What a whirlwind of a year 2014 has been. It does seem now that every year goes by quicker than the last, and as time marches on I find myself saying it more and more.
My ‘word of the year’ usually comes pretty easy for me. As this year drew to a close, I found myself still searching for one. 2013’s was Persistence, 2012 was Disclosure, 2011 was Transitional, 2010 was Serene, 2009 was Colorful, and of course my inaugural word of the year for 2008 was Monumental. So how do I compete with any or all of those?
Personally I’m ready to put 2014 behind me. In this particular year, my father was diagnosed with dementia, and my mother with breast cancer. I’ve actually contemplated the word tumultuous to describe the year, but I find that an extremely negative description to mark an entire year with. Can’t say I didn’t think about it for a minute, though.
The word Endurance seems fitting. Because no matter what life throws our way, we’re pretty much forced to steel our resolve and keep moving forward. The only other choice would be to lie down and give up, and that’s just not a choice I’ll make.
Yep, Endurance. It’s got a nice little ring to it.
And hey, 2014 – don’t let the back door knick your heels too hard on the way out.
It is to me, at least.
My circle of friends is small, and that’s by choice. Once you’ve been burnt by a select few throughout the course of a lifetime, it becomes pretty easy to build up that old retaining wall – to keep the nicely filtered water safe inside and disastrous tidal waves out. The quality level of my true friends is nothing short of stellar now – that’s what is important to me. I love having a friend I know so well that half the time we actually finish each other’s sentences. With most every subject, Lou and I end up having the same opinion. On the rare occasions we don’t agree on something, we still respect each others opinions. Neither of us have ever tried to change each other, nor persuade the other into doing something we’re uncomfortable with. Because a ‘real’ friend would never do that.
Lou and I have joked for years now about how we would be perfectly content to drive home from work on Friday and not leave out again until Monday rolls around. Once home from work on a weekday, we won’t start our car and go out again until the next workday. Doesn’t matter if we’re in need of something, it has to wait. You’d literally have to light a fire under both our asses to get us back out. Like many others, we both have a dog waiting for us to get home. Fact is, any type of errand after work requires careful prioritizing because of our pets – but I don’t know a pet-lover out there that begrudges this. I wouldn’t trade a thing.
I’m not complaining about any of this – quite the contrary. It makes me happy going straight home and and staying home. I’m not a socially active person by nature, never have been. Once in a while Keith and I will have a family event to attend over the weekend which we enjoy. I just find joy in weekends which have no plans whatsoever – aside from the rare impromptu day trip with him.
Speaking of my husband. He’s a hard-working man who works out of state all week and only comes home on the weekends. After so long it became routine like anything else – I just got used to it. I am not afraid. I’ve got my fearless boy Mojo, a fully loaded S&W and a quite sophisticated home security system. All that said, when the weekend finally does get here I relish my time with him. Since the weekend is all we have, we definitely make the most of every moment together. Hey, I realize it could always be worse – he could be deployed overseas for months or even years. I’m thankful for the time I do have with him and everything else we’ve been blessed with.
I’ve never been a bar person by choice. Ever. There’s something very sad to me about bars. Again, just my personal preference and opinion. We do enjoy having dinner with our parents on occasion. I don’t socialize with friends on a ‘regular’ basis aside from maybe a couple times a year, then it’s usually just for dinner or when someone is moving away or some life-changing event like that. I do not enjoy shopping – while I know this is weird for a woman, trust me when I say I’m totally okay with it. I guess the most social I’ve been in my entire life was last summer while I was busy planning our wedding, which I’ll admit about killed me. Literally had to be somewhere or meet up with someone 3-4 times a week. My stress and anxiety levels were off the charts. It was during this time that my friend Lou even sacrificed her own after-work time (something we both hold sacred, remember?) to plod the hot summer streets with me to help search for a wedding dress. I remember that after the wedding was over, I couldn’t wait to get back to my old ‘rut’. And so I did. I didn’t walk… I literally RAN back to it.
Ah… the aroma of sweet familiarity. Mmmm – smells SO so good. Just. Breathe. It. In. And Relax.
So what’s the point of all this, Bon? This is getting a little monotonous.
Apparently there are some out there bearing a false impression that I have a moral obligation to restructure my time to deligate more of my after-work hours to socialize. This has even included pressured attempts during the weekend when Keith comes home from working out of town all week. Needless to say, my patience level has bottomed out on this.
It’s not like I’ve been silent about my stand on the subject. It’s not a hidden secret on a game show being held for a big reveal later to floor everyone. I’ve expressly stated on several occasions that I’m a homebody and choose to spend my time after work at home, and my weekend time with my husband – but it’s all been blatently ignored.
