My Bag Lunch

I make a bag lunch every day to take to work. Do you? I figure I save a minimum of $6.00 a day times 20 work days a month equal $120.00 times 12 equals...I don't know...a good amount is all. And anyway I love peanut butter and jelly with smart balance butter under the jam...blueberry that is. Also take pretzels and two weight watchers chocolate mints. Sometimes peaches in a cup....and ice tea with lemon and sucralose in a tall used washed ice tea jar with a peanut butter lid or the original ice tea lid. One lid being green and one red, so I alternate for hoopla. I must need a life! OK now you have the 8 x 10 glossy of me eating lunch almost every day. Except the other day. Oh, I also have two cups of mildly weak coffee every morning as I walk Grace the dog. That means I cant have the iced tea until afternoon. Due to over caffinating my brain and emotions. Same diff. Last week I cranked open the iced tea while I was driving and listening to talk radio. I drank a swallow. Drank another swallow....noticed an oddness to my tea and chalked it up to the talk radio affecting me in all areas. Reps and Dems at it hard. Another swallow, weirdness! I always put the lid back on the tea jar each time just in case it might tip out of the holder. I happened to be at a red lite so I was able to pay better attention...as I lifted the lid to place it on the iced tea I noticed soemthing....eewww....icky poo all over the inside of the lid. Old thick Hard Peanut Butter inside my iced tea lid. Crap. I had been drinking tainted old P.B. in my Iced Tea. Here we go again, spitting in a paper towel just like the blog before last when Gracie kissed me unexpectedly in my mouth. Gross...which is worse? Old P.B. on/in my tea, or Gracie's tongue on mine after her licking herself. Equally gross a mondo. i.e. the Fonz. Eeyy! Not arrr, I don't do pirate doo....

Back to my lunch. I now double check the lids I use on my tea jar for lunch every day. Today is Saturday so I don't have to be concerned or watch for anything other than where I am stepping and what in. In more ways than one. You get it.

The "Dick-O-Lantern"

OK, couldn't think of one funny thing today..I dont even think this is funny or interesting.  Be back tomorrow..

Caught off Guard

OK sorry for the blurry photo, but I think you all get it! That is a, my dog, see the ears, and the raised leg and that is a tail hanging out the bottom.. Grace, my dog, has not had the tubal ligation, or hysterectomy which means she still comes "in heat." Why ever do they call it that! But she does it and she is a very clean little girl about it which means she takes care of herself (licks her v-j-j (Grey's Anatomy new word for "it") for a week solid every six months) which is what you are viewing in the blurry photo.....eeewww What's my point? I will tell you clearly. I came home from work, picked the little princess up to take her outside for to do her duty, at which time she was so excited to see me she turned to me and kissed my mouth inside and out!!! Oh my God I almost threw up. She has never done that before in all eleven months I have had her. I spit on the floor, I wiped my mouth on my shirt, stuck my tongue out and wiped it off with my coat..... Geez Louis-ie Gracie! What the H were you thinking? OK, back up, I know I need to think like a dog here. She uses her mouth to eat, drink, to clean herself, and to show love. But I am not a dog so I was not appreciative..... But I did tell her "So Sorry" for spitting out her kissy's. Yuk! Part II of this story: Yesterday I had my carpet shampooed and I was home for the big deal. And it was a big deal because there were some Grace training residue's here and there. Tom the carpet man (Green cleaning by the way) was still here when I had to leave for Insurance appointment. Grace dog noticed I was going to leave. Her eyes got really big and odd and scared...Tom looked at me and then Grace. I looked at Grace and then Tom and then back at Grace....and then Tom said, "You cant leave her, look at those eyes talking to you!" So I took her along, got into the car, called the insurance office to see if anyone was allergic and if it would be alright to bring my dog? I mean come on, who takes their dog to the State Farm Insurance offices for an appointment Hello? Bless that secretary's heart...she said, "Oh, I don't know what the office policy is regarding dogs coming here, but I will go see, please hold?" S H U T - U P! I am driving and on hold with a dog in my lap! So I did hold as I continued on my way. They loved her! She is such a sweetie girl that all who encounter her adore her. Especially P.S.Bell. (see past posts) Even while we are driving people show their interest in the passing cars. I didn't get my insurance at a less expensive rate, but I made a new friend. Her name is Katie Guenther, State Farm Agent. I was going to make sure I inquired as to whether she was a Democrat or Republican, but I liked her so much I decided I didn't want to know.. Anyway she laughed at my jokes and the last insurance man didn't...bye bye....you lose Am Fam Insurance last man.

