Life In The Ozone

Greetings Earth people. I come in peace to render a report from your faithful minion, Jerrie Somethingorother, whom we borrowed for a short period of time to conduct experiments crucial to our need to dominate all species on earth of the classification Chromista and below. The purpose of our experiments is to develop a new life form, though no one on the team seems to know why, so I cannot divulge that information. Most of us surmise that our leader, Krrooggllee, had a brain fart that infiltrated his need for attention and dreamt this up as a way of appeasing that particular fart. It happens.

At the exact moment this fart occurred, teams of investigators were roaming about in a small town near a river and not far from the ocean, our very favorite place, and were instructed to execute a short-term lease on the first semi-erect being they encountered. Negotiating short-term leases must commence immediately upon receipt by all teams and the winning team gets to plant a patch of ding dong bushes and spend 3.25 days at the beach.

So, it’s a race, if you will.

Fortunately, Roodee, on Team 19, for lack of a better description which you just wouldn’t understand at all, swiveled his eyes to the right at that exact moment and spied Jerrie, who was on his knees making rapid back and forth motions with a small tool for which we have no name. He appeared to be removing the skin from a prone, inanimate life form which we later discovered was a headboard, something about which we knew nothing at the time. Having since been provided a meaning for such a device we still do not understand the need for such a life form. Whatever. Earth people amuse us.

Anyway, Roodee spied Jerrie out of the passenger window of the team’s bright gray 1995 Toyota celica undercover vehicle, which is used by all teams, and initially discarded him as a choice since he wasn’t erect at the time, kneeling as he was, but, before Roodee looked away Jerrie stood, more than fulfilling our need for a semi-erect being. Therefore, he was lassoed with one of our snagger things and delivered to our research ship post haste.

Once aboard, and connected to all our electromechanical gizmos, we learned about the headboard and that he was situated on his knees in the garage, removing the plastic coating he had previously applied because it “wasn’t dark enough”, according to his spousal unit.  All we could get from him regarding the tool was that it’s a ‘painter’s tools’ which makes no sense because he was obviously ‘scraping’ the headboard. It did, however, seem to be working nicely causing us to rethink our current compulsion to have a specific tool for every specific task. Needless to say, wanting to be ready for anything, our tool bags are enormous and must be placed in a trailer behind the celica. We can fix anything with the tools in our trailers.

We learned that another reason he was in the garage, in the cold, is because the headboard is too heavy for him to move to the basement by himself. We offered to help but he just stood there and peed down his leg, intimidated, no doubt, by our clever disguises which make us look like dogs, man’s best friends. We hadn’t, at that time, arrived at the conclusion that dogs don’t drive and have since altered our appearances to mimic that of little old men and women which are far less intimidating than very large dogs. As an aside, Roodee was garbed as a frolicky Terrier, Hooser was a non-shedding Poodle, Garment was a Retriever of some sort, and our driver, Zimlot, was a mixed breed of all three which we liked but he apparently created a very frightful appearance to Jerrie.

We interrogated Jerrie for 17 hours, gathering all sorts of useful information, then sent him back in time to his garage with no memory of what had happened, but with all manner of monitoring devices on him allowing us to see, hear, feel, and taste everything as if we were there.

He was returned to the garage about noonish, a new word we learned, so he quit his task and went into the house to make a snazzy nacho lunch. We really liked it and plan to add this tasty treat to our synthesizer memory for future delightful snacks, as soon as we can figure out what’s in it.

After lunch he urged two dogs to exit the domicile, and into the yard in order to fertilize specific areas of the yard. When they returned, he departed his domicile.

His first stop was at a large metal box, a shipping container, near the St. Helens High School that is used by local citizens to rid themselves of their discarded newspapers, and for students to dump their garbage. The purpose of the stop was to straighten up the donations and remove the garbage. There is similar box located in the Wal*Mart parking lot that does not get as much garbage.

Then he proceeded to a location between St. Helens and Scappoose to visit The Twins, whose names we learned are Eva and Evelyn. Eva desired assistance with her computer and printer which Jerrie, for reasons that are not apparent to us, knows how to do. Jerrie’s emotions revealed that he always enjoys visiting The Twins, old high school classmates, and he’s glad he can help with their electronical needs. Now he has to return and retrieve his favorite Navy baseball hat.

