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Name: Sylvia Greeney Morris
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Welcome to my LiveJournal.
I ask your understanding for my choice of terminology regarding the journals I read, and those people who read mine. Friend is the descriptor commonly used by blog servers, but I am uncomfortable being that indiscriminate with the term. Anyone is welcome to read my journal. Certain posts, by no means the majority, will, of necessity, be locked, and others will be filtered, so that only genuine friends and family will be able to read them. Discretion and respect for the privacy of my loved ones will dictate which posts those are. And my own reading list will of course be filtered too, so that I can keep my online time manageable.
I welcome your comments and your feedback. I do request that you keep them respectful, and behave respectfully toward my other readers as well.
I wish you joy.
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Yeah, I know. It's been seven and a half months. I was washing my hair.
Seriously, though. It's been quite the year for me. I still love my new job, and the team I am on. The only thing that continues to make it difficult for me is the long commute. And I've had some energy issues anyway these past months, which I'll be going into in more detail in a bit.
Angela had her baby, Roman James Dvorak, on September 2nd, and he's the most beautiful little man in the world. He loves his Oma, too. (That would be me.)
I finally bought my Townie this Spring. It's bright fuchsia. I named her Rosie. And Allen got jealous and bought a bicyle as well, albeit a Trek. Mine's better. Also faster. I get perverse pleasure out of that.
My health issues all came to a head this year. I inherited two things from my father's side of the family that I could have easily lived without: high blood pressure and completely screwed up brain chemistry. Late this fall, I finally got both problems taken care of. I'm on lisinopril and hydrochlorothiazide for the BP (try saying that three times fast), and on Celexa and Wellbutrin for the depression. The doctor had actually started me on just the Celexa, but I was still exhausted and completely lacking in motivation. The Wellbutrin, which acts on the limbic system (and no, I don't know what that means, either), has helped with that, after less than a week on the drug. And I'll be starting sublingual B-12, on the advice of a friend, tomorrow morning, also for my energy levels. And then there was also that small matter of the breast lump, which turned out to be nothing but had me out of my mind with worry for almost a month. Oh yeah, it's been one hell of a ride.
Needless to say, I didn't have it in me for a whole lot of engagement or intimacy - and so most of my online activity was on Facebook, where I could keep things relatively light. I buried myself in Mafia Wars for awhile, too. Who would have ever thought I'd become a gamer.
What finally brought me back to blogging was finding out from a writer friend that she gets paid for her blog on blogspot. Apparently Google hosts a service called AdSense that pays commission if people click on the ads on bloggers' sites. And as I do enjoy writing when I'm not half nuts, that sounded mightly appealing to me. I started a blogspot journal, cut and pasted three of my old pieces, and rapidly came to realize that it just didn't feel like home. This is home. So, here I am again. I'm coming out of that dark place I've been, and I'm ready to write again. (And, as it turns out, AdSense will pay out for ads here too. Imagine that.)
You cannot imagine how good it feels to be back.
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I like the fact that I'm no longer closing the clinic. Arriving home at eleven o'clock at night was never my idea of a good time, especially when I was scheduled to open again the following morning at just after seven.
With my new job at the call center, I generally pull back into my driveway by about seven-thirty. Allen usually has dinner ready, to his credit, and he tapes American Idol for me on Tuesday nights, to his even greater credit. I'd rather miss dinner than Adam Lambert.
Still, the fifty minute commute is no fun. I listen to talk radio, which makes it bearable, but realistically, good money or not, this isn't something I can see myself doing for the next ten years.
Still, my foot's in the door. My sales are good, and I like my supervisors. I'll just have to hang in there for a year or so, and then, when an opportunity opens up at a branch, I'm jumping on it.
The phone calls, needless to say, are constant. There's no gap between calls whatsoever. And dear God, do I get some whack jobs.
A couple of weeks ago, we sent out notices to all our customers regarding an increase in our wire transfer rates. A woman with a strong southern drawl called me to complain. "So. You're going to charge me a fee to receive domestic wine transfers. And you're going to charge me another fee to send domestic wine transfers. You're going to charge me a fee to receive foreign wine transfers. And you're going to charge me another fee to send foreign wine transfers. I don't know what it is about you people and your fees! I don't even drink wine!"
Thank God for the mute button, enabling me to hear her and her not to hear me. I was dying!
And then there was one just last week who was worried about submitting a reserve line application because she was afraid it might affect her fecal score.
I had no idea so many dumb people even existed. But I speak with hundreds of them every day. It's downright scary.
It's a wonder we ever climbed out of the trees!
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It rained all day yesterday. This was no gentle misting, and there were no rainbows to be seen shimmering overhead. The sky was the color of slate, the sun was on vacation, and the downpour was steady and relentless. I was drenched by the time I made it to my office building from the parking garage.
And my grass was five shades greener by the time I got home. Yesterday morning, my lawn was brown and sere. In less than a day, it transformed into a brilliant emerald carpet. This just amazes me.
The frogs who live in our pond have come out of hibernation, and are serenading each other every night. I've forgotten what silence sounds like, but I don't mind terribly much.
