Category Archives: Misc

I should sleep like this more often

 

Holy Mickey Finn, Batman!  I have no idea where the day went but it went without me.  Here we go loop de loooo-oh boy.  Dear Hubby told me that I even dropped off to sleep in mid sentence more than once today.  I don’t care as long as this stuff works and clears the itises out.  At least I can talk now without feeling as though my throat is full of razor wire.

Now if I can only stay awake long enough toooozzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…..Er where was I?  Oh yes, if only I can stay awake long enough to post this.

Need ten days of sleep?

 

     I now know why the doctor asked me if I needed a note for work.  Holy crap, these meds knock me ass over tin cups.  I struggle to keep my eyes open for more than five minutes.  I have nine more days to go on them. 

     Let’s see, that could mean nine days of sporadic and silly posts.  It could mean nine days of gibberish.  Gee, I like that word.  Gibberish, it sounds more interesting than rubbish or twaddle.

     You would think that with all the wonderful fresh vegetables and fruits my family plied me with while I was up there visiting that I’d have been bursting at the seams with great health.  There’s nothing like fresh cauliflower, carrots, zucchini, watermelon, red raspberries, and blueberries freshly picked.  I picked a quart of blueberries Sunday afternoon, packed it in the back of the van, and one of the cousins stashed a couple of large zucchinis in there too.

     Now, I’m going to go back to sleep.

I spent my anniversary in the doctor’s office

 

     Here it was, our 36th wedding anniversary and what did we do?  Nothing.  I was too sick to do anything other than sleep.

     I should’ve called and made an appointment to see the doctor.  I had no idea it would be so busy there today.  I sat in the waiting room for two hours, which is the longest I’ve ever had to wait as a walk in.  I was quickly diagnosed with pharyingitis, laryngitis, and bronchitis.  Oh joy. 

     The nurse came in and gave me a shot.  I was handed two prescriptions and sent on my merry way.  Truly not so merry since I’m feeling miserable.  Dear Hubby is a doll he kept getting me things to drink when I’d become conscious.  The cough medicine and the antibiotic are both taken once every twelve hours.  They are kicking my ass. 

     They told me if don’t feel better in three days I should go back.  As it is, I feel as though there’s an elephant on my chest and I have a throat full of feathers.  They are tickling me into coughing fits.

     We will celebrate our anniversary AFTER I get through this nasty crap.

I’m home

     I made it home safe and sound.  However, I’m exhausted and somewhere, somehow, picked up some sort of nasty bug and by this afternoon I was feeling quite poorly.

     The wedding was beautiful.  I was able to snap a lot of pictures before my camera’s battery gave up the ghost.  I’m buying another battery pack or two so I always have a charged battery ready.  I saw so many shots I would’ve snapped had the camera been working that I was about ready to toss the darned thing under the wheels of some passing combine…

    Yeah, it’s farm country up there.   They did a tremondous amount of work on Grandpa’s farm to get it up to par.  Everything from tearing down the old kennels/chicken coops, the ancient barn, that for as many years as I can remember, has been ready to drop down onto its foundation,  to clearing the years of overgrowth in the never used side yard and planting grass there.

     I couldn’t be more delighted than I am now, knowing that my cousin and his new bride will settle in there.

Yeah, I know I said I hated cell phones, but…

 

     When you’re driving three hundred and fifty miles alone, it makes sense to have a cell phone along with you.  I hate the damned things but I bought one.  Dear Hubby is pleased.  He was worried. 

     I bought a Go phone.  I’m not paying for fancy bells and whistles.  I walked into one of our local AT&T phone stores this afternoon.  Clayton asked me if I needed help. 

     “I need a Go phone.”

     He showed me several. 

     I looked at the prices and winced.  “What’s your cheapest phone?”

     He looked at me as if I’d sprouted a third eye and a set of antenna.  “Well, there’s is one.  It’s $29.99.  But it doesn’t do nearly as much as these others.”

     “Honey, I don’t need or want a lot of bells and whistles.”  I went on to explain how I hate the damned things and the idiots who drive while talking on them—all those close calls I’ve had with men and women alike who were so busy yakking they weren’t paying attention to the road.  

     “Then there are the rude people who yell on them while in stores or libraries.  I really do not want to listen to their private conversations.  I’m only buying one for my husband’s peace of mind because I’m going to be driving alone for three hundred and fifty miles.  I’m not a technophobe.  I hate being available 24/7.  I don’t need an umbilical cord to the world.  That’s why I have an answering machine.”

     Clayton got it.  He grinned.  “You’ll like this one.”  He held up a tiny phone.