The Great Getaway

I would prefer that title to be The Great Gatsby, but it isn't....its The Great Getaway. Today while at a clients home doing business for her and her husband, I opened the front door to put some items out on the porch. I was aware of "Clem" behind me of which I took great precaution of due to his intent stare. Not enough precaution. I thought teenage girls were sneaky, and husbands also can sneak about, and those twins, Frick and Frack do some amazing tricks on me. But Clem, he topped my list of anxiety ridden issues lately. Clem used to get to go outside! Cats that USED TO go outside really still like to do that. And if you stop them they get very slick about how to get back out there. In fact his name should be "Slick." I know you have already guessed, Slick Clem dashed out the door at 40 mph behind and beside me. I about freaked. I had just dealt with the Mailman all the while maintaining Slick Clem as still an insider which I was left in charge of. Well he was now an outsider and he isn't mine. And I charged alright, right out the door after him. I was asked to lock the doors when I left. That meant locking Slick Clem inside and who was now outside in the Halloweenie atmosphere without his Mom's knowledge. What did I do? Panicked! And ran out the door as fast as Slick Clem did. I was right on his heals and let me say he was prancing like a Wisconsin Buck in Springtime, collar and tags dingling in the brist Wisconsin wind. Now picture this 8 x 10 black and white glossy.....me running at my age after a prancing cat all the time talking to myself, and the mailman two houses down listening to mwa as well as whom-ever else was near. I am saying, "Oh my God, help me get this critter, because it isn't mine and somehow it got out on my watch and Jeez there goes that client and she knows the Mayor and I am toast.....dad gum cat what are you thinking? Never mind I know.....and I am on your tail." I am saying all these things and more for the neighbors and the mailman to hear. Not to mention my ad is on the side of my car so I cant hide who I am! Slick Clem and I get two houses down and he stops. YES! I calmed myself and asked him politely to come here dudie dude....and would you believe that prayer I said in transit back there worked. He turned around and came right to me. I picked him up and again talked all the way back. "OK dude cat, don't scratch me, do you even have nails, or bite me, or try to get away before I get you home, Oh God Please don't let this cat jump." He didn't. All the drama was for nothing. Well not for nothing because that was trauma drama. Hey losing someones precious pet is no joke. I am taking deep breaths as I relay this on blog paper. Here's the better part....that cat was pissed at me after I deposited him inside. He looked at me and hissed. Well didn't he know I was carrying him back home? And I thought he was Slick. Not only did he hiss at me, he walked over to me with that Clint Eastwood tough guy stroll and wrapped both his front legs around my leg and hissed. I peed my pants! He had control. Then I said, "Go away cat!" (I said it firmly but kindly) He didn't, but I did!

Thirty Years, Back at Me

OK so that is me Freezing my ars off with one of my G-daughter-twins. We are watching her sister play the "soccer" game ..... and may I add again, while Freezing. Notice the earmuffs and blankee's. Besides I am sitting on one of those football game mini plastic seats so my ars is not in direct contact with the METAL bleachers. What the H ever happened to good old wood bleachers? Natural Wood hello! I Suppose these metal job bleachers are outsourced like everything else has been. Even our underwear is made in some foreign country. OK so back to my point of post.

Thirty years back that handsome Hollywood lighting man on my last blog post was the outfielder at age 7ish. Yup, his Dad and I sitting in the stands, watching him do all sorts of physical movements out there while the other children played baseball, or softball or whatever it was called when they hit the ball with the bat and ran around three bases. My little boy would dance and play all by himself out there in left field UNLESS that ball came near him. You see we are a smarter family....we don't mess around until its necessary! My G-daughter out there on that soccer field "skips" through most of the game. Skips, no shiet, skips, not runs, skips. That is UNLESS that ball comes near her! Then she rally's to the play. Please note that her Father, My son, sitting a front of me at these games, is losing it! He wants so much for her to be a constant player. He is in sales so you can understand I am sure... Go Go Go....Sell Sell Sell ..and so on. Not that he isn't understanding because he is a wonderful Father. Back to my point. Cells have memories people. Even after thirty years the evidence "skips" out at us once again. Just go with the flipping flow. I mean look at the boy that danced while the others played ball. He is in Hollywood Hello! He is a wonderful person......and so is the little she~ She and He share something special. Hope the pressure isn't too great from the bleachers to be more. Love Forever, Nana

No Squatter's Rights

This is the tree that has survived years of squatters. Little squatters, big squatters, and in between squatters, all four legged. Why do they all run for the little tree when there are thirty other trees and grass areas and fields around here? I live in a building that allows dogs and when the front door opens for poddie runs they all run down the sidewalk, around the side of the building, to the edge of the lot, to the little tree! I thought of placing a little sign that said, "Squatter's Rights, Full House, No Vacancy," but I knew they'd pee on my sign so I stopped that imaginary thought. Anyway what right do I have to interfere with their scent wars. If I had to give a layman's explanation of this, I would say its every dog peeing on the other dogs pee to maintain whose got the territorial rights to that corner of the world. The only corner of the outside world they have to work with. Otherwise, sadly for some its crates and carpet. eewww.. I see there little and big faces peering needfully out their apartment windows when I come home. Glad we humans don't do that tree thing, I guess we do just in different ways, we just fight, bully, lie, cheat, use money and whatever, to up the other one .... not me of course...but many humans do. Maybe we should start peeing on trees instead. Would make for less wars and bloodshed. I cant believe that little tree continues to maintain its existence for all the attention. Humm maybe its the attention that keeps it thriving after all.

Today Was a Hoot

I had a "stand in" helper at work today because my associate was "missing in action" for a long week-end. So my daughter in law stood in, the daughter in law that looks like "what's her name," Meg Ryan! Could be her twin..And that is when the fun started. For me anyway. It was after I ate my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, pretzels, one banana, and a piece of chocolate that I decided I needed more. So I went to the grocery deli for Friday shrimp. Eight Pieces with no sauce eatin' while driving to the bank. Then home...... I was hungry for a snack only! I got the peanut butter out and dipped my trusty pretzels in when the dog came running. That meant she wanted her all natural doggie bones dipped in P.B. so I dipped her some bones and me some pretzels. That is when the unimaginable happened. I inadvertently put the doggie bone dipped in P.B. in my mouth. Then I spit it out of my mouth onto the floor and the doggie ate it. I wonder if the all natural bone snack isn't better for me then the flour filled pretzel? I'm over it, after all it wasn't a dead critter. Then Cody, my third son called me from "The Hills," Beverly that is! He is one of the lighting men setting up for a taping of "Dancing With the Stars," at a mansion in "The Hills". He told me there are glass floors and a bowling alley and I forgot the rest because I was so busy with drama saying S H U T- U P! How totally cool are you while I eat dog bones dipped in P.B. That was after I pulled into the bank drive thru that said CLOSED. The nice boy tried to sweetly tell me so I could back out gracefully. If I ever have any issues with dings in my car it is from "backing out." So here I was with three inches on either side, being watched by two very young people sitting behind their windows grinning. It was Friday afternoon, where were all the people with their money to deposit? None in sight, only me in all three lanes making bad jokes, well maybe good jokes because they were laughing....I pointed to the last ding outside my car, no ding, a huge scrape on my drivers side and told them that is what happened the last time I tried this. I wanted to get out of that car and walk away. My choices were none, So I backed up, got too close on one side, went forward to straighten out, backed up and got too close again, went forward, then one more time of that all in a matter of ten feet. All the time being watched. Now this was not my idea of being in the limelight of life. It was more like "look at that middle aged woman that cannot back up ten feet without driving forward two feet and starting over. Moron. Shhh don't let her hear us"....I know that is what they were saying. But I have a great sense of humor so I survived to drive away ....in a forward manner. I will never go to that bank again. But at least I didn't go to McDonald's to make a deposit like one of my friends did. I just couldn't back out of a narrow drive through very well. And I remembered why I was there. So there. Anyway my boy is a lighting man for the stars. photo is Cody Ogden, Hollywood Lighting Man