Finally, finally, winter is behind us, and I'm shaking off my doldrums once again. The spring cleaning I do is more internal than domestic, and true to form, I'm making some changes. Maybe they'll hold through next winter, maybe they won't. However that plays out, it feels good now.
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I upgraded to a Blackberry Curve back in September, for a lot of reasons - I wanted to be able to access the internet, I wanted to be able to read my e-mail when I wasn't home, I'm text-challenged and wanted access to a full keyboard, plus the Blackberry is HotSpot enabled, allowing me to set up a home wi-fi connection, as I normally have no cell phone reception at all anywhere near my house. The wi-fi necessitated buying a wireless router from T-Mobile as well. At the time, I told the salesman that I was also going to be setting up the $10.00 a month landline service, as soon as I could get my husband in there to figure out the techie stuff. (I'm technologically challenged too.) The salesman assured me that the router I bought would serve for both purposes.
We finally went in this weekend and arranged for the switch from Comcast home phone service to T-Mobile. Yesterday, I received a text that the switch was complete, and was instructed to plug my phone line into the router.
Nothing worked. I have no home phone service.
Allen called customer service from my cell phone. Turns out they sold me the wrong router. Customer service called my T-Mobile store in Blaine. The person they got on the line stated there was no record of a sale. I tried to call the store from Allen's cell, while he was still on the line with customer service, and the woman who answered refused to give me any information at all. She stated that I had to come in. Never mind that it was pitch dark outside. Never mind that the roads were icy. Never mind that it was double digits below zero. Never mind that they'd screwed up royally.
I went, with blood in my eye. Have you ever been genuinely hungry for human flesh? Make no mistake about it, I was. I marched up to the first customer service rep I saw, like Clint Eastwood with tits, and stated, "You need to put me together with someone who's good at fixing mistakes and dealing with pissed off customers, because I have fifty years experience in making people cry, and unless I get satisfaction very quickly, you can count on it happening again tonight."
She blanched. But to her credit, she hung around.
Indeed, there was no record of the router sale. There was no record of my Blackberry purchase either. And I was getting more and more pissed off, and more and more vocal about it. She finally got a manager, who explained that sales records are expunged after three months (say the fuck WHAT?). He offered to switch out the router for me for free. I hadn't brought the other one along (no one told me to, because no one would talk to me over the phone). When I told him I lived twenty minutes away, he gave me an adapter instead, and a credit on my account. Presumably he wanted to get me out of there.
Allen played with the equipment all night. Nothing works. I still have no home phone service.
So he's bringing everything back tonight. If they're stupid enough to refuse to deal with him, because I'm the accountholder, I will not be held responsible for the hell I raise the second time around. Just sayin.
In other news, we saw "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" this weekend. I cried like a little bitch. It was wonderful. See it, if you haven't already.
And I'm beyond thrilled that American Idol is back on the air. If Allen doesn't tape t for me tonight while I'm at work, I'm going to make him feel like that affirmative action reject from T-Mobile, so help me. But I think he knows that. He's a smart man.
Bathtime beckons.
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1. My first grandchild. I am more than ready. And in a very real sense, this child is my immortality.
2. A normal job. Yes, I've gotten promoted, yes, I've gotten a minor pay raise, but the hours are still ridiculous, and I'm exhausted all the time. I've got some irons in the fire, to include a couple involving banker positions, and the first one that pans out for me, I'm jumping on.
3. Reduced usage of cliches.
4. Spring.
5. My son getting a job and stepping out on his own.
6. My Electra Townie. No, I haven't forgotten.
7. Getting back on the ball with diet and exercise.
8. Going to NY for my mother's eightieth birthday in May. (Oh shit - now I have a reason to lose weight again! She'll take a houseshoe to my head if she sees I've gained since the cruise!)
9. Finally getting my kitchen done.
10. My daughter's new LJ. She said she was going to start one, to document her pregnancy, and her old one from years ago is too angst-filled to continue. I've been checking every day to see if she's followed through!
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I haven't been around, obviously. Work has kept me busy, and we're still working on slowly getting our house the way we want it to be, as well.
The living room carpet has been torn out and discarded, the formerly white walls are now an inviting camel color, we've installed hardwood flooring and placed a faux Persian carpet in the center of the room just to add a little more color and an extra touch of warmth, and the overall effect is even more than we'd hoped for.
The kitchen is next.
Christmas was lovely, even our annual Christmas Day trip to Illinois to see Allen's family. My children have grown up a lot in the past year, and the holidays are becoming truly pleasurable.
Angela moved in with her boyfriend James this past October. They came over on Christmas Eve, of course, and we had a great time. I wish I'd thought to take pictures.
Friday, she called me while I was in Illinois. They're going to have a baby!
I'm just over the moon over this. Given that they're both thrilled about it, I couldn't be happier. And no one's ever been readier to be a grandmother than me!
That's it in a nutshell. I'll write more when I get a free minute!
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Four weeks ago this morning, I was on a plane enroute to Fort Lauderdale, on the first leg of the most exciting and the most relaxing vacation I've ever been on.