My question is this… having made this a wide-open fact, why on earth would someone push the envelope, again and again? And if you do find yourself attempting to change or reroute how a person thinks – what kind of friend does that make you? And why would a person want to spend more time with you if you’re trying so hard to inflict your preferred method of thinking on them? Why would any real friend do that?
My reasoning is, a real friend wouldn’t.
I will not change the way I choose to spend my time, and I refuse to be bullied into it. Of course I realize there are exceptions to every rule. But if dire circumstances ever did warrant a change, my family and close friends would be those who took precedence. This 46 year-old broad has worked 40+ hours a week my entire adult life (attending several years of college during that), and traveled from one side of hell to the other in an attempt to start a new life. I have earned my right to spend my time after work however I damn well please. So I’m gonna clear something up real quick-like, once and for all. If you have a problem with how I spend MY time – weeknights or weekends – I strongly suggest that you start keeping it to yourself.
I will not apologize to anyone for being a homebody. It’s who I am, and I won’t apologize for being me. So quit right now trying to change me.
That is all.
Now if you’ll excuse me – I’m home for the evening. So I’m gonna fix myself something to eat and watch Dr. Phil.
The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned. ~Maya Angelou
I’ve already grown weary of winter. Winter months are hard, and those who know me already know I’m not a fan of anything difficult.
If you’re still reading this, you’re probably aware that this will be a rant post. Hey, we all need one now and then. With that said, I’ll proceed to touch on a few of the reasons why I
abhor hate dislike the season.
- All the extra required clothing, resulting in more laundry. Additionally, more clothes give the illusion of more pounds. Hate.
- I must wear socks. I hate socks. More importantly, my feet hate socks. And any accompanying enclosed shoes.
- Staying up longer at night to make sure that last log is in fact extinguished results in Bon getting less sleep. This is not a good thing.
- Everything looks bare naked and dead. That’s because it is. For several months.
- My car is happy in cool weather – but hates freezing temperatures. It’s not unusual for my key locks and/or door jams to freeze, resulting in me being late for work.
- Lotion up. Now, lotion up once more. Wait, we’re not done here – dammit the lotion bottle’s empty again.
- Dear Sun, how I adore thee. But alas, our time together seems to have been cut in half. I am pale. I mean like Edward Cullen pale. The forecast calls for even more pale.
When torrential rain gets thrown into the mix (over three-inches-expected-in-one-day torrential) it turns from aggravating to disastrous. Like when you let your puppy out to poo and he decides to find a hidden spot in the yard to dig while in said torrential rain.
Yep, I’ll be late for work again.
My beloved South got it’s snow yesterday. It came in swift and accumulated very rapidly. It was a blessing for it to occur on a Saturday afternoon/night of the weekend! The residents here seemed perfectly content to have a warm night tucked safe in their homes, and enjoy the scenery of the beautiful white snow outside.
It brought along with it thunder and lightning, which has been endearingly termed Thundersnow. The conditions that lead up to this type of event are extremely rare, and usually only occur in the states along the East Coast.
This morning, I couldn’t resist the urge to walk down the pathway adjacent to my building to the lake. Although the overnight ice was treacherous, I went slow to reach my intended target.
A true photographer at heart, whether professional or amateur (I’m most certainly the amateur), will do almost anything to get their intended shot.
This is my second weekend here. Along came the cleansing white snow which, to me, signifies a clean white slate. That’s how I see it, anyway.
Can you tell I have this little thing for trees?
It took me a month to pack and less than a week to unpack. For some reason, I’ve always struggled with packing. Not just with moving, but with packing for a trip or vacation as well. It’s always easy for me to unpack and stick the stuff back in it’s respectful places – but gathering items and organizing them in boxes is hard for me. I think it’s largely due to my ocd about categorizing things. I also tend to want to clean out when I’m packing… I’ll abandon a box and go in search of other ‘like’ items to combine with it. Before I know it, an hour has passed and I’m still on the same box.
This got me thinking about life in general. I don’t necessarily have issues with making a change – I am a Pisces, after all. If a Pisces isn’t comfortable with the direction their life is headed, it’s a well-known fact that they will simply disappear or swim away in the other direction. That’s not to say that finding the courage to actually make that change is easy. Once the change is made however, my organizational skills are unmatched. If I can say one positive thing about myself, it’s my ability to organize – once the deed is done, so to speak.