Starring at the Ceiling

Today is a day I can't think of a thing to say. Note this is rare. My only goal is to lay on the living room floor and stare at the ceiling. You see there are about a zillion things on and in my head to the point I need to expell many of them to a new home or space other than here. I am in hopes the ceiling will bring me some answers. Sure, a large vast area of drywall, wood, sand, paint, tape, spakling, all said items full of chemicals I suspect. That ought to give me some answers. Real earthly atmosphere. Not. Its too cold to go outside and lay under a tree. Or hug one as "they" suggest. Anyway I live in a complex with hundreds of other people so if I went and laid outside I am sure to hear sirens within a short time. So the chemical ceiling it is for now. Be right back.
OK so nothing yet. I am going to do the Oprah cure. What am I thankful for? Give me a minute. Just kidding sorta. I am thankful I am not Sarah Palin because she doesn't get to keep the clothes. Too bad so sad so glad! I am thankful I am employed and have a wonderful place to live. That I do not have to sleep alone in my cushy bed. OK I will tell you....I sleep with.....drum roll please.....Gracie Allen, doggie do little, and Lucy Lu, neurotic cat. And I am actually thankful they are the only ones I sleep with. They are sweet and kind and give me joy. I am thankful for "all my children." No its not the soap opera show, but its just like it! I am thankful for being alive even if it hurts sometimes. That I and mine are healthy. For the decisions at hand even though very difficult. For the opportunity to help others all the time hoping they don't ask. Had to add that. I am so thankful for my snow tires, need I explain? No! And I especially love my computer. I used to love cigarettes many years ago, eewww. I replaced them with the "puter show." Oh and pretzels, peanut butter, chocolate and Scotch. No not for breakfast today anyway. Better add just kidding to that one. I tried the kitchen floor and that was not good....."bugs? in the lite made it not so Oprah-y. Time to head out for work. The Sun is shining so all is well no matter what. I am going to be a duck today. Going with the flow.........

Boat People

These happened during a cold blizzardy snow day two years ago. Or was that one year ago? Time flies during blizzards...doi. Especially when the twins, Frick and Frack, Fred and Frieda, KiKi's...the various names they go by depending on whose talking to them. "Them" were age 5 when this sculpture was so intently created. No one really noticed the talent and depth like I did. I asked Karsyn (one twins real name) what she named this piece. She said, "Boat People." I don't believe Karsyn knows the reality of boat people. Yet here they are in living color. And with hair and noses and even a decorative hair bow put in for added spice. And notice right up front leading the way. This girls princess mode takes precidence no matter what. These girls have spice of life I tell you. I could relay to you stories for days but today is Boat People day. Notice there is one man and four women and a blobb, or five women?? In Karsyn's family there is one Dad and one Mom and two sisters. So whomever the blobb is a mystery. Oh no, its not mwaa! No way...me a blobb on a boat? Nope not gonna happen, don't like water, not going there. I am not a Boat People or a Frick or Frack or a blobb Nana. Maybe its Great Gramma Ha! Sure it is. I did my duty, followed the fate thing or whatever it was, had the Dad and he had the Frick and Frack...His deal now I say....But...I also say, Look at this masterpiece! From a five year old child! They know more than we ever give them credit for. I have this framed and believe it to be the beginning of some serious art or creativity of sort coming from said Frack or Frick, I get them mixed up. But only one of them created the Boat People Sculpture out of blocks of Sculpie Clay on a cold snowy day!

Foxy and The Sticker

This is Joe, my 83 year old Father exercising his primal man-hunting conquest. And that is Foxy lying deceased under the tree. I know, I know, I said no more chicken blogs, but the truth be told, if Foxy had not been "taken out," there would be no more fresh brown eggs in the fryin pan every morning, anymore. It was a "had to be" deal. It reminded me of my Granddaddy in Texas who told me he rode with Poncho Via! Sure! We found him in his utility room (an addition to the huge house they owned) shooting at a mouse with his colt 45. Yup.... he shot the toilet to hell trying to play cowboy and recall his Poncho Via days....and he got the mouse too. Here I am again many years later viewing the same thing only the toilet was saved this time. Yes it was sad....but I cant go there. It was one fox or six chickens. Do the math. Now the fun part. Notice the sticker on the back of Dad's new jeans. And he went downtown with that long size sticker still there showing the world he got new jeans! I think we should all do that. Heck we do it with our cars, right? Leave that perty sticker on the window standing for, "We got a new car, and we paid this much!"

Dad buried the little critter and came waltzing into the kitchen singing....A - M - E - N! Cause I told him to say a prayer over the little guy. I hope he remembers to take that sticker off before he goes to the board meeting tonight.

photo taken at he original "funny farm" yesterday!