In a very real sense, it was our honeymoon, delayed for the better part of a decade while the kids grew up and we took care of business. And it was also an opportunity to play with my family from home for eight whole days, and see the people I love with their hair down day after sun-drenched day. I got silly with my mother. I snorkled with my brother. I drank frothy tropical drinks with umbrellas in them with my aunt. I chomped on pinko commie bolshevik Cuban cigars on deck with my uncle. And I had the time of my life.
We booked the Princess Eastern Caribbean cruise, on their flagship, the Crown Princess. Allen and I decided to pull out all the stops, and chose a balcony room. It was well worth the couple of hundred extra dollars apiece to start our mornings in our jammies on deck chairs, sipping on coffee while watching the sun rise over the ocean. At night, we slept with the sliding door open, and let the sounds of the waves lull us to sleep.
The itinerary was supposed to have been Princess Cays, which is a private beach on Eleuthera in the Bahamas, followed by Saint Maarten, Saint Thomas, and Grand Turk. Hurricane Omar had other plans though, as it gathered force heading straight for Saint Maarten, and so we rerouted after Princess Cays to Grand Turk, moving on to Ocho Rios, Jamaica, and finally to Grand Cayman. It couldn't have worked out better.
Each stop had its finer points. The first island was spent mostly playing on the beach. My brother taught me to snorkle, and I was delighted by the many-hued tropical fish near the reef. A new passion was born that day, to say nothing of a sunburn that I completely ignored for the remainder of the cruise.
We went to Grand Turk next, after having outrun Omar the night before. Grand Turk is just beginning to recover from a direct hit by Hurricane Ike earlier this season, and we were the first cruise ship to be allowed to dock after the storm. Just outside the main tourist area where we docked, we could still see the ravages of Ike everywhere. Tops were shorn off palm trees. Enormous shipping containers were blown out of dockyards and into the surf like so many legos. Thatched roofs were shredded and rafters were exposed everywhere. And, when I snorkled, I saw roofing tiles and building debris on the ocean floor.
When we saw a Margaritaville upon disembarking, we decided that we owed Jimmy Buffett proper homage, and so we all ordered drinks like good parrotheads at eight thirty in the morning. Also at nine thirty. We weren't sure we'd have the chance again, you understand. As it turns out, you can't throw a rock in the Caribbean without it hitting a Margaritaville. Lost shaker of salt, my ass. He owns the entire mine.
My favorite island was Jamaica. Ocho Rios is paradise on earth, lush and verdant and mountainous and just dripping with every kind of tropical flower imaginable. We hired a taxi driver for the day as soon as we set foot off the ship, and asked him to take us off the beaten path. We ate with the locals halfway up the mountain - I had the most delicious coconut crusted fish with jerk sauce, and red beans and rice - and we explored the Coyaba Gardens and the neighboring waterfalls for hours. It was a feast for the senses. If I ever run away, it's a pretty good bet that's where I'll be. I could happily be poor in Paradise. The people are warm, generous and high-spirited too. (No, not that kind of high. Stop, already!)
Our last stop was Grand Cayman, haven for millionaires and the bank accounts they want to hide from Uncle Sam. Grand Cayman was obviously far more prosperous than the other islands we visited. It was also flatter and less colorful. The beaches, however, were pristine, with soft white sand that was raked every morning, and the most incredible snorkling within a fifteen minute walk of the harbor that I'm ever likely to do. I swam within touching distance, literally, of half a dozen six foot long tarpin. They weren't even aware I was there. Elsewhere, off a private beach (since when do limits apply to me?), a man was feeding the tropical fish with Gravy Train nuggets. They love the stuff, apparently, and I was surrounded by hundreds of rainbow-colored creatures darting to and fro, partaking of the feast. One fish, about as long as my arm, decided at one point that my acrylic thumbnail looked a whole lot like a Gravy Train morsel, and latched on, giving me a little puppy shake before realizing that I wasn't lunch after all. Fortunately, it had no teeth. I laughed about that one for hours.
Because I have literally hundreds of photos, I'm just going to link to the album I put on MySpace, rather than post them all here. Just click on the photos if you want to see the full-sized versions. And enjoy!
My tan, for what it's worth, is almost gone. The memories aren't, though. I'd go back tomorrow if I could. I still dream of the ocean.
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A fine snow is falling - barely visible but constant, adding to the already overflowing puddles of icy water that have accumulated in the dips and recesses in the landscape. There is still enough residual warmth in the ground to melt the snow on contact. Still, I'm grateful for my well-insulated little house, and for the almost three hours that remain to me before I'm forced to venture out and go to work.
The branches on our trees are almost bare. Leaves are scattered everywhere. I sweep them off my porch every day. We rake them into piles, only to have the wind scatter them in all directions again. If they're not still too damp from today's precipitation, a bonfire tomorrow night would be a very good thing. I'm in the mood for hot buttered rum while I watch the sparks dancing in the night sky.
Harsh and unforgiving times are just around the bend. And so, we create our warm retreats from winter's onslaught. We fall back into the same cozy rituals our grandparents observed, and draw our drapes until the sunlight forcing its way through the cracks tells us that the season is once again approaching its end.