It’s slowly beginning to dawn on me how much of myself I put into a relationship. It would also seem that I’m easily replaceable. Over the past several years I’ve lost a huge chunk of me that I’m now struggling to find again, and it’s frustrating. I must give myself time and patience in this endeavor, in as much as time passed through which I allowed that loss.
But guess what? I’ve already started.
This past weekend was jam-packed with moving to my new home. I’m completely in now, and so are my babies. It’s a big adjustment for both dog and cat – of course, more so with Mojo the Border Collie. I’ve been told by a few people that it can be done, and I’m praying they’re right.
I hired movers for the first time in my life, and what a huge blessing they were. It was a hard move nonetheless, as I got in there and helped too. I simply don’t have it in me watch someone work to move my stuff and not get in there and help my self. The movers told me I ‘worked like a boy’… which I personally took as a huge compliment.
Right now, I feel like a fish out of water.
But the hard part’s over. At least, I like to think so. Next… some much-needed maintenance and repair on the old heart is on my itinerary.
I don’t know about the rest of you, but the direct rays from the sun sometimes makes me sleepy. About a minute after I snapped this, Camille was fast asleep.
Prior to that, I thought she looked dreamlike.
To view other entries in this week’s photo challenge, ‘Dreaming’ – click here.
I’ve always been concerned with how people perceive me, more than I ever should be. I’m not talking about outer appearances – mostly I mean seeking approval from others which is impossible half the time anyway. I continually watch what I say, how it may be taken, and a truckload of other crap that I shouldn’t even bother with. I’m well aware this trait is a complete waste of time and energy, but it’s a curse that I’ve never been able to completely harness. Maybe someday.
Acts of kindness, compassion and generosity which are shown at ‘less than favorable’ times in your life can and should be seen as a huge blessing. Things such as receiving a sympathy card when a loved one has passed away, being brought a prepared dish that someone made just for you – even a personal phone call can be equally as significant. In this day and age, if someone thinks enough of you to pick up the phone and call you – you’re special. Know that you actually have meaning and worth to them.
Each and every act of kindness and concern I was shown during the past few weeks humbled me. It was, in fact, overwhelmingly humbling. If knowing that people are thinking kind thoughts about you isn’t humbling to us as an individual, then I’d be stumped as to what is. It’s just that black and white to me.
My dear mother called me a couple times each day, so worried. Even now, I so wish I could have kept that worry from her. My dad and daughter were very concerned. Keith’s sweet sister called me every day, too. Keith was, of course, an invaluable help with everything. I received many phone calls, visits, texts and emails from various friends, family, neighbors, coworkers and blogging buddies. Another coworker had chocolate strawberries shipped to my house. The day I came back to work, three pressmen in our shop had bought flowers and had a sign sitting on my desk welcoming me back.
Humbling, I tell you. Looking back on it brings tears to my eyes just writing about it. So I got to thinking… maybe I really should try harder not to worry about what people think of me. I feel the love.
It’s been a while since I’ve written a complete BS post, so I figure I’m about due. Forgive me in advance for my rambling.
My new boy Mojo has been keeping me busy. When I get home in the afternoon, my time belongs to him – I often don’t start dinner until Keith gets home (sometimes not even then). I’m completely okay with this. There’s always an adjustment period for any new member of your family, as well as for you. The time he mandates is so worth it and he’s such a sweet boy. I’m ever so glad he found me. 🙂
In a little over a week I’ll be having surgery (a word I don’t much care for). Anyway, I made the decision to have a hysterectomy. I’m not one who feels the need to keep female ‘things’ hush, so I’m not embarrassed to talk about the type of surgery it is. What I will say is I’m silently terrified at the concept. I hate that it’s turning into this, and I’m trying real hard to hide it from most people. The closer it gets, the more I’m thinking about it – my stomach is torn up and burning and I’m a nervous wreck. I know everything will be okay and my doctor is great, but this old mind just won’t let it go and it’s just consuming my thought process. Wish I could just fast-forward to recovery and all these pre-op worries would be gone. I have several friends who have gone through it and they tell me it’s nothing. I trust when they tell me this, and can only hope I am as strong as they are. I guess I don’t have any choice – I’ll just have to be.
My big beef is having to be out of work for a couple of weeks – and I would never have agreed to it if it were the formerly mandated six weeks. Now it’s actually four, but in my line of work I’m told I should be able to return in two. Apart from family, my job is everything to me. It’s the reason I eat, drive, and have a warm bed to sleep in. Additionally, it’s something I respect and will never take for granted. If you’ve ever been screwed over by an employer of long tenure and are lucky enough to find something a hundredfold better, a place that actually appreciates you back – you won’t wish to be out. To me it’s about surrendering this huge part of my life, of my familiarity. Might sound corny, but that’s just how it is. Even contemplating being out of work gets me emotional and I’m not a big fan of emotional. Maybe I need to try some yoga.