The Bulldog Massage

Today was somewhat stressful....so I chilled. At one point I took Gracie Allen for a long walk . Gracie, from the Humane Society eleven months ago, has decided, finally, that I might just do. Up until recently she has sniffed and tried to search out her old people. These photos are not Gracie Allen! Gracie is a tiny long haired Chihuahua...No this is Brutus is a good guess ?? Dunno...just met him today on our walk. He about choked himself trying to get a sniffer of Gracie Allen. His snorting was something I am not sure I could live with although what a sweet doll baby big dog he was. I bent over to pet him to show Gracie he was alright...ya right, he is twenty four times bigger than she is at which point she looked at me like, "Are you for real?" And he looked at me like, "Outta my way Mama!" So I took the bull by the back and decided to give the big guy a massage. Down his back my fingers ran...you know let your fingers do the talkin...it worked. That old boy just moaned and sat right on down! I asked his mastress (humm is there such a word?) if he had ever had a massage. She was in awe and said, "No." I continued to do his back and shoulder blades and neck. No I am not odd... That dog was massage toast...done...needed to lay down. Mastress commented on how she couldn't believe it.

Why not? They have a back bone and muscles and there are doggie chiropractors. Maybe I should go into doggie massage and then again maybe not. These are before and after pics of the big boy..... Cool huh and all from a stressful day. I just gave out what I needed. Besides that sloppy tongue...no thanks on any doggie kisses. Bet when I see Brutus next time he'll look at me and not Gracie...LOL
























http://www.countrybulls.com/Pages/Champion_English_Bulldog_Cheerio.html

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Where Did All the Steeples Go?

When is the last time you saw a beautiful peaceful "Steeple" standing out across the city or the countryside offering you great beauty and pleasure and peace while you were driving for pleasure or peace or business? Me either. The old highways are now Interstates and the old Steeples are now hidden on the countries back roads. Maybe its sort of like an analogy of the way our lives have taken some turns. Corporations and government seem to be in the forefront and the middle class and poor are hidden on the back roads. Not that we don't drive the Interstates, but we don't see the steeples from there, and we have been placed in the background until Nov. 4th that is. Oh this isn't funny or fun to talk about. So, changing the subject. I went shopping today. Stood in one of those three mirror dressing rooms and freaked. Why, because! Everyone freaks in those rooms unless they are in their 20's and perfect. Then I put my clothes back on and I was fine again. Bet that hasn't happened to anyone whether in a dressing room or any room for that matter! I discovered I was wearing size 12 and 14 jeans/slacks when I need 8 and 10's. That sort of renewed my day even though it was late in the day. Better late than never they say. And hungry again. Not really hungry, just a little so. Now I shall intercede by telling how I used to enjoy driving from one small town to another while searching for my insurance clients homes, and even on to the big cities seeing an occasional Steeple, which brought me back to the basic and good reality of Love one another. You know, back to the old re-memories...."Here's the Church, here's the Steeple, Open the doors and see all the Peoples!" And then Mom would wiggle all her fingers like they were a bunch of people. Funny, silly and wonderful. I wonder if the new generation shows their children the Open the doors and see the Steeple People. I hope so. I sure miss those Steeples. They were like reminders of what we all need in life. Peace and the hope of a higher power to help us through whether on an interstate or a back road, whether a Republican or a Democrat, whether a corporate Egor or a homeless person... The Steeples are missing from the "Interstates"/Life. Interstates connect people...but so do Steeples. Maybe funny will come back to me by tomorrow....

www.flickr.com/photos/ulri/96685315

New Glasses x Three

OK so this is Diane doing tired last night. I got new glasses yesterday and they aren't tiny skinny lime green gross, or Sarah Palin fakes. They are totally for me, MaMa! They are fat, gold, and cool enough to hold three different types of seeing. They call that tri-focals. Who would a thunk! But then I never thunk my body would head south like it has either so we are all working together me, my eyes and the body. What choice do we have, there "aint" nothin going on at the cemetery, not even anything bad. So live on people. Buy skinny green, or fat gold. I figure these financial times call for fat gold. Just my call is all. Anyway big is back. In glasses that is. You 'll all see, just sit tight and know I am ahead of the game. Today I decided to get ready to go do some errands and look pretty at it. So I got the new tights out, the old but new gaucho pants, (tags still on from last years purchase), $7 on the closeout rack, but nice looking good brand. I was soooo proud. I pulled those gaucho's up and on only to realize I never needed to unzip them to get 'em on! Size 10 slipped right past the hips and barely sat on the mid section baby! I know I am actin smart. You would too if you down sized past 10.

S H U T - U P and don't lie to even yourself. You are jealous and you know it. My job is a tad like "dancing with the stars" but don't think it is all roses...just look at this pic of me and its not yet 9:00 p.m. That stands for Past Mama's bedtime today.. There was a day I hadn't left the house yet for the "night life" at 9:00 p.m....and look at me now. Big glasses, Assie headin south, in bed by 9:30 p.m. And going down hungry to maintain the less than size 10. And alone Jack! (usually much easier) So no comments allowed this time. Let me live! And never forget my license plate says ALSWELL!

No matter what. I actually like my new big lens's..... I have skinny ones in the drawerl

LuLu

OK so is this a cat or a ferret? This is LuLu, no not my favorite choice for a name but the daughter rules on this one because she is the owner of this ferret cat someone threw in her car and said, take her or we will shoot her! And may I add LuLu is "her" responsibility. Ya right! So back to LuLu. The daughter moves out and takes LuLu with her thank God or "The Secret" or whatever good made all that happen. Back to LuLu. So the daughter calls and tells me LuLu has some unusual symptoms.....I know enough to know we are now going to owe another veterinarian $$$$$. Daughter takes LuLu to the Veterinarian Investment Bank where we hear back that LuLu's temp is 106.2, rare. Now begins the famous testing, investing! They pretend to listen to us and then they proceed to test, invest, test, invest, test, invest. Just like your regular HMO or Bank. After $300 dollars of testing, investing....the vet gives cat ibuprofen and the fever breaks and all the tests are negative and investing positive....don't forget the $300. Ibuprofen does not cost $300. But x-rays and blood work, and IV's and shots and love, costs and easy $300. I think that is after the initial down payment. And what did Mommie Me do? She said she would back up the daughter on the payments! (Forgot to tell you Daughter quit her job) Good Mommie or dumb Mommie? Ask me later. I am still making payments on two dead animals that sit in tin cans on the pretty black shelves in this here office. God I need to get them buried one of these days at the old "Funny Farm." You all know what that is if you have been reading the blogs. Its the Wisconsin Family Farm and yes you can add the Minnesota accent Sarah Palin USES. Makes her look like a normal honest person like me......but not! Not going there. That is Cosmic Clutter to me...... OK LuLu is fine now....all she needed was kitty Ibuprofen which will probably cost $300 pretty soon anyway. For once I am ahead of the game. I already paid it.... So that makes me feel better about all this....being first that is, for once. Thanks LuLu I needed that! And I think I 'm glad you made it so I can pay for your de-clawing next.