I'm not fond of winter. It's work, searching for the life, for the promise, for that vibrational frequency that connects all things. Winter demands that we be more than observers. Survival dictates participation. I do so love the rituals, though.
And so, better late than never: my first Gratitude of the season is for those rituals that get us through this long night. It is for toasty houses and thick socks, strong drink and good friends, stories shared and confidences kept, and whispered conversations under mountains of coverlets that one or two cats always manage to find their way beneath as well. I am grateful for the lessons imparted by millenia of huddling by the fire together, sharing warmth and laughter and keeping hope alive. I am grateful for my family, and my friends, and you.
Feeling :  contemplative
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America got it right, finally!
I wept through President Obama's acceptance speech last night.
The emotions still overwhelm me. And the one that still fills me with the most wonder is the most unfamiliar among them all: hope. It simply blazes within me today.
I will be closing the clinic tonight. In a moment, I will take a nap, and sleep as soundly as a babe in my mother's arms. All is well.
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I've spent the day in a fog... nibbling half-heartedly at sandwiches I can barely taste, sipping dispiritedly at tea that seems to cool before I'm halfway done drinking it, losing myself in the fire I built behind my house... and it occurs to me that I feel the very same way as I did four years ago, as the dread of discovering just how stupid we as a people are collectively capable of being began to build within me.
My online presence began to drop off then. The disappointment after that election was profound. It went beyond anything I'd experienced in years past, when my candidates failed to win enough votes to secure the election. In truth, I'm still shocked by the blindness and the gullibility of my countrymen, my friends, and my neighbors. I'm appalled at how far we've fallen, and at how little it seems to matter. And I wish with all my heart that my predictions regarding Bush's second four years hadn't been so accurate.
I was reading old posts this evening. That election mattered so much to me. And my reaction to the outcome was perceived by some as being theatrical. Imagine that. Theatrical. And just look at us now.
Here we are four years later, fighting to stay afloat in a failing economy, watching our nest-eggs disappear and wondering if we'll ever be able to retire, still sending our precious babies off to die in a war we had no business even starting, losing our liberties and our rights bit by bit, piece by piece, and not even noticing. Here we are.
I need to hope. I need to hope like I need to breathe. I need to believe in America again. I need to believe in Americans. I need to believe in our ability to pick ourselves up and brush ourselves off, I need to believe that we will do the right thing even when it is not the easy thing, I need Old Glory to inspire thrills of pride in me again rather than tears of loss. I need to stop mourning.
I need Barack Obama to give me my America back. And I need America to let him.
Go out and vote tomorrow. For me, for yourselves, for our children, for the world, for the future, for everything that's ever been good and right about our country.
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I ought to put this whole post behind a cut now, just to see how fast you click on the link!
But I won't.
I will, however, engage in my legendary long-windedness for awhile before getting to the point. Prick. Point. Get it?
I've had one hell of a couple of weeks. Between the bosslady trying for a frigging week to get induced (she did finally have her baby, a little boy) and working short because of a CSR being out with bronchitis, I've put in some crazy hours, and haven't had a whole lot of time to myself. I did manage to get someone to work for me on my birthday, though, and had an absolutely fantastic day. (Thanks, by the way, for all your cards and your wishes! They put a huge smile on my face!)
I started the day with an eye exam. Getting dilated for the glaucoma test was no more fun than it's ever been, but all was well that ended well. I ordered a $750 pair of Kate Spade progressive bifocals with transition lenses for $182, after Allen's insurance kicked in, and felt like I scored the deal of the century! Hopefully they'll be arriving tomorrow, so that I'll have them on time for the cruise this weekend!
From there, I went to the T-Mobile store, where I bought a media card for my new Blackberry Curve (I now have over two hundred songs on there!) and a Bluetooth, so that I won't wrap myself around a tree while talking on the phone while I'm driving.
I came home to a dozen roses and two bottles of wine from my son. Not long after, Allen came home with another dozen roses. Later, we met Angela and her boyfriend at Red Lobster, where I ate disgraceful quantities of big red bugs and snot on the halfshell. Angela, by the way, presented me with a handblown glass frog thimble, which I thought was about the coolest thing in the world. And Alex sprang for the entire check! The kid really blew my mind... the most I've gotten from him in years past is a card, and all of a sudden he's growing up and getting sentimental on me!
Needless to say, I felt very pampered.
You want to hear about the pricks, though, don't you?
Deal.
The aforementioned pestilent CSR managed to do her damage before getting sent home last week. Early this week, Allen and I both came down with some pretty nasty bronchitis symptoms. Now, I can tough that kind of thing out. I always have. I chomp down on the vitamin C and the zinc, increase my fluids, and keep on plugging. Allen, though, turns into a candidate for Kevorkian at the first sign of the sniffles. He moans. He groans. He gurgles. He snarfs. He takes to bed with the vaporizer going full blast. He moans some more. He wheezes. He panics. Honest to God, I generally wind up wanting to euthanize his ass before he cuts loose with his third sneeze. And this time was no exception. I had visions of our upcoming cruise being wrecked by this. And then he decided to skip work today and go to the doctor.