As most of you know, I have a new ‘son’ – Mr. Mojo Risin. He was unusually nervous on the way to get groomed for the first time today. Although the little man was afraid, he trusted his new Mommy implicitly. In fact, everything seemed more than okay – as long as we were Together.
I found the little boy an hour after he was posted on the shelter’s website, and immediately called to inquire on him. I was told there was someone else also interested, but that the staff would put a ‘note’ out for him with my contact info signalling I was interested too. I know how this works and have done it before, many times. Realizing the shelter operates on a first-come first-serve basis, I literally ran up to my boss and asked if I could leave work an hour early, which he graciously obliged.
As I walked in the door, my heart sank – a large woman with another small dog in tow already had him in the acquainting room with her. I watched as she shooed him off with her foot and leg, and barked out commands which the little eleven-week puppy had yet to learn (she was also blissfully unaware of her loud voice bellowing into the corrider for everyone else to hear). I went to the front desk and spoke to the girls about ‘pup’, telling them I also had a note out on him. To my chagrin they informed me that Mean Lady™ was going to adopt him. Mean Lady™ had been there for hours waiting to adopt, but their computer system was down and they had to wait for it to come back up to complete the adoption. I verified once again that this was to be a sure thing, and they told me it was. As I walked toward the exit door, I noticed Mean Lady™ had her oversized leg and foot outstretched again towards the pup. I left the shelter in tears even though I’d never even met the little fella. I wondered just what kind of life he had in store for him.
That night at home I told Keith about my misadventure at the shelter and that Mean Lady™ was probably at home with her new pup by now. I pulled up the shelter’s website on the internet to show Keith his picture and immediately noticed he was still listed. They probably haven’t updated their database, I thought. I called them up anyway.
“Hello, my name is Bonnie Melton and…”
“Oh, Miss Melton, we were just about to call you!“
As it turned out, Mean Lady™ thought the pup would grow to be ‘too big for her needs’ (I’m thinking she knew she couldn’t kick around a larger dog). Just as well.
SCORE ONE FOR THE BON.
Meet Mr. Mojo Risin. That’s Mojo to his homies. I guess now I’ll be able to say with full confidence… I’ve got my mojo back.
NewMommy said we’re going HOME now. I like the word home… it sounds homey.
My new sissy. I like sissies, cuz’ they give good kisses.
See?? Told ya.
I think NewMommy needs some direction here…
What?? Who, me – pull?? Never.
The little eleven week-old border collie mix has stolen my heart from the very beginning. How someone could mistreat these little defenseless animals is beyond me. Here’s an added bonus… Mojo and Camille have the same color scheme going on! So does that mean I can say I have designer pets??
I love wind chimes.
Maybe it’s because they’re one of the few things left in life that are non technology-related. Maybe it’s because it’s the first thing I bought myself a couple of months prior to moving and starting a new life in 2008. Or maybe it’s because they provided such good company during the times I felt alone.
I paid only ten dollars for this set of windchimes, which is a steal for chimes (I know mine isn’t such a vintage set, but I’ve grown accustomed to their harmonial sounds). I’m sure at times my neighbors could’ve shot me for the relentless chime songs coming from my third floor condo, but I never got any complaints.
My chimes are still with me, though now weathered and worn. Much like an old flag proudly waving, both require that common denominator of wind in order to perform their duties. I’ve always thought weathered and worn adds character to pretty much anything. Weathered and worn tells stories.
This morning I ran across the Mother of all Windchimes -they’re called Corinthian Bells. I can’t afford them, but if I ever can you can bet I’ll have a set. Aside from the beautiful music of a harp – I’ve never heard anything quite as lovely. Thought I’d share one more video (not mine) showcasing this beautiful set – it’s so sweet. The end of this video made it an instant favorite of mine… and who couldn’t use a little more sweetness in their day?
I’ve missed all you guys and my little steam release of a blog here. For a over a week now I’ve been sick with the crud, which literally made it’s debut one full day after bragging about how well I’ve been for over a year. If you’d like for the crud to come pay you a visit, all you have to do is brag about your long tenure of being without. This little rule also applies to speeding tickets. You’re welcome.
In lieu of jotting down anything and everything boring in my life at the moment, thought I’d share a few sights of Spring as seen through my own eyes. Hope you all are having a beautiful start to the Spring season and staying healthy and happy!