Chasing Ghosts

I could have posted several more pictures showing where I have posted " dead people" all around my house, but you get it from these two. I love my dead people. They don't talk back, gossip about me, they don't ever make me feel guilty, they also do not cost me a dime, they don't ask me to babysit, get them any groceries, help them work on their computer, (that's a joke), complain, get sick and need all sorts of help, or even bitch about anything in particular. Our Indian Ancestors among other ancestors told us we should honor our "dead people" because they take care of us. They even believed they took care of the land we live on. And what if they got reincarnated and they are one of our neighbors. Well I am prepared for sure for my reincarnated ancestor neighbor to see I have his or her picture well displayed. I am safe! No family ghosts gonna have anything on me. At the luncheon after my Granddaddy's funeral in the 80's, his wife's niece Sandy, who he disliked allot, was raising her wine glass as she said something "smart-mouth of which no one can remember because at that exact moment her wine glass broke with a brisk clang right in her hand! Seriously! You could have heard a pin drop. It was my Granddaddy and everybody new it. He just didn't like her and he always got the last word. Dead or Alive! He is the top center picture in uniform in the black barn window frame. Sorry about the messy black paint but I couldn't find the razor blades to fix my paint overages....... The other is a pic taken too far away, but you can see I have dead people displayed from floor to ceiling. And in my kitchen I have a 4 x 6 yellowish antique pic of my favorite G-ma and G-pa right next to the toaster. Eeewww do ya think that might be in bad taste?...pun....no you know, like they are toast, gone. I also have them on a shelf right here next to my "puter desk." Hey they liked me so its a good rememory! Another one of my own words? Only if you don't know it. Once when I was going to marry and shouldn't have, that very picture flew off the wall over my bed. Yup truth! So I watch for that picture to fly off if I have any big decisions going on. Really. Maybe I just don't have the art prints I want yet. I wouldn't want my dead people to hear that, nor do I want my wine glass to burst, so sssshhhh!

P.S. Bell

What is a P.S. Bell you say? Personally if I saw that I would think it was an after-thought. You know, like at the end of a letter when you think of something you forgot...you put p.s. blah blah blah. Well that pretty much sums up Peter S. Bell, except the P.S. would be several pages long in describing this human being and I only have a paragraph so hang on. I should ask his Mother if he was an after-thought. Like maybe his parents were finished and decided to "do it" one more time, see an afterthought!! And look what they got! P.S! P.S. is everything you never wanted to know and everything you ever wanted to know. When around him one spends most of their time trying to get a word in. Cant do it! Wont happen! Unless you say, MY TURN very loudly. Then he abruptly stops and lets you take your turn. P.S. has manners but he also has ADD with impatience. Yes I know they go together, but P.S. has a double dose of it so I gave you all a double dose in words. P.S. Bell tells one liner jokes, ten liner jokes, gives me more information than the average Encyclopedia, and wonders why I don't know these things. As I sit here pondering what I just wrote and remembering how he does that to me, my mouth is wide open still in awe.... Who the H remembers about an Island somewhere in the middle of the Ocean and what happened there 30 years ago. Or State History, or World History, and on and on! I just tell him "I knew that!" P.S. remembers because he has a photographic memory! He also has a magic gift with words. I call him and tell him I need a title for a booklet and give him an idea of what I am writing about and BINGO he comes up with perfection title. He should have been a writer in Hollywood for sure. P.S. is a fighter for what he believes is right, and an atheist. Sorry I don't like it either. But P.S. Bell stuck by me as a friend when no one else did during some tough times. He is a caring person. I used to work with him for a few years and when that job ceased we remained phone friends for a couple years again to present. He makes me laugh when I might want to cry, which is hardly ever OK? Ya right! He tells me stupid jokes, (OK some of them are hilarious,) he does printing for me, sends me funny things in the mail that I can hardly get open for all his self made stickers, (I like the stickers, don't get me wrong), he helps me with my job if I get sick, and tells me I am a nice person. What do I do for P. S. Bell? Nothin much.. but listen to his life tales, his scholastic and life achievements, his high school days, His 30 some years at J.C. Penney's, his inventions, his gambling wins and losses, how he has overcome some self destructive life habits, all about his girlfriends, his ballroom dancing skills which are amazing, his Mother, Ardell who is in her 90's, his sister Marge who is a writer, and as I said all the girlfriends he takes here and there and everywhere. And he takes them in groups for God sakes! Four at a time sometimes! He has several little business's going online and off that I hear about. P.S. Bell never married but came close a couple times, and left the Catholic Church and God due to a bad experience. He must think God did it, and considering how smart he is he should know better. P.S. says when it's over, it's over! Life that is. I suppose come that day, if he goes first, I will have to step in and pray the old fart all the way into the kingdom because of his "Catholic Experience!" By the way he was not molested he says. Well isn't that just good to know. See I hear it all! My Grand-daughter would say, TMI....(too much information) and (p.s.,That's what friends are for isn't it?)