The doctor said what I knew the doctor would say, that it's viral, but she prescribed zithromax anyway, as much for Allen's peace of mind as for any other reason. And Allen, hearing from an M.Deity that he is not going to die, feels worlds better after the visit.
It'll be a cold day in hell that I trade a short-lived virus for a raging yeast infection, though, especially when I'm in the middle of the Caribbean. That's where the pricks come in.
One of the therapists at work is also a licensed acupuncturist. I had him treat me this afternoon. And for the most part, it wasn't bad. The needles in the fleshy part of my right hand and in my right shoulderblade area were a bit uncomfortable, but not so much that I needed them taken out before they were ready to be removed. And I'll be damned if I don't feel better, no chemicals required. Steve gave me a simple home remedy too, to be decocted and consumed at will... chopped up scallions and ground ginger with cinnamon, boiled in a tea.
Zithromax. Oh, I don't THINK so.
In other news, I got my first bikini wax ever the other day. Oh! My! Fucking! God! I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about that one yet. And no, I haven't told Allen. Moaning and groaning and gurgling and snarfing is not sexy. Let him get past the terminal/obnoxious stage before I start sharing. If I'm stubbly by that point, too damn bad. I'm going to look damn fine in my bathing suit this weekend, and that's all that matters!
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There is an elevated deck attached to the back of our house, just off our kitchen. The previous owners had a round pool next to the deck, two flights of stairs down. They took the pool with them when they left. Rather than relandscape the bare spot, Allen and I decided to turn it into one of our gardens. Mostly, what we have in this one is just mint, blueberries, catnip, rhubarb, stuff like that... low maintenance perennials that we don't have to mess with too much.
Years ago, I used to compost. We don't have a compost heap here - the zonings gods would probably have kittens over it - but still, throwing vegetable matter away just goes against everything I believe in. So, as often as not, I'll toss those table scraps over the side of the deck into the garden, figuring they'll decompose and enrich the soil. And they do. The dirt has gone from medium brown and sandy to rich and black and fragrant. Of course, the mulched leaves we add every autumn do help.
Earlier this summer, we discovered something new growing in our garden. The leaves were huge, and when big orange blossoms started appearing, we knew it was something in the squash family. My garbage had apparently taken root! We've had friendly bets going as to whether those blossoms would turn into zucchini, canteloupe, watermelon, or pumpkin - the immature plants tend to look a lot alike. We were wrong on all counts - I have a boatload of acorn squash just about ready to be harvested! I LOVE that stuff!
Anyone have any suggestions for recipes?
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According to the calendar, it's still summer. According to the shorter days and the hint of a chill I am beginning to feel in the night air, autumn is taking hold. The changes so far are subtle ones - a few leaves fading here and there, particularly on the oaks, the smell of wood fires becoming more common in the evenings, a different quality to the light - but still, I feel it in my bones that this is the time to gather that which is of value and put it away for the harsher times ahead.
Autumn makes me melancholy - I wonder every year, as I grow older, if I have seen my last new blade of grass, if I have coaxed my last tender shoot out of the warm soil. I want to take my leave when the earth is bursting with life. Life, of course, may have other plans. And so, this is when I start holding my breath until the vernal equinox brings with it another chance for me to take part in beginnings.
Conversely, this is traditionally a time of high, focused energy for me, of industriousness and of resolve. Whatever fires are banked in the world outside my door blaze back to life inside of me. My ancestors used this season to reap the fruits of their labors and to lay up stock against the unyielding and unforgiving months just a wink of time away. If Nature is to drift off into her long sleep, all the more cause for her children to be vigilant for the denizens of the night.
So, good. I will renew my joy in the simple pleasures, I will organize my music and lay my herbs out to dry, and I will lengthen my stride and increase my pace as I take my moonlit walks after coming home at night. For as long as I'm aware of it, all will be well.
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I'm just loving my job just about now.
It's Saturday evening, and I'm working. I'll be closing the clinic tonight. In all likelihood, I won't be home until almost eleven.
Tomorrow, crises notwithstanding, we're going to the State Fair, where I hope to meet an old friend of mine from Eons who helps me run my weight loss group there. And then on Monday I'll be working again.
No, they don't pay time and a half for holidays, the sonsabitches.
I'm biding my time until after my cruise in October. Then it will be a resume blitz like none I've ever waged before. I want normal hours. I want my nights and weekends. And I want to be paid what I'm worth.
I had my come to jeebus talk with the owners a couple of weeks ago. They want me to be happy. They do not, however, want to cough up. They expected our talk would smooth my feathers. It did not.
Knowing there's an end to it in sight, though, I can hang in there a little longer.
Allen and I went to the Renaissance Festival last weekend. It was a hoot. If you're a people watcher, there's no better venue in the world. So many people were in full costume, to include visitors just there for the day. And that led to more than a few incongruities. For instance, there was a man in Scottish regalia carrying bagpipes, wearing Nike socks. And I listened while an ethereal beauty played the hammer dulcimer, and almost didn't notice her many facial piercings contrasting with her medieval garb. (Honest to God, the woman could have set off an airport metal detector five miles away.) Hawkers and shills were everywhere. "Buy a rose for your lady! She's a beauty!" trilled one vendor to a man behind us. "Nah," he responded, "she's already got flowers up da ass."