Last night I had a monumental moment – I built my very own fire. This might sound silly to some of you, but for as long as I can remember someone else has always built them. It’s good to know I can make one on my own.
Of course, I had some help from the little match-lights. As warm as it’s been, it could very well be the last fire of the season and I was proud to have built it.
It’s the little things in life… like how my cat now thinks I am a god.
I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve looked forward to today for a long time. Alright, for maybe a week or so. Superbowl, you may ask? Absolutely. Well, what it stands for anyway. I have to admit, I couldn’t care less about the actual game (if our Panthers ever go again, I’m sure that’ll change). To me, Superbowl Sunday is about everything that goes along ‘with it’.
Commercials. All those funny commercials that when asked about on Monday I can never remember (clears throat). Lazing around my jammies all day long with a nice hot fire blazing. The musical acts – I could take or leave Madonna, but I simply can’t wait for Blake and Miranda’s duet of ‘God Bless America’. Never to be last on the list… my chili.
Oh, chili – let me count the ways I love you. I cherish each and every ingredient that goes into making a love-filled batch. You see, I couldn’t use these ingredients in my old life because it wasn’t permitted. Now that the rules are out the window so to speak, consider it no holds barred. It’s not just meat, beans and a seasoning packet anymore, baby (meh). How ’bout starting out with some kickin’ seasoned ground beef, 2 different kinds of beans, couple cans of seasoned diced tomatoes, diced garlic, onion, habanero and bell pepper, hot Rotel, hot chili powder, and towards the end of it’s cooking life, a
nice little half-bottle of cayenne pepper? Hey, if this sounds bland to you I’m always open to suggestions. Being that I’ve had chili-making policies to follow all of my adult life, you could say I’m a ‘chili rookie’ of sorts. Oh, and mustn’t forget the sour cream, grated cheese and jalapenos upon serving time. And the ‘Tostitos with a hint of jalapeno’. And the cornbread. And the Hawaiian rolls. Oh and pay no attention to the wine in the background. It’s, um… just for looks.
Prior to the main course, we’ll have Queso for an appetizer. How I do love that Velveeta and HOT Rotel. Have I mentioned I like it hot?
Happy Game Day to those of you who watch – I hope you enjoy it in your own special and memorable way!
How do I start this, I sit here and wonder to myself. Do I even want to write about it at all? Not really. Do I need to? Probably. Problem is, my fingers don’t want to do the talking either. What the hell am I afraid of writing? Hello out there… brain to fingers – get to moving, babies. I need to get this out.
More ‘stuff’ over at the old house to go sort through. When my ex contacted me about it last week, I thought there was maybe just a bag or two to pick up. It was this time about four years ago when we were busy ‘splitting’ stuff. We stayed busy ‘splitting’ for months on end – after all, you do tend to accumulate a shitload throughout twenty-one years. So we split, split and split some more. When the emotions would get too high, we’d quit and start up again the next day, splitting again. I remember the pictures were the hardest – boxes and boxes of them.
I thought everything had been done. Nope… there’s more. Let’s go take care of it – it’s Goodwill or bust, ya know.
I’ve only had to go back over to the house a handful of times during the last several years. I don’t like driving through the neighborhood. I don’t like going down the street. I do NOT WANT to go in the house, as my daughter insisted on today “Mom, Dad knows you’re gonna be here to go through this stuff – I told him and he’s okay with it.” And so I commenced inside, where neatly stacked in her old room was a good-sized pile that came from the attic. Old baby clothes, stuffed animals, my old knitting materials, some outdated clothes, a few things that belonged to my grandmother, some of my old toys as a kid, all the missing Halloween decorations, and cards. If I failed to mention it before, I do not like going through cards.
Just when I think I’m a step ahead of the game, a day like today comes and knocks me back down a notch. Reminds me that I might not be as strong as I think I am. Was. Whatever. I must swallow the fact that I will forever have these demons, I’ve just realized they aren’t going to go away. What is it? No matter, for what’s done is done. My biggest demon? Failure. Still haven’t moved past that effing failure thing.
Through the years, I’ve learned a neat little trick. I can usually disguise the funk with a smile – on a good day, maybe even season it up with my boisterous laughter. It’s a trick my Mammaw taught me, albeit unconsciously. Ordinarily, it works. Until I’m alone. But that’s what matters, right? It’s just enough to get ya through a tight spot, when someone might be looking. Alone… well, you’re just that. On your own.
I guess the passage of time really isn’t all that when it comes to healing, or growing, or progressing, or whatever it is they say you do. I realize there are good days and bad, for all of us. As for me, I’m just thankful for that huge smile I was born with.