My Bathroom Among Other Things

So what does my Bathroom have to do with Cemetery Lane? I will tell you. We are supposed to live each day as though it is our last, correct? Not too hard! I worked a long day today, came home a tad tired, walked the dog Gracie Allen, grabbed a bite of food, meandered into my bathroom for a shower, and noticed it was nasty in there. It is the bathroom off my bedroom, not the guest bathroom of course. Make up strewn about the counter, toothbrush lying out in the open, hot curlers with a basket of hot curler clips, hair spray, a sink with spots of toothpaste, eeewww.....the mirror has specs of "do dah days" all over it. I was sure I would stick to the hairspray on the floor should I step out of the shower with wet feet. Dust on the towel holder....Along with yesterday's work clothes still aside the shower. Lordie sakes alive! Should I die before I wake and anyone sees that mess I shall just die again. I pray the Lord my soul to take and get someone in here to clean it up before my family sees it. Who me? What a legacy that would be to leave in their last memory of me. S H U T - U P! But then there are a couple of kitchen drawers to die for also. Puns intended. And we cant wash our underwear every day just in case we croak or a bus runs over us, can we? But we can be somewhat tidy in our homes and cars and minds just in case we bite. Who thinks of all this stuff? Me, I do...the obsessive compulsive neurotic. I am not either, My Mother is.

I am So Glad You Were Born....

Happy Birthday Chad! You are an amazing human being and I am soo glad you were born. All who have the privilege to meet you say, "You are someone special to know." To your children you are a giant of, patience, love, and kindness. To all of the rest of your family, us, we are amazed at what you accomplish in one day or one week. We are also amazed at how you can make a penny go several different directions. This life is yours, given freely, not without some roadblocks, not without some pain, not without good and bad memories. Yet they say it is all for a reason. Sometimes I want to say, S H U T - U P on that score. Regardless........ you have always been a special person. When you were a little fellow you loved and hugged everyone. When you were a teenager you tried to be a tough football man, when you were really a teddy bear, lover of all people. The most compassionate of any man I know to this day. Besides Pastor Joel Osteen maybe.

Your decisions have always been timed out regarding what was the best deal on which shoes to buy, which clothes to buy, what day/year to get married, what vehicle would be best to buy, what house, which washer/dryer, and so on. You are the researcher in the family. The one born a Libra who needs to have his scales all balanced out, yet life makes that hard. But you balance it out in your own way and time so as to find your peace. Always taking into consideration others on your path that may be affected by said decision.

I say have a great day you were born, 36 years ago. I am so glad you were born. I love you forever, Mom xxoo

"Could I Just Change This Channel!"

(for the record, pic is 6 years old)

Do I have a boujeou" on my nose today? (That is the closest I could get to the french word for booger) I couldn't get a bum to smile by giving him a hundred dollars today. I kept checking the mirror for nose boujeau's or spinach stuck in my front tooth. I even stuck my head inside my shirt for any irregular odors, like did the cat pee on my bath towel? (Sorry but stuff happens sometimes.) I went to the pet store called Mounds and usually everyone laughs at my humor, even the young ones. Not today. The kid did give me a little snack Mounds bar on my way out. Am I supposed to be grateful? I spent $25.00 on three bags of treats and all I get is a quarter sized Mounds? OK, I get it, I had an attitude from somewhere. Could it be I didn't get a day off this week? Ya think? Maybe I got my quota of laughs with Bree yesterday. But then I say that about quota sex too. I figure there must be quota's on all good stuff in life, at least for me, because I haven't seen that commodity for many a year. Sex that is. My Brother says that is what is wrong with me. Ya think? And I am not any ugly stepsister so it has to be the quota deal. I hope there is no quota on.....what? There is....there is unspoken quota's on everything. Sex, alcohol, food, spending, chocolate.....all the good stuff. You can go above and over the unspoken quota but you either get sick, or fat, or die. Wait a minute, sex doesn't kill you, it revives you. Glad I figured that one out before another year passes. Back to changing the channel for today... Then I went to Target. I needed some plastic containers for cookies and darned if I could find them. I inquired to one fellow who sent me afar to no avail. Then I inquired once again to three young teen men, one of whom pointed and said, "Over there." I looked at the one young man that voiced that command as he pointed to a VAST Target store. At least I knew which side of the store I was supposed to head to. I commented, "Over where?" He said he would take me there, he left me at half point and said, "Somewhere in the forest!" I thought to myself....I must look like the Queen of Dumbass today. Not sure his superior would be so happy with his comments to the older lady! I found the plastic on my own. And the next store I went into for cat calming nuggets, I didn't ask anyone for a darn thing just in case. I am home, plan to stay here and plan on a new channel come morning.

My Buddy Bree

That is Bree. She was born 17 years ago last May and has been dear to me every day since. She is my Grand-Daughter. Bree never judges anyone, has a calm personality, (odd coming from this family of drama queens) she is responsible, caring, giving, loving, deeply sensitive and a young woman who laughs at my jokes. That's the most important and best deal that comes with knowing Bree. For me anyway. Throughout life we have shopped together, painted pictures together, had our hair done together, listened to one another and I can only hope to know other people like her in my life, although that's a tall order to fill. We plan on someday getting tatoo's together. LOL. Sometimes she makes me laugh so hard I cant hardly drive. Today she worked with me making some deliveries. It was Big Football Game Day in College Town Wisconsin so we had to fight "happy drivers," (not) and college kids drinking early in the day, (she taught me about the "Beer Pong," game, along with no available parking anywhere. But we always forge on....taking funny photos of each other, and the Autumn leaves changing, buying pizza and candy bars, and joking about our sometimes stupid life. Yet being thankful for everything we have, especially each other. Bree is not only a Grand-Daughter, but a Grand Person. We gotta get her those UGG's soon. Why? Because! She laughs at my jokes. Some people do "Stand up Routines," but I do "Sit Down Drivin Routines," and I have the best audience ever. My jokes are slim and none tonight due to the ruggers of travel today. Check back tomorrow for a possible sit down blogpost routine. No Chickens Allowed. (see past chicken posts)

