worry about whether they have room for you later, or not.
And sigh. It would have been nice to sit out on her deck, overlooking the lake while KC ran around the yard playing with the dog, or attempting to catch fish, with Grandpa unhooking her catch, because quite frankly, that's not in my job description. Runny noses, yes, the occasional vomiting session, disgustingly yes, but fish ... Absolutely not, I'd rather make a swift return back to the diaper days.
And I could have sat in the sun and shade, gloriously typing away pages to the novel I'm oh so slowly writing, with the feel of the summer breeze softly blowing against my cheeks and tousling my hair. And I could have relaxed. Gotten away from it all, them all, and anyone else who threatens to be even mildly annoying during my time of freedom and rest. And I'm sure Mom would have enjoyed the visit too ...
Ach well, even the best laid or never made plans tend to work themselves out eventually.
Come Morning, I'll Regret This Post
The hour is late and yet I blog. Perhaps for the simple fact of being awake when most of the world is sleeping and yet not sleeping, and much more likely because every conversation within my head revolves around writing it down.
I finished the first of my two books bought today at B&N. And promptly came downstairs for a drink of water in disguise as chocolate milk, attempting to distract myself from grabbing the second book and making it an up all night, when I am already oh so sleepy.
Which leads me to my present line of thought, as I sit here shivering, not bothering to close the windows.
At the moment, it's my extreme lack of purpose that has me all riled up. Well maybe not actually that. But something close to the line of feeling like a complete and absolute loser for not having much of a life in the white picket sense of the word. Home and family, family and home. Why does it seem that everyone else out there in the real world has a normal life, while I struggle to muddle through it all on my own?
Would you understand when I say that I'm jealous as hell?
Green with every color of envy possible. Because I can't seem to get my hands on what I want. A freakishly normal June Cleaver family life with three kids and a dog, and a lawn to complain about mowing.
And now I have completely lost it.
After all, wasn't it my voice preaching to my younger sister just the other day, that you don't make plans around a man? Wasn't that me sounding so damn sanctimonious? As if I knew what I was talking about ... And I think I might have even thrown the word stupid in there, to make my point. Which makes me the proverbial pot calling the kettle black, as single as I am.
And how sad is it, that the invisible man of my future has already managed to make me dance in circles. And I may be, just for the record, the only person I know of who can actually already be mad at that same invisible/imaginary man for taking so damn long at presenting himself in my life. Forget the Hi Honey, I'm home shit, I'll be keeping it real with And where the HELL have YOU been?
The problem has been isolated however. As my clever, witty friends have told me, the chumps I've dated were doomed to failure. None of them ever living up to the one thing I oh so clearly need in my life. Which is a man who can keep me on my toes, the kind of guy who is smart enough to keep up with my way of thinking, giving inches when I attempt to take yards and stimulating my mind as well as other areas ... And lord I hope my Mother doesn't read this post.
But they're right.
A man without a brain holds little hope of maintaining my interest. Because I need the sort of guy that can spout of lines of verse like lyrics to his favorite songs. And argue with me limitlessly over the theory of everything, right along with what movies to rent on a Saturday night.
The kind of guy who likes raisin bran, but has a soft spot for cocoa puffs. Cries at weddings, and not because his best friend is acquiring a ball and chain. Openly ackowledges that Barbie is extremely overrated, and for all intents and purposes, a fictional plastic doll with impossible measurements. Would like my mother, my father, my horde of step-parents and all my siblings combined, right along with my niece and nephew. And think my daughter is the most adorable child on earth, even when she is displaying her brattier qualities.
But the best part is, he'd like me, love me even. And just for the person I am, without any of the subterfuge or camouflage. Existing in a world where he would understand this insane need of mine to write, write and write some more, with patience and sympathy, but know enough when to come downstairs, shut my computer off, take my hands, and lead me back to bed.
I finished the first of my two books bought today at B&N. And promptly came downstairs for a drink of water in disguise as chocolate milk, attempting to distract myself from grabbing the second book and making it an up all night, when I am already oh so sleepy.
Which leads me to my present line of thought, as I sit here shivering, not bothering to close the windows.
At the moment, it's my extreme lack of purpose that has me all riled up. Well maybe not actually that. But something close to the line of feeling like a complete and absolute loser for not having much of a life in the white picket sense of the word. Home and family, family and home. Why does it seem that everyone else out there in the real world has a normal life, while I struggle to muddle through it all on my own?
Would you understand when I say that I'm jealous as hell?
Green with every color of envy possible. Because I can't seem to get my hands on what I want. A freakishly normal June Cleaver family life with three kids and a dog, and a lawn to complain about mowing.
And now I have completely lost it.
After all, wasn't it my voice preaching to my younger sister just the other day, that you don't make plans around a man? Wasn't that me sounding so damn sanctimonious? As if I knew what I was talking about ... And I think I might have even thrown the word stupid in there, to make my point. Which makes me the proverbial pot calling the kettle black, as single as I am.
And how sad is it, that the invisible man of my future has already managed to make me dance in circles. And I may be, just for the record, the only person I know of who can actually already be mad at that same invisible/imaginary man for taking so damn long at presenting himself in my life. Forget the Hi Honey, I'm home shit, I'll be keeping it real with And where the HELL have YOU been?
The problem has been isolated however. As my clever, witty friends have told me, the chumps I've dated were doomed to failure. None of them ever living up to the one thing I oh so clearly need in my life. Which is a man who can keep me on my toes, the kind of guy who is smart enough to keep up with my way of thinking, giving inches when I attempt to take yards and stimulating my mind as well as other areas ... And lord I hope my Mother doesn't read this post.
But they're right.
A man without a brain holds little hope of maintaining my interest. Because I need the sort of guy that can spout of lines of verse like lyrics to his favorite songs. And argue with me limitlessly over the theory of everything, right along with what movies to rent on a Saturday night.
The kind of guy who likes raisin bran, but has a soft spot for cocoa puffs. Cries at weddings, and not because his best friend is acquiring a ball and chain. Openly ackowledges that Barbie is extremely overrated, and for all intents and purposes, a fictional plastic doll with impossible measurements. Would like my mother, my father, my horde of step-parents and all my siblings combined, right along with my niece and nephew. And think my daughter is the most adorable child on earth, even when she is displaying her brattier qualities.
But the best part is, he'd like me, love me even. And just for the person I am, without any of the subterfuge or camouflage. Existing in a world where he would understand this insane need of mine to write, write and write some more, with patience and sympathy, but know enough when to come downstairs, shut my computer off, take my hands, and lead me back to bed.
Bringing Down a Saturday
Went shopping with the kids earlier. Hit Bed, Bath and Beyond for a new cutting board, Pier 1 for a quick browse of overpriced displays, and then onto Barnes and Noble where we spent the better part of an hour lingering over shelves crammed with books.
Jordy liked the kids section in particular, with its table of trains. And although she was intent on pushing the small wooden locomotives around, it didn't escape my eye, the look that passed between two small blonde girls as she moved in to claim her space. The look said everything, as they stood there staring, noting the difference in the color of their own skins compared to Jordy's. It was one of those moments that could break a heart, watching as the two girls packed themselves up and off, rather than stay to play. Jordy however didn't seem to notice, I can't say much for the same.
And now with bed times drawing near for the kids and relaxation on the mind, I'm looking forward to spending the remainder of the night curled up with a warm blanket and a good book.
Until tomorrow my friends, may you all have pleasant evenings wherever it is you are.
Jordy liked the kids section in particular, with its table of trains. And although she was intent on pushing the small wooden locomotives around, it didn't escape my eye, the look that passed between two small blonde girls as she moved in to claim her space. The look said everything, as they stood there staring, noting the difference in the color of their own skins compared to Jordy's. It was one of those moments that could break a heart, watching as the two girls packed themselves up and off, rather than stay to play. Jordy however didn't seem to notice, I can't say much for the same.
And now with bed times drawing near for the kids and relaxation on the mind, I'm looking forward to spending the remainder of the night curled up with a warm blanket and a good book.
Until tomorrow my friends, may you all have pleasant evenings wherever it is you are.
Good Morning Sunshine
Or no sunshine depending on the weather where you are. And here, well it's looking like it's going to be a damp, cold sort of day with just enough of a breeze to make you shiver and think sweater, jeans and a hoody. A perfect day for fall football weather, sitting on whitewashed wooden bleachers cheering on the home town team, as they play their bitter rivals. All of this while your ass goes numb.
I just woke up ... Maybe about 15 minutes ago now and I'm still trying to clear my head. And to answer my Mom, a good time last night did not include drinking myself into oblivion, in fact with nothing over 3 glasses of wine and plenty of hours in-between those glasses and my position behind the wheel, I was 100% capable of navigating myself home within the boundaries of the law.