     I groaned, “Another thing to get lost in my purse.”  I peered at the teensy number pad and screen.  “They sure don’t make these for half blind people like me, do they?”

     Clayton cracked up.

     I bought the damned phone.

It is a long trip but worth it!

 

     In seven days, I’ll be driving three hundred and fifty miles by myself.  I’m driving that far to attend my cousin’s wedding.  Gee, last year I did the trip twice (once by plane) to attend his brothers’ weddings.  I wouldn’t make a trip like this for just anyone but I do adore my cousins and can’t wait to get there.

     I was supposed to have a friend drive with me but she’s injured, and she can’t travel.  Dear Hubby can’t make the trip because he doesn’t dare leave his mother alone for four days in a row.  She’s not up to that yet.  He calls her every day and goes over to her house every other day now.  Therefore, once again I do the trip alone.

     I don’t mind.  It’s a lovely drive and I’ll get to see all my aunts and many of my cousins.  Since I’m a night owl I’ll be traveling at night and arrive there in the morning the day before the wedding.  My dear, sweet Auntie, the mother of the groom, promises she’ll have coffee ready for me when I get there.  I’ll need it and a nap.

Kiss my arse Martha Stewart!

 

     Dear Hubby is often frustrated that he can longer do the things he did years ago.  Sometimes I share that frustration when I need something done around here. 

     I’ve found that if I can’t find help, I have to adapt, improvise, and overcome.  Today I overcame the broken table out in the yard.

     Less than two summers ago, we bought a Martha Stewart table for the outdoors.  What a huge mistake!  Here we were thinking how great it was that we bought this lovely, large wood outdoor table on sale.  Well, kiss my arse Martha…it has fallen apart in less than two seasons.  (I’m so glad we bought it on sale for a super cheap price, it certainly wasn’t worth the regular price.)  Today, since I couldn’t find anyone to help, I took it apart.  It took me a bit of time, some struggle, the right tools, and brute strength, but I managed.  Then I had to carry the darned unwieldy thing out of the yard.  It is sitting against the side of the house with its removed legs and will go out for garbage tomorrow night.

     DH was very surprised and quite pleased to have the table gone because he can now run the riding mower over the spot where it stood.  I’m pleased to have it gone because I don’t have to run the weed eater underneath it any more.

I’m no sugar and spice girl.

 

     I’m not a girly girl.  I never have been, never will be.  Proof of that hit me yesterday when my neighbor’s son came to the gate and told me he’d found a bunch of worms for the Koi.  I let him in, we went over to the pond, and I asked him if he wanted to feed the fish.  Nope, he didn’t want to handle the worms.  He handed me the large plastic drink cup in which he had them contained.  I giggled.  I couldn’t help myself.  I was trying to figure out how he’d picked up the worms without handling them.

     I was always a tom boy.  I started fishing as soon as I was able to hold a fishing pole.  If we went fishing with Grandpa or my Father, we had to bait our own hooks.  Worms don’t bother me.  I remember chasing a cousin or two with a nice big night crawler. 

     I remember when the boys in school would try to scare me with a snake or a mouse and I didn’t scream and run.  Instead, I’d squeal, “Oh, how cute!  Can I hold it?”  Picture their disappointed little faces.

     When I came in from playing outside, much to my mother’s chagrin, I was as filthy as all the neighborhood boys were.  Dad thought it was a hoot.

Have a happy and safe 4th of July!

Skunky? Here are some odor removal formulas.

 

  Clipart - animal, skunk,  stink, stinky,  trade, cartoon.  fotosearch - search  clipart, illustration,  drawings and vector  eps graphics images

 

My friend in OK sent me her skunk out formula.  Her Husband is a cop and she’s mentioned in the past that this formula also gets rid of that decaying dead body odor…

1 lb box baking soda, 16 oz hydrogen peroxide, 3/4 cup gentle shampoo, 1/4 cup liquid dish soap like dawn or joy.  Mix and use immediately.  Something in it evaporates off so you can’t mix it and store it.

MJ sent me her formula which is white vinegar and peroxide for those who are sensitive to shampoos and/or Dawn dish soap.

Then there is a commercial product put out by the people who make Nature’s Miracle, Nature’s Miracle Skunk Odor remover and it’s available at most retail pet stores.

By the way, Nature’s Miracle is great for getting rid of blood stains, and pet odors and stains.

The Siamese cat and the Sachet Kitty

 

     Years ago, when Dear Hubby and I were dating, my Siamese tangled with a skunk.  Dad told us to bathe her in tomato juice—the known ‘cure’ for the odor back then. 

