I got my hair cut today..
For years.. ok, we’re talking decades upon decades (I’m VERY Old), I’ve been cutting my own hair.. ‘ahhh, that answers a lot’ I hear many of you say.. thanks..
Anyway, occasionally I’ve gotten a good friend of mine try to ‘patch up’ the spaces I’ve left when my attention wanders and suddenly I actually feel my naked scalp. OOPS.. She’s very patient and just shakes her head and does the best she can with what she has left to work with..
Today on the news, I saw that there were TONS of stylists gathering to earn money for helping those with hair loss from cancer/chemo get hair cuts.. it was called “The Annual Cut-a-thon” and there were more than 100 stylists that participated. All proceeds for the event helped raise money for ‘Couture for Cancer,’ a Florida organization that supplies hair systems (not off the shelf wigs, but specifically and personally fit head gear of real hair for Chemo therapy patients.)
For just a $15 donation, I got a haircut from a Redken Salon Professional, a cookbook and for another $5 I got a raffle ticket.. I didn’t win, but it went to help someone, so I DID win! And I took a couple of cans of soup for the Harry Chapin Food Bank. A very good day!
Anyway, I went, took my cans of soup and $20 and was lead to this great girl. The girl that lead me to her had VERY short hair in the back and longer hair in the front.. of all the hair styles running around, I loved that! So when we got to my stylist, I said, “I WANT HER HAIR!! Ok, but maybe NOT that short in the back.. and no gel or spray, but JUST like hers!” (my guess is that that alone drives stylists nuts, so I was on the right track immediately! Heh. Heh. Heh.)
So, my stylist, Michelle asked, “What salon are you using now?” (she had a stick-on tag right on her left breast that was at eye level every time she was trimming the left side of my hair, so, with nothing else to look at or read, I read her tag. A lot.) (**see Michelle's contact info at bottom of story)
My reply was that I am my own salon. When I get up at 3 a.m. and something is sticking out, I generally just cut it off.. I saw her visibly pale and blanch.. I said, “yeah, I know, girl. Sadly, you’ll be correcting my sleepless nights..” She said that luckily I wanted the back really short and verified that the part where I’d originally been able to see scalp had, indeed, sort of grown out enough to be able to not be noticed now. Whew.. Then I realized that she was thinking about suggesting to me that a law suit would be in order for the shape my hair was in.. if only.. LOL
A stylist standing beside her suddenly started paying attention to my head. I noticed in the mirror that I was holding, watching the progress, that she tightened her lips and looked sympathetically at Michelle. I sighed and just hoped all would be well. Heck, she could only 'sort of' put things in order back there, right?
Then she mentioned I needed coloring. I told her that I blended my own. More paleness of her face.. she was looking rather like a Kabuki dancer by that time. I told her I used a blend of 5 colors from ash blond to bright copper and it blends out as a discontinued color red by “Nice’n’Easy” that I always loved. And that tonight was my ‘maintenance’ evening while watching the American Music Awards. She gulped and said I was very brave..(ha! She has NO idea.. mine are as big as Kansas and made of solid gold! .. ‘Danger is no stranger to me! Cha-cha-cha!’ and I LAUGH in the face of danger.. and stupidity.. ha-ha!)
But anyway, I got a hair style that wasn’t far off from what I usually wear, but it’s short in the back so I can mousse it or spray it and it will stick out, porcupine-like but very hip. I love it! And I gave her my card to contact me, incase she changes salons, and will actually hunt her out to try to correct my insomniac hair-whacking in the future. I’ll see if I can find her again. If not and I can’t sleep, the world will have to suffer with my hair in case I again let my mind wander while I hear my scissors snip and it brings me back to realization that I was in the middle of a beautification procedure.
**Contact the very brave and VERY GOOD Michelle at April's Hair Design, 15201 N. Cleveland Ave, (Merchant's Crossing Shopping Center, next to Sears), 239.656.6400 ask for THE GODDESS (what *I* call her) Michelle. Thanks, Girl! Bekki
Copyright 2007. Bekki Shanklin, from her Thinking All The Time series
Monday, October 12, 2009
Kids driving cars.. been there, done that..!
Kids driving cars.. been there, done that..!
I just read that a little 6-year-old kid decided he was hungry and decided to drive to Applebys. He took the booster seat out of the back of the car, put it on the driver's seat and proceeded to back about 75 feet till he came to a stop. Several things cross my mind at this point. One, that's either a very hungry child, or a very precocious one who will go far in the world someday.. even farther than 75 feet! Or two, he'll be doing jail time for boosting cars in a booster seat. And three.. been there, gone through that..