He returned to his abode where he languished for an hour before he had to return to Warren where he was to preside over a meeting of church elders. They call it a council. We understand the concept of having a council that oversees “things” but we are mystified why it is that Jerrie was chosen to preside. After giving it much thought, our conclusion is that no one else wanted to do it and he’s used to abuse, so he volunteered.

During the meeting Jerrie’s spousal unit texted him, on a nifty device he carries around in his pocket, to report she wouldn’t be arriving home until after 10 pm because they had so many ballots to process. Not knowing what ballots were, at the time, we thought it had something to do with procreation, and just skipped over to something more interesting.

Jerrie arrived home at approximately 9 pm thinking he only had one hour to spend alone in the dark. Apparently there is a rule that Jerrie isn’t allowed to do anything when home alone except attempt to organize words in a meaningful manner on his computer. He did that for a short time then began assembling a puzzle on his computer which we found to be absolutely fascinating! We do not understand the concept of puzzles yet, but we will soon because we’re positive he will do it again.

The spousal unit didn’t return until after 11pm. She was tired and anxious to learn who won Dancing With The Stars before she went to bed. Jerrie, not knowing she was checking those results on her computer was startled when she let out a yell to honor America’s decision to bless Kellie and Derek with the mirror ball. Having monitored earth for many years we know about Dancing With The Stars and each have our own secret favorite. Since we are not allowed to cheer about anything, we silently urge our favorites to win. Mine, incidentally, was also Kellie and Derek. After Jerrie recovered from the sharp exhalation of air from the spousal unit’s breathing apparatus, I discovered that he, too, was a Kellie and Derek fan. Knowing that made me want to be nicer to him so I let him go to bed.

Yesterday Revised

This morning, after my post banana/coffee/yogurt (PBCY) nap, I awoke to Diane scurrying around in a rush to get out of the house so she could arrive at the courthouse on time, by 1000. I’m not allowed to accompany her because I’ve never been invited to join the austere power group to which she belongs. This group sits around a table and counts ballots, as I’ve mentioned before. They are all rational, honest people so there’s no danger of anyone tampering with the results. It is what it is. Today she took her own sandwich in a plastic lunch container.

She wouldn’t let me put her name on it.

Now, about yesterday … I covered most of the topics, but didn’t get to the really important ‘stuff’ before hearing the news about Oklahoma. That kinda took the wind out of my sails, so to speak, making me swerve from my task. So, using notes and direction from my editor, Diane, I submit the following version of yesterday’s entry, which is rare because I typically do not edit anything before hitting “Send”. Yes, it gets me in trouble sometimes but I take great efforts to not offend anyone, especially Diane. She may think that I do the ‘wife bash’ once in a while, but everything I tell is the truth, the way I see it, unless it’s an opinion, in which case it doesn’t count. To fully understand the nature of the beast in my head you’d have to walk a mile peeking out through my eyeballs, and listening to the distorted conversations that creep into my ears. Then you’d know …

From now on, pretend that I wrote the following yesterday, at then end of a day that was personally very nice … changes will be in bold

Begin

Today was just great even though the dogs got me up at 0530. Not only did they NOT check their calendars, I think they aren’t really using the clock any more. Instead they’re basing their urinary needs on how light it is outside. And today? I mean, c’mon, it’s my birthday, for crime-inny sakes. I was supposed to sleep in today. But, in reviewing my past behavior with regard to getting up, ans staying up, I have to admit I haven’t done well. Too many morning naps.

Not today. Nope. I got up at 0530 and stayed up because I knew if I attempted a nap I would have missed a perfect opportunity to go out and golf really bad. I read my book for 3 hours to stay awake until it was time to head for the golf course. I was very quiet the entire time to ensure I didn’t wake Diane. When it was time for me to leave, I tiptoed to the bedroom and stubbed my left big toe, on the step Diane needs to get into bed, when I leaned over to kiss her bye. Even though I suppressed the pain, she let me know she was, thankfully, already awake. Then she said, “you know that step is there but you always do that,” and it’s true. I always stub my toe on it. I don’t want to stand on it because it makes me too high to safely lean over and administer the good-bye kiss, creating a tense situation where I might lose my balance and fall on her, a sure way to wake her in a very dramatic way, which I have done more than once. One’d think I’d learn, wouldn’t one? Well, I pride myself on consistency in my life, and stubbing my toe has just become a routine thing I do. My toe is almost totally numb all the time, but I always seem to whack the part that still has feeling. Perhaps I should just bite the bullet and take my chances by standing on it. It’s only 3 inches high.

