I'm still alive. . . . My post for 2013

 OK--I decided I better post before an entire year goes by. . . Hubby and I are doing great.

We had a 'family reunion of sorts' last year when our youngest son came home from his mission in the Philippines during the summer. . .

 My kids are all grown up. . . and it was so great having them all home at the same time!

We even got Grandma Carol to come out and stay with us for the occasion. . .

Middle son had a baby boy this past July--so now they have a Princess AND a Prince!

And I decided that since I am an 'empty nester' of sorts--I would get back into something I have loved since childhood. . . THE THEATER!

I had the great fortune of making two shows this year!  One in May/June entitled: The Dixie Swim Club:

And the other one I am just finishing up now--(Nov/Dec) entitled: If It's Monday, This Must Be Christmas:

Life has been busy, fulfilling and GOOD!  I'll try and be better about posting next year--but I'm not promising anything. . . . 

You can follow me on FACEBOOK  --since I'm almost always on there these days. . .

For now I will wish all my fellow bloggers the Merriest of Christmases and the Happiest of New Years!

Do you hear what I hear?

We recently enjoyed some family bonding moments with our youngest grandson and found that he really loves to be 'outside'.

However his version of the word 'outside' left me puzzled as to what he is hearing (and learning) in the big world of adults that he lives with--namely his parents:

Correct me if I'm wrong--but as Ricky Ricardo would say to Lucy:  "Hey, daughter, and son-in-law! You've got some 'splaining' to do!"

Out of the mouth of babes comes the real story. . . excuse me while I go 'outside'. . . 

You might have read this somewhere. . .

Portlandia, the new show that's making a huge hit (as well as making fun of where I live) is now showing off their newest, highly competitive sport:



I actually haven't seen it myself--but I read about it somewhere. . .

Oh, and here's another goody I found:

Drum roll please. . . .

My friend sent me think link in an e-mail, and all I got to say about it is:

"Dear Santa,

If I'm really really SUPER good this year--could you please wrap up this little guy and give him to me for Christmas?  Complete with drum set, of course."

This kid is FOUR YEARS old and absolutely amazing.  Note the expressions on his little cherub face--especially towards the end when he spots his parents.  Can they bottle this talent and sell it, cuz I'm buyin'!

I don't remember why. . . but. . . .

Well, here's the problem. . . . My computer monitor is out for repair and so I am borrowing a son's laptop--which is why I haven't been able to post any absolutely FABULOUS photos and stories for a while. (at least that's the story I'm sticking to) For many of my readers this is probably a blessing. . .

But I did receive an e-mail from a friend today which made me smile and exclaim with shame: "Hey! I resemble that remark!"

I'd giver him or her credit, but for the life of me I can't remember who it was. . .

Thank goodness I can still remember how to post a Youtube video:

So please enjoy this short swan song while I'm trying to remember why I am posting this in the first place:

I'm glad I don't have this much swagger. . .

Seriously. . . I remember those days with 4 kids and a mini van and a house decorated in Fisher-Price with a touch of Lego for that special ambiance.

Now I get to sit back, relax and watch my daughter styling with her own offpring. . . only she's much more 'tricked out' that I was. Yep!  She has her own 'swagger wagon'.

So dear daughter--I'm dedicating this video to you and your whole pimpin' parenting generation. . . because, well, you're cooler than me. . . .

Must everything be literal?

I have this friend. . . no wait. . . maybe she will want to be referred to as just a passing acquaintance after this--so let's just say this 'person I know' called me up to make sure I was still on for our scheduled appointment for that afternoon.

We had secret plans and secret meetings that we had to attend to.  (not really, but it sounds more interesting that way)

Anyway, the conversation went something like this:

Person I know:  Are you still on for this afternoon?

Me:  Yes--but I need to meet with a blind lady first.

Person I know:  Really?  I didn't know you were meeting a blind lady.

Me:  Yes, she's coming to my house around 3:00 in the afternoon--and it should only take an hour.

Person I know:  (Seemingly curious--but not quite willing to ask)  Well, do you want to call me after you are through with your meeting and then I can pick you up?

Me:  Sounds good--she should be done with the measurements by 4 or 4:30 at the latest.

Person I know:  (rather incredulous)  Why are you having a blind lady taking measurements?  And of WHAT?  Are you having a deaf man come to do a sound check next?