Once again, a New Year is upon us. Time for me to choose a new header/banner, for the year 2012. Just as I choose a single word that best describes the prior year that passed, I also pick a new banner to use for the coming year. I enjoy reflecting back on the prior years’ words and banners, specifically for their powerful meaning to me.
In 2008 I wasn’t blogging yet, so no banner – but my word for that year was Monumental.
It’s not by accident that my first banner below included so many mountains.
My word of 2009 was Colorful.
The next piece below is made up of five of my most favorite things.
My word of 2010 was Serene.
The below shot is a panoram I took while staying at the beach last New Years.
My new word for 2011… drum roll please…
My word of 2011 is Transitional.
It was hard to find a word for 2011. When I finally ran across transitional, I knew I didn’t need to look any further.
I’m finding the end of 2011 to be this huge reflection pool, of this year as well as years prior. In late Spring I moved from my humble abode of three years, the place where I started my new life in 2008. It took some adapting to learn to live with someone again, since Keith and I had both been living alone for so long.
It didn’t take long at all. Where I live now is home in every sense of the word. Hard to explain, except that I feel like I’ve always lived there. Whenever Keith and I are together, everything just seems so easy. Of course life will always have it’s trials and tribulations – but it just seems easy. If that makes any sense.
So on to a brand new year. Nearly four years later, I can finally breathe that long-awaited sigh and say… this butterfly has completed her journey. And what a journey it’s been.
It’s very entertaining to me to learn the nickname of the area I now live is called ‘Boogertown’. When I first saw it listed that as my location on social networking sites, I honestly thought it was a joke. It’s not! Well, it’s probably a pretty good joke for the people to the north of us. 🙂
It’s true – I live in Boogertown. Hey, at least I’m outside the city limits.
I’m just about ready for the Christmas holidays to be upon us, good thing because it’s happening quickly. I got about the best news ever last night when Keith confirmed that his daughter will be here for Christmas – that means we’ll have BOTH our daughters home for the Holidays! We’re so excited about it, you just can’t get any better than to have your kids together at home on the most important holiday (to me, anyway) of the year. My own family gets together and celebrates on Christmas Eve – my mother, her husband, uncle and aunts – and Christmas Eve will be held here at our house this year. (Did I mention we’ll also have our daughters with us this year?)
We’re already hot on the planning of the Christmas Eve menu. So far I have on the roster a turkey breast, dressing, meatballs, broccoli casserole, cranberries, my Mom’s most famous potato salad, a cheeseball, and many many other delectable goodies. My family will open up presents to each on the Eve, then later in the evening when everyone leaves we’ll all four have a family Christmas with our girls. The fire will be going, Christmas carols on, the lights outside twinkling. Christmas morning Keith and I will get up and cook our special breakfast, and let the girls sort through their stockings full of goodies. After that, we’ll pack up the car to head to Keith’s sister’s house for his side of the family’s Christmas. Just the mere thought of it all is so very magical to me – I already know it’s going to be a Christmas we’ll remember for the rest of our lives.
What have you all got planned for the Christmas holiday? ♥
Let’s talk about preparedness for a natural disaster or catastrophic event. One thing’s for sure – if we lose power for any length of time this winter, the one thing we won’t do is freeze. I’ve nicknamed us the Lumberjack Adams household.
It all began this past summer when my mother and her husband were forced into taking two trees down – one in the front and one in the back. Keith has worked his cute behind off in order to split it all and get it back to the house. If it weren’t for a neighbor that allowed him use of their splitter it wouldn’t have been possible – these trees were huge. Last but not least, my mother’s husband lent his brut strength and use of his truck along with Keiths. I lost count on the number of truckloads it took to get it all here.
It got me thinking about the early days and how much work the pioneers had to put into gathering their wood for the long winter. They must have been gathering and chopping all through the summer just to prepare.
We figure it’ll last us all winter and then some. We’ll also burn some in the fire pit in the back yard, that is until it gets too cold outside!
Our neighbor across the street is a ‘wood hog’ – by this I mean he will do almost anything to get a load of wood. They actually heat all winter with a central wood-burning stove – a very energy-efficient choice. When the tornado ripped through our neighborhood this spring, he was out bargaining for all the neighbors’ wood from the downed trees. He’s even been caught at residences with downed trees, pilfering the wood without asking while the owners were gone! Years ago, he actually did it to Keith one time while he was out of town working. From what I was told, he’ll not ever attempt that little maneuver again.