Go figure.

About golfing … I golfed with JR, Doug, and Lyle. JR and Doug are brothers, and Lyle is part American Indian so goes by the nickname “Chief”. That’s what he writes on all his golf balls, in really big red letters. I found one of them a few months back, while digging around in the tall grass looking for one of the many balls I’ve lost. Or maybe it was in one of the forests that I usually frequent while golfing. I carried that ball around in my pocket for a few holes today before giving it back to him. He was happy so that made me happy. Considering Lyle’s nickname, I’m sure you’ve surmised that he isn’t one of the American Indians who gets all hung up on names. He’s a great guy.

Of the four, I was the worst, but I had far more fun than any of them. I always do. They all work at getting a lower score. Not me. I have a 37 handicap and work hard to maintain it.

After leaving the golf course, I stopped by to see Don, Diane’s cousin. He’s a master mechanic who builds and races stock cars. He’s done that almost his entire life. When I need mechanical assistance, he’s my guy. My key to stopping is checking to see if the door is open on his shop. Today it was. In the doorway he had this incredibly beautiful new engine hanging on a chain dangling from one of the forks on his forklift. The engine looked like it was right off the assembly line and the guy who built it was right there with Don. While admiring this work of art, which is going into Don’s nephew’s, Johnathan’s, race car, I turned around and whacked my head on the unfettered fork. It made a mark on my bright yellow Oregon Duck hat, and a small bump on my head, but I didn’t fall down.

Don’s not as tall as I am so didn’t have to put the forks up high enough for me to walk under. In all fairness, too, he had no idea I was stopping by. Had he, I’m sure he would have raised it a little more.

Once home, Diane got busy cooking me a BLT sandwich. I love those things. I love anything that has bacon in it. Heck, I just love bacon. I’d eat bacon wrapped bacon bits if Diane would let me. While Diane was working hard to fix me a nutritious birthday lunch, Jack called and requested permission to drop by the house. 

“Hi, are you home?” a valid question since he called my cell phone.

“Yes, Diane’s just cooking me a sandwich.”

“Normally, sandwiches aren’t cooked,” he replied.

“She’s making me a BLT,”  explained.

“Oh. Then it’s not really cooked. Just parts of it are cooked and put INTO the sandwich.”

“True,” I said. “Would you like one?” I retorted.

“No. Just checking to see if you’re going to be around for a bit so Wynette and I could stop by for a minute or two.” He always says that, but they always stay longer, and that’s OK. We love seeing them.

When they arrived they were bearing a large bag which concerned me because I was sure it was a gift for my birthday which means I’ll have to reciprocate next December for Jack’s. I don’t do gifts very well because I always forget to get them. I was about halfway through my sandwich when they got there and couldn’t stop because I was holding it with my special compression grip that keeps it all together. If I laid it on my plate it would decompress and I’d have to eat it with a fork. There’s almost nothing worse than having to eat a BLT with a fork.

As soon as they got in the door Jack handed me this …

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It’s an extremely large ‘Chick Magnet’ and it really works as you can tell by the little chicks stuck to the silver part. It’s awesome and I can’t wait to wear it to church.

Then, sitting at the table with us, Wynette handed me a small heavy bag out of which was sticking a package of rare earth magnets in plastic cases for use on magnetic calendar to make special events. Immediately sensing a theme, I delved deeper into the bag and discovered all manner of magnets in various sizes and was delighted.  I believe I shared the magnet story previously, maybe six months ago or so, where Diane gave Wynette a container with all manner of things to make jewelry, which Wy is good at, in addition to a whole bunch of rare earth magnets which I didn’t know she had. I LOVE magnets, and she just summarily gave them away without consulting me which isn’t unusual because I’m not a person people usually consult, but STILL! Magnets!

I only whined about it for a little while, and usually found a way to refer to the magnets in random conversations with J&W over the months that followed. Though bringing up the magnets was not part of a strategy, it apparently became on because I got all those magnets back PLUS many more.

I was ECSTATIC! Barely able to CONTAIN myself.