And sadly, I've finally reached the age where getting all shitty just to get shitty seems to me like a pretty shitty idea. God I hate all this random growing up.
Last night was a great time however. We laughed, and laughed, and laughed some more until I had to beg everyone to stop making me laugh. It was absolutely crazy. Conversations ranging from Elton John, trying to figure out whether he wrote most of his songs about women, men or something slightly more androgynous to Boogie Nights and real Italian leather ... Furniture and not the shoes darling.
Ach well. Time for a hot shower and a little motivation. Vacation commencing.
I just woke up ... Maybe about 15 minutes ago now and I'm still trying to clear my head. And to answer my Mom, a good time last night did not include drinking myself into oblivion, in fact with nothing over 3 glasses of wine and plenty of hours in-between those glasses and my position behind the wheel, I was 100% capable of navigating myself home within the boundaries of the law.
And sadly, I've finally reached the age where getting all shitty just to get shitty seems to me like a pretty shitty idea. God I hate all this random growing up.
Last night was a great time however. We laughed, and laughed, and laughed some more until I had to beg everyone to stop making me laugh. It was absolutely crazy. Conversations ranging from Elton John, trying to figure out whether he wrote most of his songs about women, men or something slightly more androgynous to Boogie Nights and real Italian leather ... Furniture and not the shoes darling.
Ach well. Time for a hot shower and a little motivation. Vacation commencing.
Shhhh ...
Great time. Lots of laughs. Time for bed before I fall asleep on the stairs. Goodnight moon.
Happy Friday to Me
About to put on my happy shoes and dance a jig in honor of Friday, regardless of the fact that I have two left feet and absolutely no rhythm. And though I know what you're thinking, your faith in me overwhelming, that maybe, just maybe I am being a little bit overdramatic this morning in regards to my dancing skills ... Rest assured, no poetic license was required to make this unfortunate statement of truth. Like Phil Collins - or was it Genesis - said, "I can't dance." I can however sing, which doesn't always limit itself to operatic movements in the shower. Besides, after five minutes, the hot water has pretty much tanked out and left me in the cold before I've barely even begun Eponine's love song from Les Miserable.
"And now I'm all alone again ..."
Which is not entirely true since KC is upstairs sleeping her last few minutes of sleep and my nephew J, for the second night in a row, is camped out on my couch. And despite the time, the one that is telling me right now to wrap this out and get moving if I plan on being on time for work, I am loathe to leave my chair, my keyboard, and quite frankly my house.
Still, there can be no calling out today. It would look mighty bad, considering I am on vacation all next week. (Yay for me!)
And tonight, I'm even going to celebrate with a much needed happy hour with friends. Though trouble seems to tag along to these events whenever Mike, Sean O' and myself are in the same room. I suppose it has something to do with the Gemini effect.
"And now I'm all alone again ..."
Which is not entirely true since KC is upstairs sleeping her last few minutes of sleep and my nephew J, for the second night in a row, is camped out on my couch. And despite the time, the one that is telling me right now to wrap this out and get moving if I plan on being on time for work, I am loathe to leave my chair, my keyboard, and quite frankly my house.
Still, there can be no calling out today. It would look mighty bad, considering I am on vacation all next week. (Yay for me!)
And tonight, I'm even going to celebrate with a much needed happy hour with friends. Though trouble seems to tag along to these events whenever Mike, Sean O' and myself are in the same room. I suppose it has something to do with the Gemini effect.
Excuse me. Have you seen my slipper?
And so it begins again. Another cautious toe dip into the dating pool, with the hopes of finding my swim fins, rather than the opposite, floating at the surface gasping at the gills.
And despite my lack of optimism -my track record having proven disappointing thus far and therefore I'm only being honest with myself - there's no time like the present to climb back on the horse, and attempt to meander off into the sunset, and into the arms of Prince Charming.
Except Prince Charming and I have never met.
In fact, I seem to have a strange gift for attracting the wrong sort of men. Whether it's your average commitment-phobe, no good two timing cheater, or the I just want to be friends guy, you can bet I've dated them all. One heartbreaking breakup at a time.
And yet, like a vicious circle of doom, I'm signing myself up for a spin on the wheel of torture. My battle cry strong in the face of adversity and an upcoming 30th birthday.
"I will not go gently into the night ... I will not grow old and bitter alone ... I will not become known as the crazy cat lady who lives next door. I will be Stacey, of the can you believe how well they compliment each other, theirs is a dream come true relationship, happily ever after and always, half of something more wonderful than I have ever known." Because, and I'm not afraid to admit this, anything other than that is depressing as all hell and I'm completely out of Ben and Jerry's to commiserate with.
And so with the hook sufficiently bated, I'm dropping in, squirming worm and all.
Tune in tomorrow for exciting updates ... Until then, this is Stacey - over and out.
And despite my lack of optimism -my track record having proven disappointing thus far and therefore I'm only being honest with myself - there's no time like the present to climb back on the horse, and attempt to meander off into the sunset, and into the arms of Prince Charming.
Except Prince Charming and I have never met.
In fact, I seem to have a strange gift for attracting the wrong sort of men. Whether it's your average commitment-phobe, no good two timing cheater, or the I just want to be friends guy, you can bet I've dated them all. One heartbreaking breakup at a time.
And yet, like a vicious circle of doom, I'm signing myself up for a spin on the wheel of torture. My battle cry strong in the face of adversity and an upcoming 30th birthday.
"I will not go gently into the night ... I will not grow old and bitter alone ... I will not become known as the crazy cat lady who lives next door. I will be Stacey, of the can you believe how well they compliment each other, theirs is a dream come true relationship, happily ever after and always, half of something more wonderful than I have ever known." Because, and I'm not afraid to admit this, anything other than that is depressing as all hell and I'm completely out of Ben and Jerry's to commiserate with.
And so with the hook sufficiently bated, I'm dropping in, squirming worm and all.
Tune in tomorrow for exciting updates ... Until then, this is Stacey - over and out.
The Unfairness of it All
Another morning of nonmotivation to get up and get going.
Emma is currently sitting right next to me, close to the side of the computer as I type, hoping for a quick pat inbetween the tapping of the keys. She really is quite spoiled, considering that every time she rubs her face against the side of my arm, I stop what I am doing to scratch behind her ears. Sometimes I wonder who has got who trained ...
KC was quite upset with me last night when I sent her to bed. With my nephew spending the night, the minor child had gotten it into her head that she was going to stay up as late as she wanted to. A big I don't think so on my part, and her walking papers upstairs, mini me flashed a look of utter discontent and dragged blanket and all behind her, grimacing all the way regarding the unfairness of life.
I considered giving the my house, my rules and when you are 18 speech, but decided against it. Tired as she was, I doubted that her bluster could last all that long before sleep came to call. And I was right, five minutes later not a peep could be heard from her room.
As for my nephew, currently snoring on the living room couch, I have a feeling he's going to regret his choice very soon of staying up as late as he obviously did. Try as I might to be quiet in the morning, he's little hope of sleeping through the hair dryer, and a round of cursing when it becomes obvious I am about to have a very bad hair day.
Emma is currently sitting right next to me, close to the side of the computer as I type, hoping for a quick pat inbetween the tapping of the keys. She really is quite spoiled, considering that every time she rubs her face against the side of my arm, I stop what I am doing to scratch behind her ears. Sometimes I wonder who has got who trained ...
KC was quite upset with me last night when I sent her to bed. With my nephew spending the night, the minor child had gotten it into her head that she was going to stay up as late as she wanted to. A big I don't think so on my part, and her walking papers upstairs, mini me flashed a look of utter discontent and dragged blanket and all behind her, grimacing all the way regarding the unfairness of life.
I considered giving the my house, my rules and when you are 18 speech, but decided against it. Tired as she was, I doubted that her bluster could last all that long before sleep came to call. And I was right, five minutes later not a peep could be heard from her room.
As for my nephew, currently snoring on the living room couch, I have a feeling he's going to regret his choice very soon of staying up as late as he obviously did. Try as I might to be quiet in the morning, he's little hope of sleeping through the hair dryer, and a round of cursing when it becomes obvious I am about to have a very bad hair day.
An Accidental Stumble
I should be burned by something my older sister did just to be a bitch, but instead the discovery this morning provided more of a laugh than the I am going to rip her hair out response. And she should consider herself lucky to be far away on vacation this week, otherwise she would have received a very early morning wake up call.
But after stumbling over her little roadblock -though quite by accident, damage control pretty much saved the day. Right along with some much needed personal editing to prevent such tampering from happening again. And it shouldn't happen again. Because if it does, well ... Let's just say my response the second time around won't be pretty.
Is anyone else staying up late to watch the Olympics this week? I've managed inbetween other things to catch glimpses here and there of rowing, swimming, volleyball, and the gymnastics competitions.
And as far as the swimming goes ... Though he's a bit young, hubba hubba Mr. Phelps. (As well as the rest of last nights gold winning relay team.)