Me:  (Can't talk very well due to hysterical laughing)  She's not actually blind.  I'm having new blinds installed in the windows of my house.  She's coming over to measure them.  I call her the blind lady--because she's selling me blinds.

Person I know:  Ahhhh.  Got it.  (sounds of relief in her voice)

Me:  But that gives me an idea.

Person I know:  What?

Me:  I'm thinking I do need a sound check on my surround system.  I think I"ll look into it.

Person I know:  Well, just remember. . .

Me:  (interrupting) I think folks are way too literal.

Person I know:  You mean, taking everything you say at face value--and believing literally everything you say?

Me: SHUT UP!  That's exactly what I'm talking about.  Folks are taking everything literally when they should be more open and relaxed.  At least that's what the experts tell us, right?

Person I know:  (silence)

Me:  Right?

Person I know:  (silence)

Me;  RIGHT?

Person I know:  (silence)

Me:  Are you there?

Person I know:  Of course I'm here.

Me:  Why didn't you answer?

Person I know:  You told me to 'shut up'--so I did.

Me:  I didn't literally mean shut up.  You know, it's just an expression. Like 'sick' or 'talk to the hand' or.'off the hook' or . .

Person I know:  (interrupting) We're on the phone so I can't see your hand.

Me:  Oh 'just get off the phone' I know that!

Person I know:  (click)

Ummmm. . . I hope she's still gonna pick me up. . . .

The more things change. . . . well, you know. . .

Remember that old saying, "The more things change. . . the more things stay the same."???

Well these two pictures of my cute little grandsons definitely illustrate that in spades.

Here is a picture of Halloween past:

And now here is one from Halloween present:  (which would be just last month)

Which just goes to show you--that although the 'cutesy let's dress just alike as giraffe' costumes disappear, the 'brothers gotta hug  even if we are now super heroes' never changes.

Ahhhh. . . don't you just love the innocence of little kiddlies?

I keep telling my dear daughter to just wait for middle school.  Somehow I get the feeling that she wants to wait a good long time. . . .

Stuck on the roof. . .

I could just have easily have entitled this post:  'Why I am like a cat'. . . but I'm not really a big cat fan and I really don't feel I have much in common with cats--with this one exception.

I totally get how a cat can get stuck up in a tree.  And after my latest episode--my husband finally gets it too.

Here's the story.  Hubby decides it's time to clean out the rain gutters and overhangs up on our two-story home roof--before the winter storms start coming and dumping more rain, leaves, and snow up there.

And since none of our little kiddlets live at home any more (we've recently become 'empty nesters' but more on that later) he calls upon ME to go up on the roof with him to hold the ladder.  (This is for the roof top UP ON TOP of the roof top)

Now everyone in my family knows that I am a bit 'phobic' about heights.  Especially when I am out in the open  and dealing with vertical challenges.  Flying in an airborne contraption is fine, looking out of tall building widows, or standing on mountain tops where my feel are on solid ground is fine--going it alone up a rock face, tree top, or roof is a bit more than I can handle---something about EDGES and falling off makes me a bit FREAKED OUT. . . .

And as both my husband and I learned--it's not the going UP that's the problem. . . it's the coming DOWN!

Soooooo I asked this man who has known me for over 32 years---Why in the world would I want to go up on the roof?

He makes this ridiculous statement:  'Because you've done it before.'

Me: What are you talking about?  In what life did I ever go up on the roof with you?

Him:  Oh--just a few years back, we did the same thing.  You went up on the roof with me and held the ladder while I cleaned out the rain gutters.

Me:  No dear, you are wrong.  You've always had one of the kids go up there with you.

Him:  Nope!  Not one of the kids.  It was a woman--it was you.

So now I'm thinking what a clever man.  Who the heck was he having a tryst with up on the roof?  (after all, it's the one place in the house I would never go)  This bozo has got some explaining to do.

He is absolutely reassuring me that I will be just fine--that I've done this before.  And I guess in my bewildered state--and the fact that there was no one else to go up with him--I climb up on to the roof with him and hold the ladder while he goes up on the second roof.

I think it only took 15 minutes or so for him to do whatever the heck he was doing--but by the time he came back down all smiles and pronounced: 'All done'  I was thoroughly panicked.  I think I may have started hissing and spitting like a cat.