I almost dropped my sandwich.

I didn’t think the day could possibly get any better as I finished my sandwich and joined Jack on the floor where we played with the magnets while the girls talked about how silly we were. They just don’t have any sense of what fun really is, so we ignored them and played away.

Eventually, the thrill dwindled down to a manageable level allowing Jack and Wynette to depart so they could complete other tasks they had planned for their day.

After lunch I took a trip to Warren to visit the Twins, Eva & Evelyn, my highschool classmates, so I could work on their computers. I got most of the things accomplished I was there to do, before having to leave to attend Lydia’s softball game at Campbell park, which is just down the hill from our house. We talk a lot about walking down to the games, but the fact that it’s uphill all the way home is a deterrent for sure. So we drive. Tonight we had a better reason to drive because we had a Lion’s International meeting at 1830, at the Village Inn.

Just before we left the house, Jim called. Unfortunately, I was in the shower at the time, Diane insisted I wash, so missed the call. Once dry and dressed, with a thin layer of Old Spice over my exposed parts, I called him back. I knew he called for my birthday, as did Jack, because that’s what we do to each other every year. I think I’m the only one who sings the song, though. Anyway, Jim and I had a great conversation as we drove down to Lydia’s game.

On the way to the Lion’s meeting we stopped at Taco Bell for my birthday supper of tacos and a dead chicken burrito. Sadly, it was a plain chicken burrito, not the supreme version which I know for sure I ordered, but I ate it because we weren’t charged for the supreme version. Even with that glitch, it was a lovely supper. We got our favorite table next to the window, right behind the trash cans, so we could watch people come and go as they got their tacos. I sensed that Diane was a bit concerned about the quality of dinner, but I love Taco Bell and didn’t mind at all. Besides, no matter where we are, no matter what we do, being together is the special part. I told her that. It’s true.

After the meeting we went back to watch the end of the 2nd game of Lydia’s double header. She pitched the first game, which they lost 10-9, then sat out the first part of the 2nd game, which we didn’t see, because her hip was hurting. The score was 10-0, when we arrived and Lyd was just going back in the game. It was brutal. She did OK, but it was evident she wasn’t comfortable. Still, she had fun, and that’s whole point of it.

After the game we came home and Diane watched Dancing With The Stars, which she loves. I even go in a watch some of the dancers. Kellie and Derek are awesome and I hope they win.

I’m leaving out the sad part about the storms swiping through the mid-west because I’m sure everyone is totally aware about what’s going on there. Once again, however, I’ll end with …

God Bless Them All

My 1st Day At 69 …

Today was just great even though the dogs got me up at 0530. Not only did they NOT check their calendars, I think they aren’t really using the clock any more. Instead they’re basing their urinary needs on how light it is outside. And today? I mean, c’mon, it’s my birthday, for criminny sakes. I was supposed to sleep in today. But, in reviewing my past behavior with regard to getting up, ans staying up, I have to admit I haven’t done well. Too many morning naps.

Not today. Nope. I got up at 0530 and stayed up because I knew if I attempted a nap I would have missed a perfect opportunity to go out and golf really bad. I read my book for 3 hours to stay awake until it was time to head for the golf course. I was very quiet the entire time to ensure I didn’t wake Diane. When it was time for me to leave, I tiptoed to the bedroom and stubbed my left big toe on the step Diane needs to get into bed when I leaned over to kiss her bye. Even though I supressed my pain, she let me know she was. thankfully, already awake. Then she said, “you know that step is there but you always do that,” and it’s true. I always stub my toe on it. I don’t want to stand on it because it makes me too high to safely lean over and administer the good bye kiss, creating a tense situation where I might lose my balance and fall on her, a sure way to wake her in a very dramatic way, which I have done more than once. One would think I would learn, wouldn’t one? Well, I pride myself on consistency in my life, and stubbing my toe has just become a routine thing I do. My toe is almost totally numb all the time, but I always seem to whack the part that still has feeling.

Go figure.

About golfing … I golfed with JR, Doug, and Lyle. JR and Doug are brothers, and Lyle is part American Indian so goes by the nickname “Chief”. That’s what he writes on all his golf balls, in really big red letters. I found one of them a few months back, while digging around in the tall grass looking for my ball. Or maybe it was in one of the forests that I usually frequent while golfing. I carried that ball around in my pocket for a few holes today before giving it back to him. He was happy so that made me happy. Considering Lyle’s nickname, I’m sure you’ve surmised that he isn’t one of the American Indians who gets all hung up on names. He’s a great guy.