     Now Snoopy never weighed more than seven pounds in her entire life.  However, when DH and I went to bathe her, you would’ve thought she was ten times larger and weighed over a hundred pounds.  She hated the whole idea of a bath and this cat was not declawed.  The results looked like something out of the cartoons.

     DH ran to the store and bought several large cans of tomato juice.  We hauled out a large galvanized tub and filled it with said tomato juice.  Then he caught Snoopy and walked over to the tub intent on putting her in it for her bath.  Her toe touched the liquid and her claws raked his arm.  She shot out of his grasp.  It took another fifteen minutes to recapture her.  This time DH had leather gloves on his hands.  He tried to put her in the tub, her legs stretched out, four feet of claws hooked on the edges of the tub, and no matter how much he tried she wasn’t going in there.  Picture that cartoon cat here.  I’d get one paw unhooked and she’d snag the edge of the tub with it as soon as I went for another paw.  We had more tomato juice on us than she did.  In fact, she was dry as an old bone.

     New plan, we had to find some way to keep her from hooking her paws on the edges of the tub.  I went into the house, grabbed an old pillow case, and we bagged her with only her head sticking out of it.  By this time, Snoopy was howling and you’d have thought we were killing her.  Truth is a few of the neighbors came over to see what all the noise was.  Now we had an audience.

     Have you ever tried to wash a bagged cat?  She knew what we were about to do.  Not even dunked yet, her shrieks had our audience in the giggles.  We dunked her and scrubbed the tomato juice in as best we could.  Then while DH held her over the tub, I rinsed her with buckets of warm water.  Snoopy was screaming like a banshee.  Rinsed, disgusted, and transferred from the pillowcase to a towel she had had enough.  She hissed at DH, leapt from the towel I had her wrapped in, and dashed into the house to hide under my bed.

     Although the smell was not strong, it took a year for the odor to leave.  Cats have hollow hair.  Every time she got wet, she stank of skunk.

Snoopy2 Snoopy relaxing on her favorite fake lambskin–she was about 17 here.

A skunk by any other name still stinks

 

     Mr. Skunk, Mr. Polecat, or (my mother’s favorite name for the darned things), Mr. Sachet Kitty is back. 

     Somewhere out there he’d let loose and the stench drifted into the house.  EW!  Dear Hubby and I both jumped up from our chairs, he ran to close the front door (short run of three steps), and I dashed to the back of the house to close the back door.  Out came the pet odor deodorizing spray and I lit some incense. 

     At least Mr. Skunk hadn’t let loose because of our dogs or me being outside.  Last time it was too close a call for me.  Our only hope is that he moves on—which I doubt will happen, or a car hits him—hopefully on the far side of the neighborhood.  I know that sounds nasty but I don’t want him back in my yard again.  I have two dogs that have no fear when it comes to chasing a strange critter. 

     My neighbor’s Standard Poodle would also chase it down.  I’m certain she’d not enjoy having a stinky dog leap into her bed.  Surprise Mom! 

     Then there are the two tiny dogs next door the smaller of the two has no fear either.  Little Demonica…er Angelica is less than half the skunk’s size but has the temperament of a Doberman when it comes to protecting what’s hers.  This includes anything she can see from her yard including my yard, the alley, and the street out front. 

     Which reminds me,  just in case one these dogs meets Mr. Skunk, I’ll have to E-mail a friend of mine for her skunk out formula.

I can’t find my cell phone

 

     I hate cell phones.  In an earlier post I wrote about not wanting to be connected twenty four seven.  Today it’s more about the size of the darned things. 

     Now I’ve lost my billfold and many smaller items in the depths of my purse, but today Dear Hubby lost his cell phone in his pants.  Yep, that’s what I said—in his pants.

     The disembodied voice came from upstairs.  “Honey, I can’t find my cell phone.  Will you look around down there and see if you can find it?”

     “Sure.”  I also checked outside because he had mowed the grass.  “I don’t see it anywhere.  Did you try calling the number?”  Yes, we’ve been through this before.  It’s easier to call the cell phone number than it is to tear up the house looking for the damned thing.

     My disconsolate DH walked downstairs, picked up the cordless phone, and called his cell phone number.

     From somewhere upstairs we could hear it ring.

     “At least you didn’t lose it out in the yard.”

     He glared at me and went upstairs.  A few minutes later I hear, “I can’t find it.”

     I climbed the steps.  He’s sitting on the bed looking puzzled.

     “Dial it again.”

     He does.  I hear the phone’s distinctive ring coming from the foot of the bed where his recently discarded jeans were in a heap. 

     I picked them up.  Yep, they were ringing.  “Found it!”

     “But I looked there.”

     He had but he hadn’t checked the end of the belt that hung inside the pants.