Only in Minnesota!
I'd hoped to run into my friend Stephen (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) ilv2laff) who sings with the Court Revelers, but as it turned out, he was home with a hurt foot. Still, it was a great show.
OK. I suppose I'd better go back to working for a living. Or something like that.
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I caved in. After weeks of reading completely incomprehensible shit from you people, I am going to post it too. Well, at least, as soon as I figure out how it works.
Yes I am a twitterer. Or a twit. Or something.
I can't make heads or tails of it yet. And do I need net access on my cell to do it from my phone, or does it work like ordinary text messages? If so, I'm screwed.
On the other hand, it'll make the long days and nights at work go a hell of a lot faster.
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The whackjobs who live across the street have houseguests, her son and his girlfriend and her three boys. They're in between homes right now, having moved out of their old one before the deal on the new one was finalized. And, wouldn't you know it, the deal fell through.
They have a little orange kitten, maybe twelve weeks old, and they can't keep it over there, because the neighbors' four pit bulls would likely eat it. So, guess who has a sixth cat for the time being?
Yeah. Uh-huh.
It's been almost two weeks, and I'm getting attached to the critter. I'm half hoping they don't want her back. Of course, if I were the one who changed the litter boxes, I might feel differently.
This one's favorite place in the world is my lap. Smart cat.
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I've been working a lot of hours... we've replaced all of our front desk staff in the last month except the original two. Optimally, we should have at least eight on the payroll. Between looking at resumes and doing interviews and training, I don't know if I'm coming or going. And, of course, someone has to take up the slack until we're back up to speed. And guess who that is.
I'm also as busy as ever with the gym. I absolutely REFUSE to fall off track. I've lost thirty-three pounds already since Allen's heart attack, and the last three months have been when most of the progress has been made. This is becoming a lifestyle change rather than a diet, and I want to do everything I can to reinforce that.
I've moved all of my nutrition and fitness blogs here from Sparkpeople... LJ doesn't claim proprietary rights over their contributors' work, and SP still does. I fought until that policy was changed at Eons, but there's no room in my life for another battle right now. Fuck 'em. Plus it just makes sense to have my blogs in one place, even if it's under two accounts.
I'm not going to bore everyone here to tears with it, so I'll just put it out there that if you want to follow what's happening on that front, my health journal is project140. Obviously, it's friends locked. Add it, and I'll add you back. And, because I have to rigidly prioritize where I'm focusing my attention right now, until things settle down again, at least, I'll probably be spending more time there than here for awhile.
But I'm not gone. I'm like kudzu; I never completely disappear. ;-)
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Two hundred and thirty-two years ago, a group of beleaguered men collectively came to the realization that there was nowhere left to run away and start over, and the only alternative remaining to them, if they wanted to retain any dignity at all as human beings, was to stand up and fight, whatever the cost of this unthinkable audacity might be. A dream was born that day. Sharing their vision of a society in which decency, merit, and fairness determined the fate of its citizens, together they built the beginnings of the mightiest nation in the world.
We still possess that propensity to rebel, and we still dream every bit as extravagantly. The spirit of the early Americans remains very much alive, and our children today defend the freedoms that their forefathers won for them every bit as fiercely as those very first visionaries who brought our country into being with their passion and their blood. I thank them, and I celebrate them along with the home I love so much.
Whatever issues cause us concern, whatever problems and conflicts demand resolution, the future of America remains as hopeful and as bright as it was in our very first days, for we are distinguished among the nations of the world by one simple fact: it matters to us, collectively, that we do the right thing, however much we might argue amongst ourselves as to what that might be. And that just amazes me beyond words.
Happy birthday, America. You've still got it. And I am so proud to be one of your children.
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We have a small, dimly lit room in our clinic where the clients go after their massages, to slowly transition back to reality. There's a fireplace in there, comfortable couches, magazines, and coffee and tea, served in real ceramic mugs.
So, of course, those mugs need to be washed. We have a dishwasher in the break room.
I was loading it last night, and not paying attention to what I was doing. Only after I closed the door and started the wash cycle did I notice what I was holding in my hand.
I had filled the cup with liquid hand soap. Oh God.
Suds poured out from the bottom of the dishwasher all over the break room floor. It happened again when the dishwasher went into the rinse cycle. And after the entire cycle was complete, the dishwasher was still full of suds, and so I had to start it all over again. More suds on the floor. And, as I'm mopping them out the back door and cursing to myself, the massage therapists are of course in complete hysterics over it. People were still busting a gut when we closed the clinic at ten.
They've sworn not to tell.
I am so screwed.
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I've got to work today. I don't want to work today. I want to curl up in bed, mutter insults at MNTW, and block out the world. If I weren't closing the clinic, I'd find someone to work for me and call in. But those reports need to be done, and they need to be done before 7 am. You know I'm not going in there before 7 am. And so there's really not much of a choice.
It's a gorgeous day today, a rarity in itself in Minnesota this year. Hopefully it won't be too busy. And I have tomorrow off, and Allen's talking about taking the boat out.