Where was I going with this? Oh yeah… when the final truckload of our wood got here, this man came over to admire. He told us (with glowing green eyes) we have more wood than he does! That’s really saying alot and I still don’t know if I believe it…
I love fires in the winter. Bring on that lotion… 🙂
This morning as I sat in front of my computer, my trusty sidekick hung out with me.
I caught her snuggling with Mr. Frog (the first stuffed animal Keith ever gave me).
For once, I happened to have the camera right beside me.
A few minutes later, she gave her customary ‘hummpphh’ from her table beside the computer desk. Knowing my little girl so well, I immediately took note it was more than a ‘hey mommy, over here!!’ grunt. It was obvious she was planning a desk-launch, and she wanted clearance to do so.
And so the stance was taken.
“No, Camille.” Hunched forward again in pounce mode. (A little firmer now) “Camille – NO.”
She then backed off completely with one exception – her little left paw was left suspended
and quivering in mid-air.
And it hung.
And hung. And quivered.
“Aren’t I cuuuuute, Mommy?
Let me squint my eyes at you to let you know how much I love you Mommy and,
and, and… you are getting very sleepy, Mommy…”
“sooooo, now could be my chance – lemme slide in a little looksie at two o’clock…”
She shoots – she scores.
After digging her out from the wires on back of computer (oh how I hate that)
comes the dreaded walk of shame.
“Whatta you mean I gotta get back on the bore-table?! All that work for nuttin’??
Oh I’m pissed. No, I won’t look at you. No. I’m so…”
“…pissed, I tell you. Errr, what… a close-up you say?
Well – okay, gotta look my best for dem close-ups. Cheese!!”
Since it’s nearing Halloween, I thought I’d share a little non-fiction story with you about the horrors that can occur when you decide to pool resources and get a roommate. Muah-ha-ha-ha…
Seriously though, a person I know is going through one of the hardest times in her life because of this very thing. I’ll call this person Rose.
Rose and her roommate (who I’ll call Thorn) have been friends since they were kids. Having been offered a sweet deal on a townhome from Thorn’s father’s girlfriend, they decided to save a little money and become roommates. It’s a nice enough place, a townhouse condo in a nice area that’s close to both of their workplaces. Each of them brought a cat to the mix, both of which get along fine and play all day. They agreed to split the rent as roommates usually do, even though Rose has brought slightly more to the table as far as furnishings. Rose supplied all the living room furniture, the washer/dryer, barstools, vacuum, most of the kitchen furnishings and much more.
It all started when Rose came home one day from work to find Thorn’s cat had pissed on her bed. In an attempt to nail down the problem, Thorn gets her cat spayed – which didn’t help. For the past week Rose has been shutting the door to her room so Thorn’s cat won’t get in there, now the cat is tearing up the carpet at her door. Just yesterday, she reached the top of the stairs and found where Thorn’s cat had pissed on the carpet there. This has continued to happen even though Rose confronted Thorn on it. You all know what happens if this is allowed to continue… the entire place now reeks of urine.
From the very beginning, Thorn refuses to clean anything. At all. Now cleaning for two, Rose has also discovered that apparently she’s responsible for the costs associated with the cleaning solutions of the house. Bathroom, floor, kitchen, detergents, soaps, you get it. Just yesterday, Rose came home and went to her bathroom where she saw her toilet paper dispenser roll lying empty on the seat where Thorn had seen fit to remove the roll and take to her own bathroom.
I have never. And neither has Rose.
Come to find out, Thorn’s cat is pissing everywhere because Thorn doesn’t see fit to clean it’s litterbox (each cat has it’s own). Even worse… Thorn doesn’t feed her cat, so the cat eats the food that Rose buys for her own cat.
Thorn is not only evasive on any of these issues, but combative in her responses when she does see fit to respond. She answers all questions with another question and has anger management issues. Rose signed a two-year lease on this place (I didn’t know two-year leases even existed?) and now is just sick about doing so.
There should be a code of ethics or something when it comes to co-habitating with a roommate. It doesn’t matter if you’ve known someone all your life or not. I tell myself some things just don’t come to light until the sun comes up and shines on it. Unfortunately by then, it’s too late.
It usually takes a while to adjust to new living conditions, whether you’ve made the move yourself or someone else has moved in with you. After several months, it’s fair to say Keith and I have established a good little ‘routine’ with daily duties such as dinner, grocery shopping, laundry and other things.
During our grocery trip this Saturday, we lingered in the produce department – everything seemed to look extra-good. We happened upon a batch of pears, which I don’t normally buy.
Me: ‘I dunno. Don’t think I’ve ever tried them.’
Keith: ‘Oh, they’re good – if you get the right one.’