Of the four, I was the worst, but I had far more fun than any of them. I always do. They all work at getting a lower score. Not me. I have a 37 handicap and work hard to maintain it.

After leaving the golf course, I stopped by to see Don, Diane’s cousin. He’s a master mechanic who builds and races stock cars. He’s done that almost his entire life. When I need mechanical assistance, he’s my guy. My key to stopping is checking to see if the door is open on his shop. Today it was. In the doorway he had this incredibly beautiful new engine hanging on a chain dangling from one of the forks on his forklift. The engine looked like it was right off the assembly line and the guy who built it was right there with Don. While admiring this work of art, which is going into Don’s nephew’s, Johnathan’s, race car, I turned around and whacked my head on the unfettered fork. It made a mark on my bright yellow Oregon Duck hat, and a small bump on my head, but I didn’t fall down.

Don’s not as tall as I am so didn’t have to put the forks up high enough for me to walk under. In all fairness, too, he had no idea I was stopping by. Had he, I’m sure he would have raised it a little more.

Once home, Diane cooked me a BLT sandwich. I love those things. I love anything that has bacon in it. Heck, I just love bacon. I’d eat bacon wrapped bacon bits if Diane would let me.

After lunch I took a trip to Warren to visit the Twins, my highschool classmates, so I could work on computers for them. I got most of the things accomplished I was there to do, before having to leave to attend Lydia’s softball game at Campbell park, which is just down the hill from our house. We talk a lot about walking down to the games, but the fact that it’s uphill all the way home is a deterrent for sure. So we drive. Tonight we had a better reason to drive because we had a Lion’s International meeting at 1830, at the Village Inn.

After that meeting we went back to watch the end of the 2nd game of Lydia’s double header. She pitched the first game, which they lost 10-9, then sat out the first part of the 2nd game, which we didn’t see, because her hip was hurting. The score was 10-0, them, when we arrived and Lyd was going back in the game. It was brutal. She did OK, but it was evident she wasn’t comfortable. Still, she had fun, and that’s good.

After the game we came home and Diane watched Dancing With The Stars, which she loves. I even go in a watch some of the dancers. Kelly and Derick are awesome.

During that show it was brought to our attention that Moore, Oklahoma was hit by an incredibly huge, vicious, and deadly tornado.

Since I had this almost done when we learned of the destruction, and loss of life, I will leave the frivolous beginnings, but end on a somber note, asking that you pray for the people of Moore, and anyone one else who has experienced loss due to the continuing storms throughout the Mid West. At this time the count is 91 dead, and the search continues. Not a good ending to what was a wonderful day for us.

God Bless Them All

68 for the last time …

A few days ago I decided to start parting my hair, now that’s it’s grown back, on the right side instead of the left. I wanted everyone to think I was left-handed now. Oddly, parting it on the left side, as most right-handed people do, required me to use my left hand, and the opposite is true for parting it on the right side.

Doesn’t matter, I guess, because no one noticed. I’m just a transparent human shaped object. People walk around me without realizing I’m there. I’ve therefore decided that I’m at least mostly invisible, as long as I don’t talk, make loud noises, or move too quickly.

Today started out looking pretty grim, but ended with warmth and sunshine. Tomorrow is supposed to be the nicest day of the week so I’m going golfing for the first time in a while. Doug called to invite me and Diane said I could go. I’ll let you know how I did, but I’ll probably lie about it.

We went to church, like normal for Sunday, taking Diane’s Mom, Jean. Since today was the last day for Sunday School for the duration of Summer, the kids hosted our coffee hour. So, before lunch, I had a rootbeer float. I coulda had an orange float, but declined.

On the way home, Diane drove through a random fast food drive thru and ordered a large container of dead chicken for lunch. She got mashed potatoes and coleslaw, too. And biscuits with honey. The container held 2 drumsticks, 2 wings, two thighs, and two bresatesses. Diane got the drumsticks, Mom got the wings, and I got the thighs. The breastesses went home with Mom a short while ago. We’ll never see them again.