Still I can't watch too much of that stuff. I get way overexcited, sitting on the edge of my chair as the time winds down, and the race (or skill) is drawing to a close until I'm almost on my knees in front of the tv yelling way to go team, or damn, it was so close.
Needless to say, I'd probably be the worlds most annoying spectator if I were in Greece. Although chances are, I'd be too busy trying to flirt with the locals to pay much attention anyway. Who knows, I could be the modern day Shirley Valentine. It's not as if I don't already talk to the walls.
"Dreams, they are never in the place where you expect to find them."
- Costas Caldes, in Shirley Valentine
But after stumbling over her little roadblock -though quite by accident, damage control pretty much saved the day. Right along with some much needed personal editing to prevent such tampering from happening again. And it shouldn't happen again. Because if it does, well ... Let's just say my response the second time around won't be pretty.
Is anyone else staying up late to watch the Olympics this week? I've managed inbetween other things to catch glimpses here and there of rowing, swimming, volleyball, and the gymnastics competitions.
And as far as the swimming goes ... Though he's a bit young, hubba hubba Mr. Phelps. (As well as the rest of last nights gold winning relay team.)
Still I can't watch too much of that stuff. I get way overexcited, sitting on the edge of my chair as the time winds down, and the race (or skill) is drawing to a close until I'm almost on my knees in front of the tv yelling way to go team, or damn, it was so close.
Needless to say, I'd probably be the worlds most annoying spectator if I were in Greece. Although chances are, I'd be too busy trying to flirt with the locals to pay much attention anyway. Who knows, I could be the modern day Shirley Valentine. It's not as if I don't already talk to the walls.
"Dreams, they are never in the place where you expect to find them."
- Costas Caldes, in Shirley Valentine
Just a Little Lunch Break
Came home to get away from the office for lunch today , and wasn't too surprised to see the henious neighbor boy riding his dirtbike on the lawn as usual. Too enamoured of today's sunshine to curse him, I simply ignored him as I strode into the house, closing the door behind me.
Had an interesting meeting this morning for about an hour, all about screw training. I kid you not. Although it's not that kind of screw training, for those of you whose minds are subject to dropping in the gutter. Although and maybe you can agree with my saying this, I can see the advantage of having such training, as there are some people out there who could do with a refresher course. Practice after all does make perfect.
Anyhoo ... If I plan on returning to work on time, I had better leave now, otherwise I will have to drive like a madwomen to get back and beat the clock.
Had an interesting meeting this morning for about an hour, all about screw training. I kid you not. Although it's not that kind of screw training, for those of you whose minds are subject to dropping in the gutter. Although and maybe you can agree with my saying this, I can see the advantage of having such training, as there are some people out there who could do with a refresher course. Practice after all does make perfect.
Anyhoo ... If I plan on returning to work on time, I had better leave now, otherwise I will have to drive like a madwomen to get back and beat the clock.
The Princess and the Wheelie
The thick gray fogg that rolled in late last night, still hovers outside this morning. And all is quiet. Far from the quiet that was last night, as I struggled to sleep in my bed disturbed by both the ignorance and rudeness of youth.
The heinous neghbor child - as I have taken to calling him - complete with friend, took it upon themselves to ride squeaky, in need of WD-40 bicycles at the witching hour last night. Popping wheel-ies in the driveway and having conversations, none that were in the hushed variety, as I could understand every single word they said, the two idiots proceeded for over an hour and a half to sorely test my patience.
Patience, which I might add I do not possess at all when I am in desperate need of sleep. And restrain myself as I tried, I couldn't help at one point, hopping down from my bed, pulling back the silk curtains, and yelling a profanity or two of my own at the deliquents.
This of course inspiring more laughter than fear in the dumb and dumber crew.
Giving up, though the thought of throwing on a pair of jeans and a top, was high on my list of things to do to confront the little weezils, I decided against it. Coming to the conclusion that nothing I could do would scare them away, or worse yet, make them feel bad about being such dicks at such a late hour of the night, the only option was retreat.
Still, I cannot believe their parents allow them to disturb the entire neighborhood with their shenanigans. If it's not nearly running people over in the yard with their damn motorbikes, now we're expected to put up with middle of the night disturbances in our own driveway. And I for one am not having it.
Something is going to be done.
I haven't lived here for 8 years - almost 9 - to start letting a brat pack of pimple popping boys to come between me and the sweet sound of silence of living in the country.
Games on.
The heinous neghbor child - as I have taken to calling him - complete with friend, took it upon themselves to ride squeaky, in need of WD-40 bicycles at the witching hour last night. Popping wheel-ies in the driveway and having conversations, none that were in the hushed variety, as I could understand every single word they said, the two idiots proceeded for over an hour and a half to sorely test my patience.
Patience, which I might add I do not possess at all when I am in desperate need of sleep. And restrain myself as I tried, I couldn't help at one point, hopping down from my bed, pulling back the silk curtains, and yelling a profanity or two of my own at the deliquents.
This of course inspiring more laughter than fear in the dumb and dumber crew.
Giving up, though the thought of throwing on a pair of jeans and a top, was high on my list of things to do to confront the little weezils, I decided against it. Coming to the conclusion that nothing I could do would scare them away, or worse yet, make them feel bad about being such dicks at such a late hour of the night, the only option was retreat.
Still, I cannot believe their parents allow them to disturb the entire neighborhood with their shenanigans. If it's not nearly running people over in the yard with their damn motorbikes, now we're expected to put up with middle of the night disturbances in our own driveway. And I for one am not having it.
Something is going to be done.
I haven't lived here for 8 years - almost 9 - to start letting a brat pack of pimple popping boys to come between me and the sweet sound of silence of living in the country.
Games on.
No, No and No
Some friendships are meant to end.
And though, I had spent the better part of last week thinking to rekindle such a friendship, the answer, the only answer there could be, is an unequivocal no.
Once again, with just two people in common, Gina has left me feeling as if it were up to me to clean up her mess, regardless of the fact that she doesn't have a clue that I know about her latest escapade.
Enter Brian.
Brian is one of those you know guys, you know him through work, but you don't really know much about him at all, other than once in a blue moon, he gets connected to your extension and has the pleasure of talking to you.
occasionally finding himself heading in our direction, he's taken to stopping in, and hanging out for a while just to shoot the shit. Personally I think he likes the dynamics of our office, with Slug and I nearly going head to head every day, and Moe harping on everyone 24 - 7. (Slug whom I might add hosted a happy hour party Friday, which I fortunately did not attend, sober he spends enough time looking at my boobs, drunk ... Well, let's just say that was one experience I was willing to forego.)
And so when Toni said Brian was coming down, I thought it was one of his ordinary visits. Little did I know, he was the cat that had somehow managed to come across Gina through means of another company like ours. And of course, learning of the connection, Gina - always one to throw herself onto a single man, or married for that matter - made quick plans to meet up with him for the weekend.
So on went Toni, Brian and another friend of his, off to the bar for introductions. Brian's expectations somewhat lofty considering there had obviously been many phone conversations leading up to this point. Only when Gina got there, it was apparent that Brian didn't exactly meet her expectations. And so in true Gina fashion, she latched onto Toni, spent almost the entire time chatting her up, and then made her pretty excuses to the guys with promises to meet up the following morning.
Well, as you have probably already guessed, Gina was a no show for the remainder of the weekend. And I know how she works, having witnessed it many times before. If you're not what she wants, can't give her what she needs, and don't present a challenge ... Then she's not interested. And when she's not interested, she has no qualms about showing you her dark, ugly side.
So how did I manage to get drawn into this mess, the one not of my own making? Let's just call it a job hazard, when you're constantly in the position of being the nice girl.
And nice girls always do what they can to help you out. Offering an ear, as well as a word of empathy, and trying to make you feel better, about how someone else managed to do you wrong.
And so Friday, despite the chaos of being down both Moe and Toni at work, when Brian called I took a few minutes to listen to what he had to say. And of course, feeling that perhaps I should have warned him prior to his Gina experience, about exactly what he was setting himself up for, I couldn't contain my small measure of guilt.
The damnedest thing is, Brian is actually a nice guy, not like most of the cretins that Gina attracts. And so I did feel generally bad for him.
Happily though, the situation did bring about an end to my questioning whether or not getting back in touch with Gina was a good idea. Like I said, the answer is no.
And though, I had spent the better part of last week thinking to rekindle such a friendship, the answer, the only answer there could be, is an unequivocal no.
Once again, with just two people in common, Gina has left me feeling as if it were up to me to clean up her mess, regardless of the fact that she doesn't have a clue that I know about her latest escapade.
Enter Brian.