I Have Blinkers

Most people take their "blinkers" for granted. Like they take their life for granted, not living each day to the fullest like we are supposed to. What does granted mean anyway? I "grant/GIVE" you the privilege of whatever it is. So I should have been given blinkers for my car when they quit huh? Didn't happen folks. I was told over a year ago that it was electrical and at labor costs of $93.oo an hour it might take some time to find the cause. I don't have a guy around to find my dissed blinker cause so I decided to start "arming" my car and myself. What is arming you say? Well its putting your arm out the window in 30 degree weather as well as 100 degree weather to tell others you are turning right or left. I think my arm has met the generational gap because people really get mad when you put your arm out the window, what for? And then you turn. I don't think they know what I am doing. I took the road test and training! They taught us how to do what I had been doing with the arm, but none of those people on the highway or byways liked it at all. Some didn't have a clue what I was doing that for. I have been hollered at, screamed at, given bad hand signs, cursed at and nearly beat up. I would just say sorry, its broke. One person said, "What the H are you doing, your not riding a bike!" After a year of hate on the highway I was with my daughter getting her car fixed when she told the nice young man about Mom's blinkers. He took a peak and told me he could fix them for $38.00 and that was including tax. I about fell over and broke that arm I used to need to blink with. But I didn't....instead I figure I will make that fellow Nate and his crew at Midas a couple dozen of my prize chocolate chip cookies. I am soooo happy to have real blinkers I like to just sit and listen to them go click click, click click, click click... You don't know what you have 'til you lose it. I shall never take my blinkers for granted again. Because they aren't free anyway, nor is life. (By the way this isn't the Nate on Oprah that does re-do's of people's homes and condo's but this is Nate that did a re-do for me that changed my life too.

photo from: pollyvousfrancais.blogspot.com/2008_02_01_arc

Was That Dog Food I Ate?

While I was grocery shopping the other day, which is more like preparing for outerspace travel considering the prices and choices verses the average pocketbook which led me to decide to buy a "can" of beef hash. God only knows why I did that because I don't eat canned hash. I eat organic foods and some Healthy Choice dinners and so on. But there it was this morning in the pan with the egg. Then the scent came rushing upwards (like at take off) into all my senses and those senses said, "Dog food!" I swear it smelled like the cheap cans of dog food I heat up for Gracie Allen on occasion. Even her organic dog food smells better than this beef hash smelled. I made a conscious decision to attempt to eat it thinking maybe it was purchased out of some hidden and wonderful memory from childhood or one of the better minutes of one of my better marriages. Not! It smelled and tasted like bad dogfood and I will never buy it or eat it again unless its all there is to go with the bread we'll get in the depression bread lines. Eeewww. Stop that talk!

Tyler Died Last Night

Well I got off the chicken blogs and now I need to find the humor I offer to many others on a daily basis. It is in the black hole today along with Tyler's death by drugs. I found out this morning Tyler OD'd last evening by "sniffing/snorting" bad H. Our family is wholesome, upper middle class, clean cut whatever that means and believing there is more to this being born, living, and dying deal. I am totally duh on sniffing anything besides 409 which makes me sick as I use it to clean stubborn spots. But I understand addictions as I sniffed/snorted/sucked nicotine for a few decades or so. No longer an issue for me yet I do understand because there are instances I find myself looking for something and "By Golly" (bimbo Sara Palin talk) it be a cig stick, if you can believe it. Been six years out and still at times look for it. Back to Tyler, who is a relative by marriage, age 24 ish and maybe somewhat lost. But then many are. But they don't do H. He did H and his roommate found him white with blue lips. Dead. 911. They broke his ribs reviving him......he was gone 8-10 minutes....shouldn't he be brain dead? He was brain dead for doing H in the first place so maybe the revive was a brain-revive huh? They put him in ICU and watched his blood enzymes trying to return to normal which they had not when he decided to check out of the ICU and Hospital. Who does that? Tyler! A young spunky fellow who isn't ready to die. He needed a cigarette and the patch they put on him wasn't working well enough. Well, coming off H, I don't suppose a Nicotine patch does a whole lot ya think? To top it all off when Tyler died he didn't see "The Light!" He rather experienced pitch black, cold, alone. And he sobbed saying there is no God, there is nothing after this. Hello, let the brain rest and begin to think again.....The H may have something to do with the black, cold, and alone. Why would sooo many people give testimony of the light and some give testimony of the black if it didn't have some meaning. I would say Mr. Tyler needs to start making some changes. Giving....and forgiving. Mr. Tyler WILL see the light because many of us are praying for just that. He is a sweet young man who almost stayed dead in the dark vs getting a new chance to see the light forever. He will.

The Queen of Green

This is Lindsay, sometimes I call her Leona. You know, that mean Hotel owner that left her dog $12,000,000.00 (is that enough zero's LOL) and nothing to anyone else. Now you are "getting it." Working with your teenage daughter is as hard as being married to the wrong man...or woman I should add. I started a business called A Green Experience and added her to the payroll. I mean if I hadn't I would have had to pay anyway so might as well get her moving and shaking for her food and hair supplies, and clothes, and UGG's, and so on. Only problem is she thinks she is the Queen of my Green! She tells me when I miss spots, when one spec is on the floor after I finish working my ars off to clean it. Add Perfectionist on top of the Leona Syndrome and you have it! I am now searching for a support group for parents of teens who think their queens. Or maybe I will get those papers filled out and send her off to college depending on the election and the student loan situation. Wonder if I could get some of that "dog money" from Leona. Surely these two are related. Drama runs in our family meaning I added a bit to this scenario. Or did I? Signing off as Mama D today.