For dessert, Diane baked a cherry pie. It was totally awesome. Since it’s my Birthday Pie, I made a semi-complaint that it didn’t have a candle on it. She retorted, saying that tomorrow she’s going to put a candle on eveything I eat. I don’t see how that’s possible because I’m pretty sure we don’t have enough candles to handle the bowl of cheerios I plan to eat in the morning. PLUS, she won’t even be up before I leave, I bet. And that’s OK because she’s earned the right to sleep as long as she wants because both the cat and our little fake dog sleep on her bed ensuring that she remains in one position all night. At the appointed time, each morning, they wake me to let them out, allowing Diane freedom to relax and actually rest.

Don’t forget to ask me how well I golfed. Since I’m going to lie about it anyway, I could tell you how awesome I am now, but that would ruin it.

Tomorrow, about this same time, life insurance, if decided to get some, will be impossibly expensive because I’ll no longer be 68.

Now I’m going to go eat redvines until it’s time for bed.

Voting & Ballot Counters

I know this person who is essential to successful elections in Columbia County Oregon. I’ve known this person a long time and this person, and her semi-sister-in-law, are vital to the successful completion of any ballot issues submitted to Columbia Counter voters for resolution.

The group of people surrounding this person, and her SSIL, are very supportive of them, allowing them to return for all the voting events. Actually, they insist they return for all the events. It makes me wonder if they are the only two who can count. I know that’s not true, of course.

This person went to count ballots today and I was required to make and deliver lunch at precisely 12:30 pm. With that clue you have no doubt surmised that you probably know this person, too. You do. It’s Jack’s first wife’s brother-in-law’s first wife. That’s a true statement.

I put the lunch, consiting of a tuna sandwich, chips, cheese, a cookie, apple juice, and a little note, into a small paper lunch bag on which I wrote her entire name in purple crayon so no one could steal it.

It either worked, or ballot counters are simply honest people.

Let’s hope so.

The bag was returned to the house once this person … oh, heck! It’s Diane. You know that, so no more pretense …

Here’s the bag. I covered her last name because I don’t use last names here and also so those who are unaware won’t know who she really is. The nose is for Nelda …

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Perscriptions & BO

Today was cold enough that Diane invoked her feminine rights to crank up the heater a bit. I admit, it was a lot cooler than it has been the last few days. Today was about 60 degrees after 4 days in the 80’s, up to 88. I didn’t think I was going to ever quit sweating, but I had no choice because Diane insisted that I do “stuff” even though I was perfectly OK with just sitting quietly on the couch with my book.

Consequently, over the course of the last 4 days, I had to take about 8 showers. That’s just a huge waste of water, don’t you think? Her tactic for making me head for the showers is to tell my deodorant quit. Very subtle, huh? That’s good that she has a sensitive nose, I guess, because it’s rare when I notice when my deodorant quits. It’s not like something goes dark, like when you switch off a light, when your deodorant quits. It’s a nose thing. I think I’ve seen her nostrils flare just before she tells me that which I find odd because you’d think they would shut down a little if the odor is that offensive. Instead, they flare, as if to gather in as much of my manly aroma as possible before making be go wash it off.

Contradictory, if you ask me …

… but no one ever does. It’s just, “your deodorant quit.”

Makes you wonder if eye-glass prescriptions have a terminal date like other prescriptions. You know, like all the pills you take have a warning on the bottle telling you to “renew before 3 August, 2018,” or something similar. That’s the only warning you get. With eye-glass prescriptions, however, there is no warning. One minute you’re walking down the street admiring all the pretty people, your prescription runs out, and everything goes blurry. It would be especially bad if you were driving at the time, or navigating crowds on your Segway, or water skiing, flying a plane, watching TV … one of those important things. What would you do?

That’s happened to me. Honest. The first thing I did was tentatively say, “Diane?” because she’s always lurking around nearby, and she would hear the question in my voice.

She said, “yes, dear, what now?”

“I can’t see,” I responded.

“You can’t see what,” she queried back.

“I can’t see the TV.”

“Is it on?”

“Yes.”

“Are you wearing your glasses?”

“Yes”

“Are they right side up, like the little nose pads are actually touching your nose?”

“Yes.”

“Are they yours?”

“I think so.”

“Well look at them!”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t see.”