Brian is one of those you know guys, you know him through work, but you don't really know much about him at all, other than once in a blue moon, he gets connected to your extension and has the pleasure of talking to you.
occasionally finding himself heading in our direction, he's taken to stopping in, and hanging out for a while just to shoot the shit. Personally I think he likes the dynamics of our office, with Slug and I nearly going head to head every day, and Moe harping on everyone 24 - 7. (Slug whom I might add hosted a happy hour party Friday, which I fortunately did not attend, sober he spends enough time looking at my boobs, drunk ... Well, let's just say that was one experience I was willing to forego.)
And so when Toni said Brian was coming down, I thought it was one of his ordinary visits. Little did I know, he was the cat that had somehow managed to come across Gina through means of another company like ours. And of course, learning of the connection, Gina - always one to throw herself onto a single man, or married for that matter - made quick plans to meet up with him for the weekend.
So on went Toni, Brian and another friend of his, off to the bar for introductions. Brian's expectations somewhat lofty considering there had obviously been many phone conversations leading up to this point. Only when Gina got there, it was apparent that Brian didn't exactly meet her expectations. And so in true Gina fashion, she latched onto Toni, spent almost the entire time chatting her up, and then made her pretty excuses to the guys with promises to meet up the following morning.
Well, as you have probably already guessed, Gina was a no show for the remainder of the weekend. And I know how she works, having witnessed it many times before. If you're not what she wants, can't give her what she needs, and don't present a challenge ... Then she's not interested. And when she's not interested, she has no qualms about showing you her dark, ugly side.
So how did I manage to get drawn into this mess, the one not of my own making? Let's just call it a job hazard, when you're constantly in the position of being the nice girl.
And nice girls always do what they can to help you out. Offering an ear, as well as a word of empathy, and trying to make you feel better, about how someone else managed to do you wrong.
And so Friday, despite the chaos of being down both Moe and Toni at work, when Brian called I took a few minutes to listen to what he had to say. And of course, feeling that perhaps I should have warned him prior to his Gina experience, about exactly what he was setting himself up for, I couldn't contain my small measure of guilt.
The damnedest thing is, Brian is actually a nice guy, not like most of the cretins that Gina attracts. And so I did feel generally bad for him.
Happily though, the situation did bring about an end to my questioning whether or not getting back in touch with Gina was a good idea. Like I said, the answer is no.
Emma's Charity of Choice
Help protect needy dogs, cats, rabbits and other animals with a single click.
It's the only Humane thing to do ...
It's the only Humane thing to do ...
Friday the 13th Revisited
I must be completely insane!
Goodness only knows what I was thinking when I offered to take my niece and nephew, along with KC - who at the moment is in high druthers again - to spend what should have been a quiet non-assuming Saturday night.
And yet now I have a full house.
The two girls upstairs are playing Barbies, minus any Ken's ... Because quite frankly I know what I used to have Ken and Barbie doing at that age, and so we have determined, for tonight anyways that life is easier without men, plastic or not.
Which doesn't include J, but only because he's still at that gawky in-between stage. And since he's reading over my shoulder at the moment, I don't feel the slightest bit bad about saying that. And while he does happen to be reading along, let me take a moment to remind him that he really shouldn't be reading his Aunt's blog. Not only is some commentary a bit too adult for him, but if he happens to go spilling the beans to his mother, life could be somewhat difficult.
Although I really have only myself to blame for ever allowing any of my family access to NWTLO. Try as I might, you might actually be surprised that there are more times when I censor myself than when I don't ...
Oh well, water under the bridge now.
As for me, and this moment in time, it's time to go get a little proactive with the kiddies. Anything and everything to tire them out early and get this night over with.
Goodness only knows what I was thinking when I offered to take my niece and nephew, along with KC - who at the moment is in high druthers again - to spend what should have been a quiet non-assuming Saturday night.
And yet now I have a full house.
The two girls upstairs are playing Barbies, minus any Ken's ... Because quite frankly I know what I used to have Ken and Barbie doing at that age, and so we have determined, for tonight anyways that life is easier without men, plastic or not.
Which doesn't include J, but only because he's still at that gawky in-between stage. And since he's reading over my shoulder at the moment, I don't feel the slightest bit bad about saying that. And while he does happen to be reading along, let me take a moment to remind him that he really shouldn't be reading his Aunt's blog. Not only is some commentary a bit too adult for him, but if he happens to go spilling the beans to his mother, life could be somewhat difficult.
Although I really have only myself to blame for ever allowing any of my family access to NWTLO. Try as I might, you might actually be surprised that there are more times when I censor myself than when I don't ...
Oh well, water under the bridge now.
As for me, and this moment in time, it's time to go get a little proactive with the kiddies. Anything and everything to tire them out early and get this night over with.
Things Can Only Get Better ...
After an hour and a half, of trying to remember just how to go about posting pictures to the blog ... It appears it finally may have worked!
That or my eyes have been staring at the screen so long, I've started seeing things.
That or my eyes have been staring at the screen so long, I've started seeing things.
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And One For the Road
At last, Friday!
Not that I have any earth shattering plans for the weekend, but the very thought of sleeping in past 7 and the silence of the alarm clock, is enough to move me to tears.
And today should be a good day, since I don't go for any of that bologna over the whole oooh it's supposed to be a spooky bad Friday the 13th day. For goodness sake, I own a black cat, have opened an umbrella in the house, and have been unlucky enough on my own, to know not to put stock in silly little superstitions.
Having said that, I am now quite sure someone out there will attempt to prove me wrong. I have one thing to say, if your TD & H, bring it on. I'm game for a long discussion over drinks, say around five ...
Not that I have any earth shattering plans for the weekend, but the very thought of sleeping in past 7 and the silence of the alarm clock, is enough to move me to tears.
And today should be a good day, since I don't go for any of that bologna over the whole oooh it's supposed to be a spooky bad Friday the 13th day. For goodness sake, I own a black cat, have opened an umbrella in the house, and have been unlucky enough on my own, to know not to put stock in silly little superstitions.
Having said that, I am now quite sure someone out there will attempt to prove me wrong. I have one thing to say, if your TD & H, bring it on. I'm game for a long discussion over drinks, say around five ...
Getting Geeky Over Homemade Soup
It was a perfect night for soup. Cold, with a hint of Autumn. And from gray laden skies, rain in a steady downpour, drumming its damp wet fingers against the windows, to make its presence known to those inside ...
There's something soul satisfying about making homemade soup. The sound that your knife makes against the cutting board as you slice the carrots, dice the celery, the smell of rosemary and bay leaves rising in a sweet steaming aroma from the simmering pot.
You are an earth mother, standing before the stove, adding a pinch of this and a dash of of that. And no one needs to tell you when, or how much, instinctively you just seem to know. And because of this, you feel fulfilled. Thinking, I have made this with my own two hands, this nurturing goodness that is soup. And because of this my child shall grow healthy and strong, like a flower nurtured with sun and rain.
And though it sounds silly, you are quite proud of this little moment. Proud that you chose to take the extra time to provide better nourishment than opening a box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, Cheese and Macaroni ...
Because you could have. There are boxes a plenty in the cupboard to give testimony to that fact. And yet still, the decision made, you took your time, opting for slow and steady rather than fast just to win the race.
And what a meal has come from it. Every bite savored until reaching the bottom of the cup, too full to ask for more. And this, this is the true measure of greatness. Realizing that the better something is for you, the less you need to ease the hunger pains inside.
There's something soul satisfying about making homemade soup. The sound that your knife makes against the cutting board as you slice the carrots, dice the celery, the smell of rosemary and bay leaves rising in a sweet steaming aroma from the simmering pot.
You are an earth mother, standing before the stove, adding a pinch of this and a dash of of that. And no one needs to tell you when, or how much, instinctively you just seem to know. And because of this, you feel fulfilled. Thinking, I have made this with my own two hands, this nurturing goodness that is soup. And because of this my child shall grow healthy and strong, like a flower nurtured with sun and rain.
And though it sounds silly, you are quite proud of this little moment. Proud that you chose to take the extra time to provide better nourishment than opening a box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, Cheese and Macaroni ...
Because you could have. There are boxes a plenty in the cupboard to give testimony to that fact. And yet still, the decision made, you took your time, opting for slow and steady rather than fast just to win the race.
And what a meal has come from it. Every bite savored until reaching the bottom of the cup, too full to ask for more. And this, this is the true measure of greatness. Realizing that the better something is for you, the less you need to ease the hunger pains inside.
Bert & Ernie
Back in high school, Bren and I were inseperable. Where there was one, there was always the other. And rarely did you ever hear anyone speak our names without pronouncing them together. If one of us was absent from school, all the other would hear all day was, "Where's Stace?" or "Where's Bren" all the while patiently waiting the day out to end.
Bren has always been Bert to my Ernie. And there's no one who has known me better or known me more than anybody else in this entire world.