Birthday Photo Bouquet

I had to find something to get me off Chicken blogs. So on to something new and just know you saw it here first. A Birthday or Graduation Photo Bouquet. I have never seen this done before, except by me, not that it hasn't been done before, but not to my knowledge. My daughter was graduating and while looking for a centerpiece for the table I noticed those long clear plastic card holders. You know the ones they clip the little card to that says, "I love you forever," or "Happy Birthday Baby," and so on. Something told me to clip a photo on that dealie so I did. That is after I "lifted" about fifteen of those plastic card/photo holders. Fifteen in case I broke any I needed a couple extra. And would you look at what I came up with. Magnificent huh? The carnations are her school colors with some added silver squibblys. K-12 photos with beans and barbecue and cake and cheese and all sort of foods. Add a pool and money and children and we had one wonderful party. Of course that was a year and a half ago but I had to find some way to get off chickens!

Chicken Maranarja (not Marajuana duh)

Here we go again with more Chicken talk or should I say balk. Cute! Get it, balk, balk, balk, and so on. Gracie Allen, my dog, and I are eating Healthy Choice, Cafe Steamers Chicken Margheita. Sorry I thought it was Maranarja. Not even close. 300 calories! You see after the post discussing the unfertilized egg umbilical cord in my frying pan I just couldn't do the egg today. It is 10:30 a.m. and why not eat Chicken Margherita. Maybe I should have had a Margarita too. Naw, too early and too sweet. Those are great for noon lunches with old friends as long as you eat a ton with it so you can (not) drive home after sitting and taking up the table for three hours of talking nonsense. It still beats a six pack, a hockey stick, and a snowmobile sitting outside the Whitehouse. Sorry all you bowlers and snowmobile rs but its just not my thing. The Hilton please and no side turns. Geez, my dog ate so much Margheita she is laying out on her side while the cat is dealing with a hair ball across the room. Still say, its better than what? Its just fine. I am still living alone after four weeks of no teenagers in the house. It is amazing. I even started remembering how to cook. And I bought some drawer liners, go figure....I am on a living alone roll and do not plan to change course. It quiet, I can have my own thoughts and say what I want to anyone listening...including myself. I can put a picture up and no one says eeww no no. I can do whatever I want with no interference. It is amazingly wonderful. Better than divorce from a bad man.... better than.....and so on. I think it is time for a piece of DOVE chocolate to top off our Chicken breakfast. I wouldn't want to get to confident or comfortable just in case...that goes for the election too. She's a slick one. We had bullies like her in H. S. too. Wanna be winners that sometimes made it just because they were tough and walked over the top of everyone else. Like those big wheeled trucks that run over a row of cars. The row of cars being the middle class. That six pack talk is calling all the middle class to vote for her so she can line 'em all up and run over them thru poverty. Well "guys and gals"... (and don't forget to add the accent) watch your back with this one, she's no chicken!

Eggs and The Unbilical Cord

I don't know what it is with me and chickens and roosters and eggs lately? Certainly there are more important issues like how I do not want a "Hackey Mam" carrying a 6-pack and ridin' into the White House on a snowmobile with her First Dude, to be V.P or Pres. (Do add the Minn-e-sota accent please). Back to the Umbilical Cord of the everyday egg. I like eggs, but when I crack them open and that milky looking wiry squibbly unfertilized umbilical cord presents itself off the yoke in my frying pan I get woozy. So I do the right and good thing and take half the shell I have just cracked open and use it to splice off the " unbi -cord," while using the other half of the shell to scoop it out and into the sink nevermore to be seen. Then and only then can I eat it. I even went so far as to purchase a dozen organic feed "chicken eggs,"you know what I mean, in great hopes there may be less or no unbilical cord. And I paid $3.60 cents vs $1.59 cents for regular eggs both of which have the same white milky unfertilized umbilical cord looking at me from the pan. I know, duh. My friend Peter, whom I shall blog about at some point, says I am Obsessive-Compulsive Neurotic. I am not, my Mother is! LOL Why would anyone want to eat something that came out of a Chicken's ars and if the Chicken had sex, I don't think they make love, then that same egg would be-holden a little chicken...eeewww. Call it what you will, I cannot eat the unfertilized umbilical cord of a "chicken egg." Now if I scramble it quickly and its out of site, that works on occasion. Depending on my mood of course. Neurotic....no way.

Rooster's Gillitine

You all wont even believe this one. And after this all will know why we call it the "Funny Farm." Grandma has that active disease called ADD where she talks all the time and doesn't realize it. Grandpa has swollen stiff hands from pseudo gout. And they decide they have to "kill" the remaining Roosters because they have turned mean. Testosterone does that to Roosters and some men. I am old enough to know and still have memory recall. Back to "Funny Farm." And be sure to picture this 8 x 10 black and white or color glossy if you would like, eeeewwww, here we have Grandma chattering and telling Grandpa how to hold the AX and when to chop the Roosters head off at what exact moment and then how he did it wrong before he ever did it. Oh God! Here comes those cell memories of childhood when Dad cut the head s off the chickens and gave me the feet to pull the tendons and have fun with those dead moving feet, not to mention the chicken was still running around with no head. NOT! Psych 101 says to replay those old memories and give them a good ending. I had completed that phase of my life, allowing the chickens and roosters to graze forever in the green meadows of life... and now look. Blood and guts and not to mention Grandpa's swollen hands about to chop off Grandma's hands while holding the rooster hands... Oh God! I suppose euthanizing the Roosters would ruin the meat huh? Yup, I asked and I asked too late anyway.. Grandpa came through, chopped the heads off, Grandma still has her hands and gave him 24/7 instructions the entire time and I heard they had rooster for dinner this evening. We all had laughs for dinner over the entire cruel Rooster induction into heaven and its pearly gates. I only hope those poor Roosters finished what they were born to accomplish. Sex with chickens at the "Funny Farm." Maybe all men should go out that way after accomplishing their sexual reasons for living. LOL Sorry I just had to. Another cell memory I never completed transformation of.