“Oh, why didn’t you say so before?”

“I did.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

And you know where that goes.

Finally, she tore herself away from American Idol and came to see what was going on. Turns out I fell asleep and the cat was laying on my face. I was hallucinating in my sleep during the entire conversation.

It’s good to know that I can carry on a conversation when I’m unconscious because that might come in handy one day. Maintaining control of what flies out of my mouth might be a concern, you think, but that’s never been one of my worries, awake or asleep.

Like at Lydia’s game last night. The umpire, Pete, has his own version of a strike zone and it’s different for every game. I say things throughout the game regarding what I believe are blatant bad calls and I hear Jennie in front saying, “Dad …?” which means don’t do this, while Diane is beside me doing the wife version of the same thing. They are, of course, afraid I’ll get kicked out and embarrass Lydia, or them.

Pete ignores me, so it’s really not a problem.

I think that’s it for now … it’s 10:36am and time to get started with my day now that I’ve shed the weariness of the night, and my morning 3-hour nap.

I’m Right!

I’m here to share with everyone that Diane has finally  come to her senses and admitted that I’m right. Right at this moment in time, I’m not sure what she was referring to, but that’s not relevant. She said, right out loud, in front of her Mother, who may or may not corroborate this incident, “you’re right, Jerrie.” She may not have said it directly to me, but I think she was leaning my direction. Either way, I’m apparently right about something.

That’s a rare event in this house … that I’m right, or admissions that I’m right.

I know … that sounds a little contradictory, but I suspect everyone knows what I’m talking about here. Even when I’m right, which is actually quite often, I’m deemed to be wrong. The topic doesn’t matter, even though I’m pretty much an expert of many things about which I know nothing.

Go ahead. Ask me anything.

While I’m waiting I’ll tell you about today, Mother’s Day 2013.

First thing this morning both Jeff and Jennifer communicated with Diane to wish her a Happy Mother’s Day. That was a great way to start the day for Diane. Cheered her a lot and she made the morning coffee for me. That’s the last thing she did today.

Except drive us to church. And count all the church’s money. And drive us home. I did everything else, even though she’s not really my Mom.

Once we got home I cooked the lasagna, made the salad, baked the bread, and set the table. Really. I did all that. It was Stoufer’s frozen lasagna, semi-baked french bread that only needed browning,  That salad was all me, lettuce, tomatoes and everything. I even cut up 2 lbs of strawberries last night and mixed in a whole bunch of sugar for the strawberry short-cake we ate for dessert.

Jennifer, Cedric, Lydia, and Jeran appeared about the time we were sitting down for dinner, so the kids headed for the Man Room to watch TV, and we sent Jennifer to bed with some random meds to help with her migraine. After we ate, all the kids chose to have root beer floats instead of short-cake. That was a good choice, too.

About the frozen part … Diane chose all of that and it was my choice to cook everything.

Now we’re sitting here watching TV while the girls, Diane and Jean, munch on apples.

It’s been a really good day. How was yours?

Tid Bits

It’s 8:40 pm. I finished mowing the yards about 20 minutes ago. Took me 2 hours and it was fun because I could go really fast since it hasn’t had time to grow out much. Just enough to make the grass catcher useful. The jarring round hurts my hip and back, but I have meds for that. Tomorrow, before it starts raining, I need to suit up and run around the place with the weed eater. This device wrecks my shoulder which has a terminal problem that may, at some point, require replacement.

Diane has an orthopedic appointment for her knee, after visiting the doc today. If we sell a couple of cars she can get a new one. I’ve decided that I’ll get my new shoulder at the same time so we can convalesce together. Actually, selling cars won’t do it because they cost so much so we’re just going to wait for either a sale at Wal*Mart, or a surprise influx of Chinese knees and shoulders at Costco. You just never know.

Or, we can just gimp along on what we have and call it good.

Jeff came by today to re-borrow the drill he recently returned. While he was here we went over the list of tools he’s still got. It’s not a long list. We mainly went over it so I can quit looking for those items in the house. He told me that the girls, Gilligan and Bailey, want a puppy like Panda who passed away a couple of years ago. They’ve already named the puppy Scraps. I love that name and think I’ll start calling myself Scraps whenever I’m introduced to someone new. That’s really not a problem because the only people I know are old. If I was introduced to a new person, they wouldn’t understand what I was saying anyway. Because they’re too little to communicate properly.