Which doesn't mean she didn't occasionally give away a random secret such as in our last will and testament when she decided to share my mistaken use of a sweater defuzzer as a leg shaver ... What can I say, I was young and naive.
But with a trick or two up my own sleeve, I always managed to break even and wasn't above taking a drive down memory lane, humming away as I did, "Memories, all alone in the moonlight ..." with a little impiish grin on my face.
No one has been a better friend to me in the past 20 years, despite the fact that we both often border on the somewhat disfuntional side as well as the fact that she happens to be blond, left handed and polish. Her words, not mine.
We graduated together, we went to college together - neither of us ever managing to get degrees ... We were pregnant together - Bren being the first person I called, along with my What To Expect When You're Expecting book to figure out that yes, my water had broke and going to the hospital might just be a good idea, right after I shaved my legs first.
And we both became single Moms, when our respective significant others chose girlfriends in favor over wives or wives to be. And from there, well the list could be a mile long of everything we've done and everything we've still left to do.
So Bren ... You needn't ever worry about your place in my life. There's no one else that I plan on becoming an old bitter woman with, other than you.
Canes a ready!
Bren has always been Bert to my Ernie. And there's no one who has known me better or known me more than anybody else in this entire world.
Which doesn't mean she didn't occasionally give away a random secret such as in our last will and testament when she decided to share my mistaken use of a sweater defuzzer as a leg shaver ... What can I say, I was young and naive.
But with a trick or two up my own sleeve, I always managed to break even and wasn't above taking a drive down memory lane, humming away as I did, "Memories, all alone in the moonlight ..." with a little impiish grin on my face.
No one has been a better friend to me in the past 20 years, despite the fact that we both often border on the somewhat disfuntional side as well as the fact that she happens to be blond, left handed and polish. Her words, not mine.
We graduated together, we went to college together - neither of us ever managing to get degrees ... We were pregnant together - Bren being the first person I called, along with my What To Expect When You're Expecting book to figure out that yes, my water had broke and going to the hospital might just be a good idea, right after I shaved my legs first.
And we both became single Moms, when our respective significant others chose girlfriends in favor over wives or wives to be. And from there, well the list could be a mile long of everything we've done and everything we've still left to do.
So Bren ... You needn't ever worry about your place in my life. There's no one else that I plan on becoming an old bitter woman with, other than you.
Canes a ready!
Desperate Whining
Commentary is running low to nonexistent lately. Not very helpful when you consider I am in emotional crisis. OK, well maybe not a crisis. But still ...
And did no one - not even my Mother - care to inquire over my broken finger? For shame ...
Lucky for you all it's a pinched nerve and as long as everything goes well, I can still lead my ordinary little life.
Anyone picking up on the dramatics yet?
So write a comment. It's FREE, it's quick and oh so easy to do. And as an added perk, you get to brighten up my day.
I ask you, could life get any better?
And did no one - not even my Mother - care to inquire over my broken finger? For shame ...
Lucky for you all it's a pinched nerve and as long as everything goes well, I can still lead my ordinary little life.
Anyone picking up on the dramatics yet?
So write a comment. It's FREE, it's quick and oh so easy to do. And as an added perk, you get to brighten up my day.
I ask you, could life get any better?
Choose Your Own Ending
Conundrums!
Yet another thing to think about in my sometimes overly complicated life, of who to let in and who to keep out ...
Back in the day Gina and I were really good friends. Giggling like lunatics over things most people wouldn't find funny, taking momentary respites to the local dive, when liquid lunches were quite the thing to do, and speaking the language of "op" just to annoy the hell out of anyone around us.
And there were times when I thought I couldn't possibly laugh more than I already did. And there were times when I did things I never thought I would do, things Gina always made me do, always trying to breach one of my many comfort zones. I both loved her and hated her for that ...
But when the bad times came, they came in full force. Between the two of us, our friendship came crashing down over some very stupid choices, and some very dumb decisions.
And so I did what I do best. Walked away, without once turning back to look behind. And at the time, it was the right thing to do. Because along with being a good influence to me, she had a way about her, that made me think that doing the wrong thing just might be okay.
Gina was used to taking, even if it wasn't hers to take. Maybe it was her background that made her think that the things that belonged to somebody else, were really the things that were much better to have. Either way, when it came down to taking husbands, well it was the beginning of the end.
But now almost two years have passed. And like life, much water has passed under the bridge. It was hard not picking up the phone, when a mutual friend told me just the other day that she had seen Gina. To which her first question was, "How's Stacey?" with reported tears in her eyes, as she went on to say how much she missed me and the good times we shared.
And now, it's funny to find myself eager to pick up the phone and fill her in on all the details of everything that's gone on this year, from new relationships to bitter breakups, and my constant quest to find the ultimate theme song.
But would I be crazy to open that door again? Would I be allowing the past a chance to repeat? Or have we both changed enough to make this friendship work.
I wonder if there is enough honesty in the world ...
Yet another thing to think about in my sometimes overly complicated life, of who to let in and who to keep out ...
Back in the day Gina and I were really good friends. Giggling like lunatics over things most people wouldn't find funny, taking momentary respites to the local dive, when liquid lunches were quite the thing to do, and speaking the language of "op" just to annoy the hell out of anyone around us.
And there were times when I thought I couldn't possibly laugh more than I already did. And there were times when I did things I never thought I would do, things Gina always made me do, always trying to breach one of my many comfort zones. I both loved her and hated her for that ...
But when the bad times came, they came in full force. Between the two of us, our friendship came crashing down over some very stupid choices, and some very dumb decisions.
And so I did what I do best. Walked away, without once turning back to look behind. And at the time, it was the right thing to do. Because along with being a good influence to me, she had a way about her, that made me think that doing the wrong thing just might be okay.
Gina was used to taking, even if it wasn't hers to take. Maybe it was her background that made her think that the things that belonged to somebody else, were really the things that were much better to have. Either way, when it came down to taking husbands, well it was the beginning of the end.
But now almost two years have passed. And like life, much water has passed under the bridge. It was hard not picking up the phone, when a mutual friend told me just the other day that she had seen Gina. To which her first question was, "How's Stacey?" with reported tears in her eyes, as she went on to say how much she missed me and the good times we shared.
And now, it's funny to find myself eager to pick up the phone and fill her in on all the details of everything that's gone on this year, from new relationships to bitter breakups, and my constant quest to find the ultimate theme song.
But would I be crazy to open that door again? Would I be allowing the past a chance to repeat? Or have we both changed enough to make this friendship work.
I wonder if there is enough honesty in the world ...
Stacey Drew and the Mystery of the Could Possibly Be Broken Finger
Is my finger broken? Is my finger not broken? Is it sprained? Or have I just pinched a nerve?
The answers to these questions I just don't know as the damn thing continues to throb in pain. And although I can move it, it's not exactly the thing I want to be doing right now, for when it comes to pain, I have a very low threshold. (AKA, I want my Mommy ...)
How I ever managed to sit two plus hours in a tattooist's chair, I have no idea. Especially on the damn outline, cause that hurt like hell. (Need you an example, imagine if you will, a thousand bee stings all in the same place for an incredibly ridiculous length of time.) And yet, if I had a choice to do it all over again, I would sit in that chair making every sour face known to man, ignoring the fact that the old man doing the artwork was intent on trying to grab my ass. (My tattoo not anywhere near my ass for those of you were wondering ...)
Anyhow, I'm giving the finger two days to feel better before I perform finger splint surgery on myself. Like McGuyver, I figure all I'll need are some popsicle sticks, dental floss, and some silly putty to put things right.
("Drew" as in Nancy Drew. Any similarity to anyone actually named Stacey Drew is purely coincidental.)
The answers to these questions I just don't know as the damn thing continues to throb in pain. And although I can move it, it's not exactly the thing I want to be doing right now, for when it comes to pain, I have a very low threshold. (AKA, I want my Mommy ...)
How I ever managed to sit two plus hours in a tattooist's chair, I have no idea. Especially on the damn outline, cause that hurt like hell. (Need you an example, imagine if you will, a thousand bee stings all in the same place for an incredibly ridiculous length of time.) And yet, if I had a choice to do it all over again, I would sit in that chair making every sour face known to man, ignoring the fact that the old man doing the artwork was intent on trying to grab my ass. (My tattoo not anywhere near my ass for those of you were wondering ...)
Anyhow, I'm giving the finger two days to feel better before I perform finger splint surgery on myself. Like McGuyver, I figure all I'll need are some popsicle sticks, dental floss, and some silly putty to put things right.
("Drew" as in Nancy Drew. Any similarity to anyone actually named Stacey Drew is purely coincidental.)
Monday Morning
Damn. Monday morning already and I feel as if I didn't get a wink of sleep. With so many dreams giving voice to every single thought inside my head, it's no wonder I woke up restless this morning, more tired than if I hadn't gone to bed at all. And though it was only a few minutes ago, I can't remember what song it was that woke me up. Different today, because I listened to the whole thing in its entirety, before reaching over to press the snooze button and falling promptly back to sleep.