In any case, I was NOT about to come down the extension ladder that I came up on.  It was not going to happen.  I figured armed with a sleeping bag, a tarp, and the phone number to Domino's Pizza, I could live out the rest of my days up here.

That's when it dawned on my husband that quite possibly his wife had in reality NEVER BEEN UP ON THE ROOF BEFORE and by all that is holy, how the snot was he supposed to get her down?

He was apologizing profusely and coaxing me with all kinds of things like opened cans of tuna and fresh caught fish (which had worked on the neighborhood cats) to get me down from the roof.  But it wasn't working.  In fact even access to every one of his investments and IRA accounts (which I already had) was also a 'no go.'

I calmly asked him to just go ahead and call the fire department and get one of those well built men to come in one of their big honkin' trucks with the little 'bucket thingys' and I would consider coming down by that route.

In retrospect my husband was using every trick known to man on how to get a 'mad-as-all-get-out cat down from the tree' ploy.  Here are the guidelines in detail:

· 1

 Avoid mass panic. Given time and privacy, the cat will likely find a way down on her own. (Exceptions are if the cat is injured or if she has a leash wrapped around her neck; go to step 4 in those instances.)  

Hubby did manage to avoid mass panic--but had I HAD a leash--it would have been wrapped around HIS neck upon coming down and he darn well knew it.

·  2

If several hours have passed, try to lure the cat down by opening a can of her favorite food underneath the tree. Call out her name in a calm, reassuring voice.

Fortunately it didn't take hours and the food piling up on the back porch was getting ridiculous.  Besides I was getting quite embarrassed of neighbors possibly learning every pet name this man could think  to call me.

·  3

Lean a wooden ladder up against the tree near the cat so she can climb down. Leave her alone with the ladder for at least 15 minutes so she can climb down on her own.

Well, folks the ladder was already leaning up against the roof.  That's how I got up there in the first place.  And truth be told, I think my husband was afraid of leaving me alone in my sorry state.  I don't know what he thought would be worse.  Leaving me up on the roof--or getting me down from the roof with access to his neck and other soft tissue.

·  4

If the cat is too freaked out to use the ladder, put on work gloves and a thick coat to protect yourself and climb up the ladder to retrieve her. Make sure the ladder is stable before you climb it.

This had already been done, since we were working in cold, windy weather conditions.  But my husband managed to don a pair of work goggles --just so I couldn't spit in his eyes.

·  5

Grab the cat by the nape of the neck to reduce your chances of getting scratched and to induce calmness in the cat.

When my husband came back up the ladder to grab my hands (or the nape of my neck) and try and use gentle coaxing to get me to come back down--he knew this trick would not work either.  One look at my face told him that he might want to keep his hands to himself unless he was willing to lose body parts.

·  6

If your efforts only send the cat farther up the tree, call an animal shelter. A professional animal handler can rescue the cat quite quickly.

This was actually considered--but then I somewhat came back to my senses and realized that I did NOT want my 15 minutes of fame to be splayed on the local 6 o'clock news as 'Weird Women Rescued Off Own Roof'.  I also realized that the chances of the 'animal shelter rescue man' resembling Antonio Banderas or any hunky, good looking stud-muffin were slim to none. . . so I needed to get down from the roof and fantasize indoors where it was warmer.

After what seemed like an eternity--I ever so slowly and shakily came down the ladder--OF MY OWN FREE WILL and  made it back to solid ground.  And yes, my husband is still alive as well--if that's what you were wondering.

But I don't think he will be inviting me up on the roof with him anytime soon. . .

The art of 'the crouch'

Probably the most famous 'crouch' is Michelangelo's  'Crouching Boy'. . . and then the next famous crouch is the one my man does when berry picking.

On any given day--and at any given time he will gladly give you a demo of his much perfected crouching technique:

And he was able to use it quite a bit this spring and summer as we did our share of berry picking with various members of the family. . . 

each had their own unique style:

OK--admittedly--my daughter is only crouching to take photos--but rest assured she did her own share of crouching--even if it was to keep this guy from devouring everything in sight:

My job, of course was to make sure 'the crouchers' were doing their job:

 

And to pick the most absolute PERFECT berries when they could be found::

So we could end up with something like this:

Thanks to my man for taking me wild blackberry picking, blueberry picking, huckleberry picking, strawberry picking, and to my awesome daughter and her family for allowing us to tag along on their various berry picking quests (and for taking such amazing photos)

Hope your summer was as full of berry goodness as ours was and by all means, work on your crouch.  You'll never know when it may come in handy. . . .