After this morning’s nap Diane and I drove to Scappoose to visit with Wynette for a short time before she had to leave for the Senior Center. For some reason she has to check in with them pretty much every Friday. I think it has something to do with volunteering.

On the way home we stopped at Burgerville, which are only in Oregon & Washington (mostly Oregon) for takeout lunch. I normally have a Tillamook Bacon Cheeseburger with a large chocolate shake, but today I just had a double cheeseburger with extra secret spread. Great stuff. Too bad for all you people who live someplace else.

Actually, it’s just a hamburger. There are tons of hamburger joints all over the world, but Burgerville is a local thing. We also have Burger King, and McDonalds, like normal places, but we prefer local cows vs. foreign ones. Really. Almost everything they use for the burgers are home-grown. Some Burgervilles have pastures out back where the cattle graze until they’re ready, then they are herded into a barn and just never come back out. It’s like magic. At the other end of the barn is the Burgerville. No one would have ever known that had I not brought it to your attention.

That is, of course, a lie. The same number of cows that go in the barn always come back out of the barn. But, are they the same cows? One may wonder.

Now I’ll end with this, for those of you who don’t normally venture on to Facebook, or cruise the internet looking for odd things. I want one of these …

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Vacation – Day 13 Still in Reno

It’s 0900 and we’ve been up for an hour. I know that’s true because I asked the boss. But, what she doesn’t know is that I was awake long before that. It was still very dark outside the first time I stumbled to the bathroom and I’m guessing it was about 0600. I didn’t look because I didn’t want to add a bright light to an already dangerous situation caused by me bumping into things in the dark. It was a long trip to the bathroom and I’m sure I’ll be able to identify all the pieces of furniture by the location of the bruises. You’ll all be proud to know that I didn’t utter a sound during that round trip.

Turns out is all for nothing because she was already awake, too. I suffered for no reason.

Today we plan to visit as many second hand stores as humanly possible in the 4-5 hours we allow ourselves to be outdoors in areas with a rarefied atmospheres.

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Now I am compelled to make a shameless plug for our friend, Cindy A, who owns Pearl Fiber Arts in the heart of Portland’s blooming Pearl district. I’m going to go there and buy something to make a pretty doily. Yes, I really do that stuff …

 

 

 

 

 

And, here’s something from our friend, Kat B, who still lives in Minnesota. Voluntarily …

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Us? It’s going to be 75 here in Reno today. I think.

Now it’s time for breakfast – Cheerios, toast, and my 4th cup of coffee. Just used the last of my creamer so we’re either going to have to leave for home today, or find a second-hand store that sells it.

It’s OK To Be A Slug

slug  |sləg|

noun

1 a tough-skinned terrestrial mollusk that typically lacks a shell and secretes a film of mucus for protection. It can be a serious plant pest. See also sea slug.

[Order Stylommatophora, class Gastropoda.]

2 a slow, lazy person; a sluggard.

3 an amount of an alcoholic drink, typically liquor, that is gulped or poured: he took a slug of whiskey.

The title of this brief entry refers to choice 2 above, although, I suspect slugs are happy campers being who they are as choice 1. Unless, of course, they live in the vicinity of a family who has curious young minds who wonder if it’s really true that slugs dissolve when covered with salt, which is just a mean thing to do because it causes the slug to secrete itself to death in self-defense. So I’ve heard. Just saying…

The #2 choice is something I’m really getting good at. So is Diane, but I do not consider her a slug. No siree. Not me. She’s Queen of the Hop, Top of the Heap to me.

I’m the slug, and I think that’s really OK, considering my advanced age. I can still walk, but I move slow. I’m get more wrinkly all the time. And, although I do not secrete a film of mucous for protection, it drips out of my nose all the time. Regarding that, I’ve learned to love my mustache because it keeps the mucous off my lips, and the mucous in my mustache works nicely to keep my whiskers in place when I comb them. Diane is not a fan of this new attraction I have for my face. She’s always telling me, “quit petting your face!”, or “put that comb away!”, in a very stern voice. I don’t see the problem.

Perhaps some of you may see other benefits of being a slug of sorts, and would like to share them with the world. I’m always up for learning new ‘stuff’.