But it made me think of someone. Though at first the name was on the tip of my tongue and I was having trouble forming the word around it. Remembering just then part of my dream of taking KC to dance class but having to cross a wide expansion of bridge where other than where the wheels should go, there was absolutely no road to follow. A bridge to an island of sorts, I was reluctant to cross.
And then there was a house. More a mansion, to be honest. Opulent in its dressing, from stately pictures hanging on the walls to velvet curtains draping the windows, with a staircase that when you looked, seemed to go on forever. And we were planning a party. But I couldn't tell you who the party was for.
But the house, despite its grandness, and its beauty was a cold house. The kind of house where you feel as if it has eyes, watching your every move. It was all very Hotel California-ish.
So all in all, waking up today wasn't a horribly bad thing considering that my dream was about to take a downward trend and I have relearned a valuable lesson ...
No more scary movies before bed.
But it made me think of someone. Though at first the name was on the tip of my tongue and I was having trouble forming the word around it. Remembering just then part of my dream of taking KC to dance class but having to cross a wide expansion of bridge where other than where the wheels should go, there was absolutely no road to follow. A bridge to an island of sorts, I was reluctant to cross.
And then there was a house. More a mansion, to be honest. Opulent in its dressing, from stately pictures hanging on the walls to velvet curtains draping the windows, with a staircase that when you looked, seemed to go on forever. And we were planning a party. But I couldn't tell you who the party was for.
But the house, despite its grandness, and its beauty was a cold house. The kind of house where you feel as if it has eyes, watching your every move. It was all very Hotel California-ish.
So all in all, waking up today wasn't a horribly bad thing considering that my dream was about to take a downward trend and I have relearned a valuable lesson ...
No more scary movies before bed.
Closing the Windows Against the Cold
Quiet as usual, the day is coming to a close. Over the fields the last few rays of sunlight shine golden on weeds tipping gently towards the earth, as a light summer breeze feels more like the coming of an artic cold.
And here, the old familiar feeling of winter knocking at the door has returned, despite what all the weathermen have said, that this passing chill will give way to something more the feeling of summer.
And yet in Upstate New York, the very trees are shuddering in the cold, and today I stood looking out the french doors that lead out onto my porch, watching as first one, and then another leaf took to the wind as if to fly.
Soon this month will give way to September. Children of summer, will forego spending days splashing in the pool, for the feel of new shoes pressing tight against their toes, as they eagerly smile for first day back to school pictures in their Sunday best, clutching their new lunchboxes in their hands.
Fall has come early to the valley, and I fear no Indian Summer will take its place. For now, we go on about our business, storing heat in our skin, cataloging all the signs of summer. The beauty of an unfolding flower, the greeness of the grass and azure blue skies spread over us like blankets of billowy clouds that know no end.
And here, the old familiar feeling of winter knocking at the door has returned, despite what all the weathermen have said, that this passing chill will give way to something more the feeling of summer.
And yet in Upstate New York, the very trees are shuddering in the cold, and today I stood looking out the french doors that lead out onto my porch, watching as first one, and then another leaf took to the wind as if to fly.
Soon this month will give way to September. Children of summer, will forego spending days splashing in the pool, for the feel of new shoes pressing tight against their toes, as they eagerly smile for first day back to school pictures in their Sunday best, clutching their new lunchboxes in their hands.
Fall has come early to the valley, and I fear no Indian Summer will take its place. For now, we go on about our business, storing heat in our skin, cataloging all the signs of summer. The beauty of an unfolding flower, the greeness of the grass and azure blue skies spread over us like blankets of billowy clouds that know no end.
Uncreative Critisism Meets Its Unfortunate End
I was just thinking about something that my father said yesterday, in between the "I don't get involved," comment and the "you two need to settle this on your own," one. Because as usual, Dad has done what he always does, opting to opt out rather than get involved, all the while trying not to make it seem like he has chosen sides.
But it always seems that he has taken a side, which usually happens to be any side but my own. Maybe it's because I'm like everyone says I am, just like my Mother. And because of this, given any situation where Amy and I are agreeing to disagree, I become the guilty party in the infraction.
Except being compared to my Mother is not a bad thing, unless you happen to be her ex-husband with a 30 year what ... grudge? I don't really know what fuels all that to tell you the truth and I'm not about to start guessing now. But what I do know is this. My Mom is one strong lady. She doesn't back down from the good fight, she goes out of her way to help people in need, and she went through a lot of shit with a lot of people to get to where she is today. And even if I didn't love her because she is my Mother, I certainly would honor and respect her for the woman she is today. So being compared to her, well it really doesn't burst my bubble at all.
Unlike other people in my family, my Mother understands that this blog means a whole hell of a lot more to me than just a mere diary of sorts on the web. And I think she even understands my need to be as brutally honest as I can sometimes be on here, despite the fact that there are times when no one is safe from my bitter tongue and the words I whip down on paper.
But not my Dad.
Dad has never understood this creative side of me. He doesn't understand the drive I feel to write, my need to purge myself of stories. He only understands one thing, which is his opinion that there are some things that you do not post for the entire world at large to read. And perhaps, if this were only a hobby, I too would agree with his point of view.
But blogging on NWTLO isn't a hobby. It's part of my day to day existence, as necessary as breathing in and out. For me, it's part of who I am, when I cannot be who I am with everyone who knows me.
I'm a secret keeper.
Something that sounds truly funny when you consider that not a lot of secrets are kept here. But when you think about it again, it makes sense. Because this is where I come to say all the things I've never bothered to say to anyone out loud. This is where all the things that seem unspoken are often said. And this is where my voice reigns more true than anywhere else in the world.
But I don't expect to my Dad to understand this. In almost thirty years, my Dad still hasn't managed to figure me out. And sometimes I just want to cry my heart out over that, because no matter how hard I try to please him, I can't. And ever since I was a little girl, all I've ever really wanted was his acceptance. To feel that in his eyes, I was just as important to him as my three other sisters. But in my case, I feel as if I'm the white sheep that everyone considers black.
So here I am again, with yet another critic to the way I live my life, with everyone psycho obsessing about what I say or what I might type, when it's pretty much a moot point that I'm going to write whatever the hell I want, when I want, for the pure sake of saying that this is "no holds barred" despite who or what you are to me ... Because this is my life and I'm living it, even when you disagree on the way it should be done.
And to my family, who shudder every time their names are mentioned on the blog - although I should say that no one ever criticizes me when something nice is said - for goodness sake, no one is forcing you to read!
But it always seems that he has taken a side, which usually happens to be any side but my own. Maybe it's because I'm like everyone says I am, just like my Mother. And because of this, given any situation where Amy and I are agreeing to disagree, I become the guilty party in the infraction.
Except being compared to my Mother is not a bad thing, unless you happen to be her ex-husband with a 30 year what ... grudge? I don't really know what fuels all that to tell you the truth and I'm not about to start guessing now. But what I do know is this. My Mom is one strong lady. She doesn't back down from the good fight, she goes out of her way to help people in need, and she went through a lot of shit with a lot of people to get to where she is today. And even if I didn't love her because she is my Mother, I certainly would honor and respect her for the woman she is today. So being compared to her, well it really doesn't burst my bubble at all.
Unlike other people in my family, my Mother understands that this blog means a whole hell of a lot more to me than just a mere diary of sorts on the web. And I think she even understands my need to be as brutally honest as I can sometimes be on here, despite the fact that there are times when no one is safe from my bitter tongue and the words I whip down on paper.
But not my Dad.
Dad has never understood this creative side of me. He doesn't understand the drive I feel to write, my need to purge myself of stories. He only understands one thing, which is his opinion that there are some things that you do not post for the entire world at large to read. And perhaps, if this were only a hobby, I too would agree with his point of view.
But blogging on NWTLO isn't a hobby. It's part of my day to day existence, as necessary as breathing in and out. For me, it's part of who I am, when I cannot be who I am with everyone who knows me.
I'm a secret keeper.
Something that sounds truly funny when you consider that not a lot of secrets are kept here. But when you think about it again, it makes sense. Because this is where I come to say all the things I've never bothered to say to anyone out loud. This is where all the things that seem unspoken are often said. And this is where my voice reigns more true than anywhere else in the world.
But I don't expect to my Dad to understand this. In almost thirty years, my Dad still hasn't managed to figure me out. And sometimes I just want to cry my heart out over that, because no matter how hard I try to please him, I can't. And ever since I was a little girl, all I've ever really wanted was his acceptance. To feel that in his eyes, I was just as important to him as my three other sisters. But in my case, I feel as if I'm the white sheep that everyone considers black.