Why my dental hygienist is a terrorist

For the love of PETE!  As if I didn't already have enough to be freaked out about--now I have to worry about those pesky twice yearly 'dental cleanings'.

I got up at the crack of 'too early to be thinking clearly, let alone get out of bed and let loose on the world' this morning so I could get my dental visit over with.

I have about as much love for going to the dentist as I do a tax audit.  But since I do like teeth that still stick to my gums and that minty-fresh overly white smile that says 'you just paid a fortune to have your teeth whitened' look--I made my semi-annual trek down to the dentist's office to have a 'cleaning.'

I actually thought this might be my lucky day as my dentist had hired a new,  very young hygienist who looked all of about 14.  So I figured she would be through with me quickly and painlessly since she looked like she could barely lift a rinse cup. Besides she looked so sweet and innocent and talked in a baby soft voice.

Boy was I in for a surprise!

She asked if I had ever had a cleaning with the new water/pick drill method.  I didn't think so--but then, everything in a dental office either has water, picks, or drills to go with  it.

That's when the madness began.  Holy Mother of Agua!. . .  this was the most tortuous fun I can ever remember having to date.

Dental Terrorist:  Put on these goggles for protection.  Oh, and this might be a little noisy.

Me:  Uh, OK.

Then the sound a room full of hyped up school teachers running their fingers down a massive chalk board assaulted my ears--followed by the sound of a harrier jet engine revving up.

Me:  Holy crap, what is that noise?

Dental Terrorist:  That's just the water drill warming up.  Here we go. . . you will most likely get a bit wet.  But think of it as a facial mist at a spa or something.

That's when she shot cold water into my mouth at the speed of light with a pressure that ripped my upper palate right off.  The 'pick' would drill into my gums and the water jet would rinse everything off and erupt out of my mouth and all over my face and hair and goggles (if she wasn't too quick with that 'suction-thingy'--which she sometimes wasn't)

Now, I am not an expert on water-boarding--nor am I claiming that I have actually been to Gitmo--BUT, I'm thinking  that had I been interrogated during any point of this of 'water-drilling' event, I would have given up my deepest, darkest secrets and even made up stuff--just to get this woman from the nether regions of Hell to JUST PLEASE STOP!

After being given a towel and several tissues to wipe up and dry off, the lady terrorist had the chutzpa  to ask me how I liked it.

Me:  Hopefully that was a one time deal.


Dental terrorist:  We will be using this a lot--since it really does a deep down cleaning for gums and teeth.

Me:  Seriously, next time if I promise to be really good and floss hourly, can you just go back to using the scrapers and picks that make my gums bleed?

Dental terrorist:  Oh, you are a funny one, aren't you?  The dentist will be in to follow up with you shortly.  You may want to reapply your make-up.

She hands me a mirror so that I can take a gander at my face which shows my mascara and make-up dripping down my chin.  While I'm trying to salvage my self-respect and tissue-dry my ruined face--in walks Dr. Perfect, my handsome dentist.

Dentist:  What?  No shouting or whining today?  I thought you had the 'water-drill' cleaning.

Me:  I couldn't say a thing--I was drowning.

Dentist:  Well, here's a little goody bag for you then--since you were such a good girl your first time.

Me:  What do the other patients do?  (maybe I could get some tips)

Dentist:  Never mind.  Is there anything you need to ask me?

Me:  Do you have a hair dryer?

Dentist:  You are a funny one, aren't you?  We'll see you in a few months.


(the heck you will!)

I'm not sure what they are teaching in 'dental hygiene' school these days--but I'm thinking that maybe some of the wrong 'methods' have found their way into the tomes of dental care.

All I know is, that I now have to buy a wetsuit and  mask for before my next appointment.

Ode to Spring. . .

Spring is finally here in the great northwest. . . and in spite of some chill and rain that seems to keep coming at random intervals, my back yard is in bloom!  YEA!

YEP!  I'm lovin' it!