Me: ‘Yeah, my dad likes pears (the right ones).’
fondles picks up the pears and puts each one back, them obviously not being up to his standard. Rounding the corner, he utters ‘aha!’ and walks over to another batch, eyeing them like an old girlfriend. Since I’m a pear newbie, I can’t remember the type – Bartlett or Bosc, I think – they had bits of green and brown. I watched as he gingerly picked a few up, felt them, smelled them.
This flashed me right back to a scene from a favorite movie, City of Angels – of Meg Ryan picking up the pears and smelling them. Of Nicolas Cage learning how to do it by intently watching her. It looked like that exact same type of pear.
Anyone remember the HBO series Dream On from the 90’s? I loved that show. It featured a neurotic New Yorker (Brian Benben) whose real life antics always drummed up scenes of old TV shows. Reminds me of someone I know…
The movie Final Destination 5 is out and I’m dying to see it. Friday I found out that Keith not only hasn’t seen 3 or 4 (the usual average missed in a series of movies) but he has yet to see any of them. I can now report we officially have a Final Destination edumacation – that is, except for the new and improved #5. Full-screen trailer can be seen here.
For those who don’t know what the movies are about, each starts something like this. One person within a group has a vision of something catastrophic that’s about to happen. This ‘vision’ of impending doom shakes the person up, causing them to freak out and immediately abandon whatever it is they’re doing. A small group of people also follow his/her lead, thereby saving their own lives when that vision actually comes to life a few minutes later. Thing is, this whole new series of events screws up what they call ‘death’s design’ – so one by one, each person of that group meets their fate in some freak accident. And, they die in the same pecking order as they would have had they not exited their original… final destination.
I haven’t watched this much tube in like five years or more – my eyes hurt. FD1 Friday night, FD2 Saturday morning, FD3 Saturday night and the FD4 Sunday afternoon. Any Final Destination trivia can be thrown this way, please.
In an endeavor to keep my very own final destination at least an arm’s length distance or better, I’ve learned a few things not to do…
- Never, under any circumstance, should you stand anywhere near a barbed wire fence.
- When boarding your local roller coaster, think twice about actually belting yourself in.
- Always look both ways before crossing the street. Twice. Three times, even better.
- When entering a tanning bed, never pull it all the way closed.
- If you ever go visit Paris, make sure you’re not on Flight 180. In fact, if you see those three numbers listed anywhere near you in that particular order – run, don’t walk.
- When swimming in a public pool, it may actually benefit you to wear your swimmies.
- Avoid nail guns at all costs. Hammers still do the job well, with a little more effort involved.
- A fire escape may not serve as an actual escape.
- If your car has had electrical problems in the past – you may want to avoid car washes.
- Never ever enter an elevator with someone who is holding a box of prosthetic hooks.
- Duct tape has an endless variety of uses – including safeguarding your house.
- If a pigeon continually crashes into your dentist’s office window – leave immediately and find another dentist.
- It’s not a bad thing to pay attention to to your visions and inner voices. Just don’t let it drive you crazy…
For the past few months, I’ve admired a certain cow during my drive in to work. There she stood each day, huddled with her comrades in a misty morning field. I’d often see her in groups ‘kissing’ with some of the others. Now I didn’t know if they were actually kissing or not – but the Bon in me just wanted to believe this was a cow’s way of being cute and sweet.
I’ve always been a sucker for odd markings (take my cat for example) and this cow’s markings definitely fell into the unusual category. Dark legs complimented her cream-colored base, and thick black rings accentuated her huge eyes. She really stood out from all the others, and I found myself searching her out each time I came up on that field.
On the way home from work last Friday, ‘my’ cow was standing all by herself roadside at the fence. I did a three-point road turn and positioned myself right smack in front of her…
In retrospect I guess I should’ve known it was a he, but this city girl hasn’t been around many bulls and cows in her life. I’ll also stand by my defense of having not seen him up close until Friday. Thirdly, I didn’t think bulls were allowed to mingle freely with the cows… I mean, do these girls get any rest? I don’t mean to be crude, but this has to coincide with at least some of the more intense mooing I hear coming from that field around dusk each night.
As soon as I reached him and stopped, I immediately noted the large horns upon his head. This majestic creature stood there and subliminally yelled out to me “I am MAN, hear me roar” then snorted a mild “hummfff”. As I sat in my car with him and I separated by a mere fifteen feet and five pieces of wire – it suddenly struck me that I might need to grow a brain and moooove along…
Well… after I squeeze in a small photo opp, of course. Isn’t he beautiful handsome??