So here I am again, with yet another critic to the way I live my life, with everyone psycho obsessing about what I say or what I might type, when it's pretty much a moot point that I'm going to write whatever the hell I want, when I want, for the pure sake of saying that this is "no holds barred" despite who or what you are to me ... Because this is my life and I'm living it, even when you disagree on the way it should be done.
And to my family, who shudder every time their names are mentioned on the blog - although I should say that no one ever criticizes me when something nice is said - for goodness sake, no one is forcing you to read!
Blogging From Bed
11:40 something in the a.m. and here I am still in bed, having never left it from the night before, save for infrequent though necessary jaunts to the bathroom. I started reading a wonderful book last night, all cuddled up in blankets with the soft glow of the lamplight beside my bed, only to fall asleep 5 pages in, so tired was I from a day spent rushing from here to there, that the very moment I relaxed, even if it was just only a very teensy little bit, I promptly fell asleep, lights on and everything.
The phone has rang once already this morning and though I was awake enough to answer it, I opted to let the machine be my voice, rather than rushing myself down a flight of stairs, risking a tumble, only to greet some telemarketer wanting to sell me something on the line. For the briefest of seconds, I wondered if perhaps it might be my lumber buddy Paul, checking up on me to see if I really meant what I said yesterday about sometimes sleeping in until noon on a Saturday when the opportunity presented itself. And for another moment, I considered tracking down the phone to give a call only to say in the briefest sort of way that yes, I was still in bed and not thinking of leaving it any time soon and shouldn't he be jealous of that fact since he of course would still be working.
And shouldn't I be feeling guilty ... All morning hearing my neighbors hustle about their business, with the opening and closing of doors, both to houses and cars, the sound of their jangling keys reminding me of the need to get up and go. And yet the sweet realization that today, my time is my own, and I can lull about to my hearts content.
I am however getting a bit hungry, and a glass of juice wouldn't be remiss either at this point. And I'm sure Emma, my ever faithful feline companion, is none too happy that her breakfast hour has come and gone, with only the sight of an empty food bowl to rile her growling stomach. And in this case, it is no wonder she has been eyeing the birds like she has this morning, as if they were breakfast on the go rather than the pets they are presumed to be. For their part, Fitzwilliam and Lizzie do seem to purposely antagonize the cat with all their chirping and songsinging, as well as me when they feel the need to start it before even the first light of day has managed to creep itself inside the windows.
So it seems now has become the perfect time to face the day, heave myself from my bed and make my way downstairs to munch on a bagel, sip a glass of juice, and read the last few pages of the book I both started last night and again this morning. From there, I've only questions as to where the day may go ...
The phone has rang once already this morning and though I was awake enough to answer it, I opted to let the machine be my voice, rather than rushing myself down a flight of stairs, risking a tumble, only to greet some telemarketer wanting to sell me something on the line. For the briefest of seconds, I wondered if perhaps it might be my lumber buddy Paul, checking up on me to see if I really meant what I said yesterday about sometimes sleeping in until noon on a Saturday when the opportunity presented itself. And for another moment, I considered tracking down the phone to give a call only to say in the briefest sort of way that yes, I was still in bed and not thinking of leaving it any time soon and shouldn't he be jealous of that fact since he of course would still be working.
And shouldn't I be feeling guilty ... All morning hearing my neighbors hustle about their business, with the opening and closing of doors, both to houses and cars, the sound of their jangling keys reminding me of the need to get up and go. And yet the sweet realization that today, my time is my own, and I can lull about to my hearts content.
I am however getting a bit hungry, and a glass of juice wouldn't be remiss either at this point. And I'm sure Emma, my ever faithful feline companion, is none too happy that her breakfast hour has come and gone, with only the sight of an empty food bowl to rile her growling stomach. And in this case, it is no wonder she has been eyeing the birds like she has this morning, as if they were breakfast on the go rather than the pets they are presumed to be. For their part, Fitzwilliam and Lizzie do seem to purposely antagonize the cat with all their chirping and songsinging, as well as me when they feel the need to start it before even the first light of day has managed to creep itself inside the windows.
So it seems now has become the perfect time to face the day, heave myself from my bed and make my way downstairs to munch on a bagel, sip a glass of juice, and read the last few pages of the book I both started last night and again this morning. From there, I've only questions as to where the day may go ...
A Bit Biographical
When I was a little girl, I was always getting into some kind of trouble. Blessed with good ideas that often went wrong, I could have been the poster child for the don't let this happen to your kid club. Whether it was leaning against a porch railing that hadn't been fixed and falling face first on a cement cinder block, crashing into a tree on a mini-motorbike, or much to my Mother's horror - finding one half of my leg stuck in a toilet bowl, I was a magnet for mayhem.
Trouble and I went hand in hand, and were often good bedfellows. Proven by the fact that I almost choked to death on a nickel I had snuck into the top bunk of my fire engine bunk bed. And later on, my habit of jumping from one piece of furniture to the next, in order not to touch the floor whenever the lights happened to be off. (This done - of course, to avoid the boogie monster that had taken up residence beneath my bed.)
But worst yet, the day when home alone, I decided to ride my bike only to find that the garage was locked and the bike unobtainable. Patience, never a virtue I was very fond of, or good at, led my young self to the back window which was easily jimmied to an open position. And up I went, scraping my knees against the side of the building as I shimmied myself through the open window, angling my body and my legs just right in order to catch the floor. Except something caught me ... And there I dangled like a hat on a coat rack with my supergirl red shorts snagged on a vice grip located right beneath the window, until rip, rip, rip, I fell to the floor in a not so graceful fashion.
But what didn't cause me bruises, scrapes or pain often times backfired on those around me. Such was my penchant for pets of unusual natures, as I was keen on finding anything wild, in hopes to domesticate it.
Take for instance, Harold. When I found him, he was napping in a half stack of firewood waiting to be hauled inside by our empty red wheelbarrow. It was love at first sight, and in we went to the waiting white bird cage hanging empty in the basement, ready to be a home. Despite my knowledge of rodents, the small, fuzzy and cute hamsterish kind, it failed to dawn on me the bats natural ability to squeeze itself out of tight places. An error which my Mother was none too pleased to hear about when my sweet little bat took to flying about the basement for 3 weeks, until later he finally managed to find his way back to the outside world.
But nothing much stopped me from having my pets. Not even my stepfather running over my pet snake with the lawnmower, or having to feed baby robins every three seconds one summer long, or rooming with a chirpy little duckling nestled in a laundry basket beside my bed despite her constant chatter while occasionally playing dress up with my dog Pickles, a small hunting beagle that looked really, really good in blue dresses. Still, there was nothing that could compare with Butterscotch, my jersey calf.
A gift from the farm down the road - a second family of sorts to me - I use to walk her around the yard, laughing as her wobbly knock knee legs tried their best to run after me in a game of chase and catch. She was the sweetest thing ever, large doe eyes with lashes so long they seemed to go on for miles. And though I often worried what my parents plans for her future would someday be, every day despite the walk to the old shed with a heavy pail of formula and stall cleaning chores to be done, I looked forward to our time together. But one fateful morning, her small brown head didn't greet me from the slats in her stall, and the welcoming moo itself was silent. Instead a small body lay still nestled in the hay, and I instinctively knew she wasn't sleeping.
Despite my losses and my brief interludes with danger, running from a bull at full speed after a fishing trip gone horribly wrong and finding myself stuck in a pine tree for three hours as a circle of really MAD COWS butted their heads against the tree in order to get me down, I managed to reach adulthood. (As witnessed by the wordiness of this here blog.)
And while I may not be as reckless as I once was, I'm very much still the wild child.
Trouble and I went hand in hand, and were often good bedfellows. Proven by the fact that I almost choked to death on a nickel I had snuck into the top bunk of my fire engine bunk bed. And later on, my habit of jumping from one piece of furniture to the next, in order not to touch the floor whenever the lights happened to be off. (This done - of course, to avoid the boogie monster that had taken up residence beneath my bed.)
But worst yet, the day when home alone, I decided to ride my bike only to find that the garage was locked and the bike unobtainable. Patience, never a virtue I was very fond of, or good at, led my young self to the back window which was easily jimmied to an open position. And up I went, scraping my knees against the side of the building as I shimmied myself through the open window, angling my body and my legs just right in order to catch the floor. Except something caught me ... And there I dangled like a hat on a coat rack with my supergirl red shorts snagged on a vice grip located right beneath the window, until rip, rip, rip, I fell to the floor in a not so graceful fashion.
But what didn't cause me bruises, scrapes or pain often times backfired on those around me. Such was my penchant for pets of unusual natures, as I was keen on finding anything wild, in hopes to domesticate it.