Speaking of fishing... we tried out a new lake a couple of Sundays ago. The boat wasn't cooperating, and so we fished off the dock. I caught a full bucket of bullhead, big huge honking ones that left me feeling like I should be in one of those fishing shows on television, making everyone else look like amateurs. Brought them home, too, and cleaned them, and simmered them in a big pot of homemade chunky tomato sauce with fresh herbs.
Ewwwwwww.
Bullhead tastes like dirt. OLD nasty contaminated dirt. Lesson learned. Next time, I'm throwing those ugly bastards right back into the lake.
Let's see, what else is new? MNTW... but I mentioned her already. And she's nothing new. I'll be fifty-four in three and a half freaking months, and she's still tormenting me. And, if I'm in any way regular in the next few months, the bitch is going to be a stowaway on my cruise in October. THERE IS NO JUSTICE.
I'm thinking it may be worth going in for an oil and lube to get my doctor to prescribe something to ward it off at least for my vacation. Has anyone ever done that?
OK. Gotta get ready. Enjoy your weekend, folks!
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It was a long day yesterday. I didn't want to post, knowing it would be trite. So I just slogged through it. And yes, I asked for signs. She came through before several times, the very first time just days after she left us, with a butterfly that alit upon my hand.
There were no butterflies. And so I went to work and kept myself as busy as I could, wanting the day to end.
It started to storm an hour before I closed the clinic. When I finally locked the door and walked out, there on the asphalt, just off the curb, were ten sodden brand-new dollar bills.
I grinned a thank you up at the rain, and went home.
Whatever I do with that money, it will make no sense at all. And it will be wonderful.
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Bobo is no more.
Or, more accurately, he is no longer a part of our menagerie. We tried. We tried for two and a half years. We put up a thousand dollars worth of kennel fencing, we let him out a dozen times a day, and still he continued to use our house as a toilet. The carpets all need to be ripped out and replaced. And even getting him neutered didn't stop him from trying to dash out the door every time someone walked through it. He is simply a beagle, through and through.
Finally, we put an ad on craigslist a month ago, and a nice family from Wisconsin adopted him. They have two small boys, and she's a stay at home mom with plenty of time and patience. And so far, at least, they love him.
I miss the affection, but it was the right thing to do. And if I ever make moves to adopt another dog, someone please kick me in the head.
The five cats are, of course, elated - or, at least, as elated as cats can be without giving up the illusion of aloofness.
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I was chatting with someone a few weeks ago - Kat? Stacy? Wendy? Who knows, it could have been all three - and the subject of LiveJournal came up.
It's not that anyone I know here has become not relevent in my life. If that were the case, it would be easy, to say nothing of cost effective, to transfer my entries onto a PDF file via LJBook and just shut everything down and call it a day. But you are still relevent. I am unwilling to sever ties. And so here I am yet again.
Maintaining anything more than a half-assed blog requires commitment. Miss just a few days, and the momentum is lost, at least for me, and I find myself frantically backpedaling to try to make up for the lost ground. It's dread of that, as much as anything, that keeps me away for progressively longer periods of time.
Yes, I'm still doing Eons too. The counterpart to Cheaper Than Lipo is really humming there, and I've decided to cross-post and maybe get the one here moving again too. We'll see. Eons has been easier for me, though, because it doesn't matter, really, whether a person blogs or not. It's a lurker's paradise. And, as busy as I've been, that lack of pressure has been a welcome thing.
Some things are new, most things remain the same. My children still live at home, and probably will continue to forever. The weather in Minnesota is still the invention of sadistic demons from the lower bowels of hell. We've had one storm and tornado after another, the most recent round of which occurred last night. No damage in my neighborhood this time, thank God. My annuals were destroyed late last month, not a week after I put them in. That's minor, though. And today the sun is shining, just as a teaser to let us know that it's June in some parts of the world.
Allen and I went to visit my mother in New York early in May. That was wonderful. And we decided, we being Mom, my brother and his wife, my aunt and my uncle, and Allen and me, to go on an Eastern Caribbean cruise together in October. It's already booked - we're taking the Crown Princess out of Ft. Lauderdale on October 12th, if anyone else is interested.
You want to talk about a powerful motivator to lose weight? We immediately bought a gym membership, and I've been going at least four times a week. I'll be nowhere near my goal by October, but I'll be a hell of a lot closer to it than I am now.
On the work front, they made me Assistant Clinic Administrator. That was nice. The money is still pretty much the same, though. That's not so nice. Still, it'll look good on my resume, if anyone ever looks far enough past my age to even read that.
And that's enough for today!
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I see a mama and a papa mallard on the north edge of our pond.
The southern portion is turtle territory. There's nothing for the birds there. The frogs live along the northern edge. I suspect the ducks are gorging themselves on larvae. With any luck, they're eating mosquito larvae too.
Patches of grass are starting to green up here and there. Our branches are still bare, and the buds have yet to plump up with the promise of burgeoning life, but my tulips are coming back. I saw about an inch of growth by my fenceposts yesterday.
The wind is whipping, the sky is slate gray, and six to eight inches of snow are in the forecast.
Those ducks had better eat quickly and then find shelter.
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I'm watching Idol Gives Back, and forty-five minutes into it, I'm already starting to choke up.
Allen had better plan on outliving me, because if he doesn't, Bono's ass is mine. Screw Clooney as a pretend husband. What a wonderful way to live a life.
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Fluffy white clouds serenely float across a clear blue sky. Somewhere. Here, I look up and see slate gray. It's all one big cloud. Pools of golden sunlight bathe the tender new grass in loving warmth. Somewhere. Here, the sun is on vacation, and I think grass has gone extinct. Flocks of happy birds bring in the morning with ecstatic bursts of song. Somewhere. Here, it's the hammering of the contractors. Will they ever get done? I didn't sleep for shit last night, I have a headache, I have to work tonight, and I want to move.
Someone FedEx me a valium.
Not to be completely negative, the ice has finally melted from our pond, thus giving the algae room to grow and the mosquitoes a place to breed. And life goes on.
Better make that a whole bottle.
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It snowed this morning. Note the date.
North of us, where men are men and sheep are scared, they got over twenty inches.
Beelzebub lives in Minnesota, and I don't care what the fundamentalists say. The maps sucked back then. Someone forgot to factor in a sharp turn to the north.
By noon, it was raining... a light, dreary drizzle last lasted well into the day.
The siding guys still came. They say they'll be done by tomorrow. I can only hope.
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The front of the house is done. The siding guys put up the fascia and rehung the shutters today. The white looks great against the deep red. And Allen and I bought some white motion sensor lamps at Menard's this afternoon, and he just finished hanging them.
He's impressed and depressed all at once. "You know," he tells me, "I hated the thought of red, but I knew if you didn't get your way on it, I'd be hearing about it for the next fifteen years. And now it turns out you were right, and I'll be hearing about THAT for the next fifteen years."
Damn right. He knows me well.
The sides of the house are about halfway done, and the back has yet to be begun. We had to knock out and rebuild an exterior wall thanks to whatever idiot built the deck out back and screwed up the flashing. Apparently, every time it's rained, water from the deck has gone behind the siding and rotted out the wood. That explains the carpenter ants every year, I guess. The bad news is, insurance won't cover that, so it'll be about a grand out of our own pockets. Oh well. At least we caught it before more damage was done.
We're painting inside too. I got my way (big surprise) for the downstairs hallway, the vestibule, and the upstairs living room and hallway. I wanted a warm camel shade, and we found a paint color called applesauce cake that's almost exactly what I envisioned. Allen tells me I was right about that too. Poor boy. This has got to be killing him.
That will leave the kitchen, our bedroom, and my office. How much do you want to bet I pick vivid hues?
And I've just about decided I'm going to give Bo away. One of the contractors has kids and an old dying dog, and he just loves him. And I'm sick of the pissing and the shitting everywhere. Once he's safely under wraps, I'm going to tear out all the carpets and redo my flooring as well.
Oh, I do love Spring!
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Oh my goodness, so where do I start?
Work, of course. Some things don't change a whole lot. I still enjoy my job and the people I work with. The hours are getting old though. Or maybe it's me who's getting old. Either way, the end result is the same. My ass is whupped. There are mornings I go in at seven-thirty. There are nights I don't go home until ten thirty. And then I work at least one day every weekend, and frequently two, when the boss sweet-talks me into it and I feel sorry for him. On the other hand, it's a pretty mellow gig, and I have Wednesdays and Fridays off, which I like. It's good to have some time that belongs to just me.
Winter has a death grip on Minnesota. It has snowed. And snowed. And snowed. It snowed again just a couple of days ago. There is still snow on my lawn. There is still ice on my pond. And Easter is long behind us, and I am so hungry for some green and some warmth. I'm told the temperature will be up a bit this weekend. I hope it's true.
At any rate, you can't even plant your annuals around here until Mother's Day at the very earliest, so it'll be awhile before I'm digging in the dirt. We are SO not retiring here. I supposed I've mentioned that a thousand times or two before.
The roofers did their thing in November, because, of course, everybody likes slipping and sliding around on icy shingles when there's no scaffolding in place. Makes things more interesting. Now that subzero winds aren't wailing like so many meteorological banshees, the siding people are going to get started today. It'll be nice not having a pockmarked house anymore. I never dreamed it would take so long to get everything fixed after the storm damage last summer. Some good came out of it, though. Our old siding was babyshit beige. Never liked it much. It was boring, and you know how I am about color. Well, they weren't able to find a match for the siding; apparently, it was a discontinued lot. And so, I got to choose a brand new product. I went with barn red. NOBODY in Minnesota has barn red. This is going to be great. We're repainting the interior too, so I'm just as happy as I can be.
Next on the agenda? Ripping out and replacing the rugs, so that Bo the Shit Machine can wreck some new ones. Never let it be said I don't take care of my pets.
I don't like Angela's boyfriend as much anymore, because he's every bit as content to live with dad as she is to live with mom.
And speaking of Angela, she has another UTI, and so I'll be bringing her to Urgent Care this afternoon, before I go to work. I'll have her take some pictures of the new haircut.
Enjoy your day!
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