Take for instance, Harold. When I found him, he was napping in a half stack of firewood waiting to be hauled inside by our empty red wheelbarrow. It was love at first sight, and in we went to the waiting white bird cage hanging empty in the basement, ready to be a home. Despite my knowledge of rodents, the small, fuzzy and cute hamsterish kind, it failed to dawn on me the bats natural ability to squeeze itself out of tight places. An error which my Mother was none too pleased to hear about when my sweet little bat took to flying about the basement for 3 weeks, until later he finally managed to find his way back to the outside world.
But nothing much stopped me from having my pets. Not even my stepfather running over my pet snake with the lawnmower, or having to feed baby robins every three seconds one summer long, or rooming with a chirpy little duckling nestled in a laundry basket beside my bed despite her constant chatter while occasionally playing dress up with my dog Pickles, a small hunting beagle that looked really, really good in blue dresses. Still, there was nothing that could compare with Butterscotch, my jersey calf.
A gift from the farm down the road - a second family of sorts to me - I use to walk her around the yard, laughing as her wobbly knock knee legs tried their best to run after me in a game of chase and catch. She was the sweetest thing ever, large doe eyes with lashes so long they seemed to go on for miles. And though I often worried what my parents plans for her future would someday be, every day despite the walk to the old shed with a heavy pail of formula and stall cleaning chores to be done, I looked forward to our time together. But one fateful morning, her small brown head didn't greet me from the slats in her stall, and the welcoming moo itself was silent. Instead a small body lay still nestled in the hay, and I instinctively knew she wasn't sleeping.
Despite my losses and my brief interludes with danger, running from a bull at full speed after a fishing trip gone horribly wrong and finding myself stuck in a pine tree for three hours as a circle of really MAD COWS butted their heads against the tree in order to get me down, I managed to reach adulthood. (As witnessed by the wordiness of this here blog.)
And while I may not be as reckless as I once was, I'm very much still the wild child.
No Parking
Let it not be said that I am all talk and no action. I finally took the bull by the horns today and bought a new laptop, with a decent amount of bells and whistles. And it's not a moment too soon. The downstairs computer has finally blipped its last bleep and this ratty old laptop is on the fringe of a complete and utter meltdown.
It's a tempting thought, to take my trusty old baseball bat and have a swinging good time with the useless junk.
In other new, my boss sent me an interesting email today regarding the way I park. Just for giggles, here's an inside look on how I spend my work day.
(Scroll from bottom to top.)
---------------------------------------------------------
From: Stacey
Sent: Tuesday, August 3, 2004 1:51 PM
To: Jon
Subject: RE: PARKS LIKE A DRUNK
Now that’s just plain mean …
But if that were to happen, you can bet your bottom dollar I’ll be taking the rest of the day off … WITH PAY.
---------------------------------------------------------
From: Jon
Sent: Tuesday, August 3, 2004 1:50 PM
To: Stacey
Subject: RE: PARKS LIKE A DRUNK
ONLY IF YOU PROMISE TO BE IN IT.
---------------------------------------------------------
From: Stacey
Sent: Tuesday, August 3, 2004 1:47 PM
To: Jon
Subject: RE: PARKS LIKE A DRUNK
Oh goodie … I need the insurance money. You think next time you can take the whole car out and not just the fender.
---------------------------------------------------------
From: Jon
Sent: Tuesday, August 3, 2004 1:46 PM
To: Stacey
Subject: RE: PARKS LIKE A DRUNK
I PULLED IN AND TOOK YOUR FENDER OFF. HOW’S THAT FOR EXCITING?
---------------------------------------------------------
From: Stacey
Sent: Tuesday, August 3, 2004 1:44 PM
To: Jon
Subject: RE: PARKS LIKE A DRUNK
Straight lines are so boring …
---------------------------------------------------------
From: Jon
Sent: Tuesday, August 3, 2004 1:44 PM
To: Stacey
Subject: PARKS LIKE A DRUNK
WHY DID YOU PARK LIKE A DRUNK?
---------------------------------------------------------
Sigh ... Everyone's gotta be a critic.
It's a tempting thought, to take my trusty old baseball bat and have a swinging good time with the useless junk.
In other new, my boss sent me an interesting email today regarding the way I park. Just for giggles, here's an inside look on how I spend my work day.
(Scroll from bottom to top.)
---------------------------------------------------------
From: Stacey
Sent: Tuesday, August 3, 2004 1:51 PM
To: Jon
Subject: RE: PARKS LIKE A DRUNK
Now that’s just plain mean …
But if that were to happen, you can bet your bottom dollar I’ll be taking the rest of the day off … WITH PAY.
---------------------------------------------------------
From: Jon
Sent: Tuesday, August 3, 2004 1:50 PM
To: Stacey
Subject: RE: PARKS LIKE A DRUNK
ONLY IF YOU PROMISE TO BE IN IT.
---------------------------------------------------------
From: Stacey
Sent: Tuesday, August 3, 2004 1:47 PM
To: Jon
Subject: RE: PARKS LIKE A DRUNK
Oh goodie … I need the insurance money. You think next time you can take the whole car out and not just the fender.
---------------------------------------------------------
From: Jon
Sent: Tuesday, August 3, 2004 1:46 PM
To: Stacey
Subject: RE: PARKS LIKE A DRUNK
I PULLED IN AND TOOK YOUR FENDER OFF. HOW’S THAT FOR EXCITING?
---------------------------------------------------------
From: Stacey
Sent: Tuesday, August 3, 2004 1:44 PM
To: Jon
Subject: RE: PARKS LIKE A DRUNK
Straight lines are so boring …
---------------------------------------------------------
From: Jon
Sent: Tuesday, August 3, 2004 1:44 PM
To: Stacey
Subject: PARKS LIKE A DRUNK
WHY DID YOU PARK LIKE A DRUNK?
---------------------------------------------------------
Sigh ... Everyone's gotta be a critic.
One Yawn at a Time
It's past my bedtime and I'm too tired to post anything of interest. On that note, here's bidding you all sweet dreams tonight, and a pleasant tomorrow.
Until sooner rather than later. I am to bed.
Until sooner rather than later. I am to bed.
As Sunday Night Approaches
Well it's been a nice quiet weekend, which turns out to be no big surprise since most of the time they are, usualy quiet that is, though this one quieter than others.
KC is currently in the downstairs bathroom singing over the sound of the water running and though I should probably see what havoc she is causing, I'm in the mindset right now that I just don't want to know. A mindset I will most liklely come to regret after realizing she's flooded the entire downstairs with whatever today's scientific experiment in the bathroom happens to be ... So much for thinking someday she'd outgrow this charming little habit.
Nothing on the docket today other than picking up around the house, throwing in some laundry and spending the rest of the day in a typical Sunday fashion waiting for the night to take over and give way to Monday.
The fact that I have limited funds also means staying close to home. KC and I hit the stores yesterday for some more early back to school shopping and spent quite a bit on matching tops and skirts for my little fashionista. This year KC has decided that she wants more input in the clothes she wears, rather than letting Mom's good taste rule the day.
All in all, it's not too much a problem considering I approve of most everything she likes. Although, I did object to buying her the Yankees baseball cap she wanted, but only because I refused to pay $20.00 for a non-essential item and figured if she wanted it that bad, she could ask her Dad to get it for her - big Yankees fan that he is - the next time she visits him for the weekend.
We also stopped at the store to buy some supplies to make soup for tonight's dinner. Carrots, celery, broth, chicken and of course, the star of the show, tubettini. Considering her interest lately in the kitchen, questioning the ethnicity of everything I make, I figure it's about time I start her education in making some of the family favorites, like both my Mother and my Grandmother showed me.
KC is currently in the downstairs bathroom singing over the sound of the water running and though I should probably see what havoc she is causing, I'm in the mindset right now that I just don't want to know. A mindset I will most liklely come to regret after realizing she's flooded the entire downstairs with whatever today's scientific experiment in the bathroom happens to be ... So much for thinking someday she'd outgrow this charming little habit.
Nothing on the docket today other than picking up around the house, throwing in some laundry and spending the rest of the day in a typical Sunday fashion waiting for the night to take over and give way to Monday.
The fact that I have limited funds also means staying close to home. KC and I hit the stores yesterday for some more early back to school shopping and spent quite a bit on matching tops and skirts for my little fashionista. This year KC has decided that she wants more input in the clothes she wears, rather than letting Mom's good taste rule the day.
All in all, it's not too much a problem considering I approve of most everything she likes. Although, I did object to buying her the Yankees baseball cap she wanted, but only because I refused to pay $20.00 for a non-essential item and figured if she wanted it that bad, she could ask her Dad to get it for her - big Yankees fan that he is - the next time she visits him for the weekend.
We also stopped at the store to buy some supplies to make soup for tonight's dinner. Carrots, celery, broth, chicken and of course, the star of the show, tubettini. Considering her interest lately in the kitchen, questioning the ethnicity of everything I make, I figure it's about time I start her education in making some of the family favorites, like both my Mother and my Grandmother showed me.