This story brings me back to when my beautiful daughter who is now 26, was just a 4-year-old and decided that she'd waited long enough for me to run in to see my parents and she was going to go ahead and drive home and meet me there. I had a big blue extended van, so here she was, a little bit of a thing, standing up with one hand on a steering wheel that was about as tall as she wasand her other hand took the van out of gear. Fortunately, I'd had the foresight to turn the darned thing off.. Unfortunately, I forgot to set the emergency brake.
I head merrily out the door, waving goodbye to my parents and turn my head from them to the carport. What the...???? My huge van was gone and so was my little girl kid! HOLY CRAP! My parent's carport was set on a slope and when my babygirl brought the gear shift down, the van the size of the state of florida rolled gently down the slope, across a thankfully empty street and through the neighbor across the street's wooden fence. Luckily the fence wasn't actually built yet, but the posts had been set.
The van backed over a fence post and came to rest in the sparcely-landscaped yard. Ok, there was no grass there, just scrub green stuff, but they were trying to get an actual yard going. We're lucky that that dream hadn't happened yet in some ways, as we'd have had to replace elegant landscaping. AAA when they came to get me off the post..umm, not so lucky.
After looking right and left and not seeing my van anywhere, or my daughter, the thought struck me that both were stolen. Not having very bright street lights on that street at the time, it took me a second after I scared the years off my mom and dad with my screaming and jumping up and down in fright, to look across the street and see the van. I ran down the slope, across the street and jerked the door open. My daughter was there, hanging onto the steering wheel for dear life. Hysterical and hiccuppy, tears were streaming down her little adorable face. I grabbed her to me and cried as well.
I held her away from me and wiped her little face. "What were you DOING?" I asked.
"I wanted to drive." she said. Visions of backing into a car, a bike rider, a mom with a stroller, a family of five out for a jog, all danced through my head. I quickly looked under the van to see if, indeed, one or two of the latter were pinned under the runaway vehicle. Whew.. we were lucky this time.
The saga continues: I got my girl out of the van and into my dad's arms and started up the van and prepared to drive back up the slope, park back in the car port and go to the bathroom, which, lucky for me, hadn't been an involuntary function with all the shocks of the previous 5 minutes. I pushed on the gas and the tires spun and the van went nowhere. I backed up and tried again.. THUNK and it stopped. Oh, crap, now what?
I bent over straight-legged (back in the day when I COULD do that) and saw that fence post was up against my gas tank. Double crap. Calling AAA, I went back in with my folks and my girl.. and went to the bathroom, at last. About 30 minutes later, the wrecker came to help me off the post.
Remember how I said that they were TRYING to have a yard? Well, the wrecker guy knelt down in the grass and started moaning and spouting some words that made me glad that my daughter was in the house with the folks.. turned out that the yard they were growing was all sand burrs and his knees were in them to the hilt. He hopped up and his jeans were nailed to his knees with the burrs. Yikes.. I apologized and backed a little farther away from him rather that right in the 'Hey, I'll help you' zone. He pulled on the material of his jeans and they unstuck from his knees, but man, I'll bet they burned like all get out.. he quietly picked the burrs off the jeans and kept shooting looks at me between picking them off and trying to get them unstuck off of his fingers to hurl them away from him. I smiled, shakily, refraining from asking if I could help.. I'm such a helping type of woman.
I don't remember how he actually got my van lifted up enough to jettison it off and over the fence post, but I do know that the post knocked a tiny crack in my gas tank. For the next year, every time I got into the van to go anywhere, I had to kneel down and rub a bar of soap on that little crack to keep the gas from flowing out. Apparently, soap is a great 'stopper of thing that leak'. Unimpressed with a little gas the soap doesn't break down with the fluidity of the gas. Who knew? Another thing I learned was that I went through a lot more gas during rainy season when I'd run through a puddle and have to quickly crawl under the van on the wet street to soap my tank or I'd never make it home AND have gas in the van.
A year or so later, I ran into the wrecker guy and he asked me out. I asked him how his knees were. THEN he suddenly remembered who I was and pointing down past his shorts, I saw the little scars from the sand burrs that had imbedded into his knees. When I looked up, he was backing away telling me to have a good day and I guessed at that point, our prospective date was already over. Ah well, hasta la pasta to Wrecker Man.
My girl grew up and did learn how to drive. Not with all that much confidence but we did learn quickly that she had no rhythm for the fine art of a standard shift. And to this day she hates driving so much that subconsciously, her vast intelligence with her being in dual enrollment, the Gifted group, Dean's list, incredible grades all through school and college, able to take three chemistry classes at the same time, etc., is totally fueled by the fact that she wants a job that will afford her a chauffer to drive her around so she doesn't have to do it herself. Personally, I'm behind her on that one. But she has turned out to not be a bad driver at all. But I'm going to enjoy her having someone to drive her around as well. She needs the break.. heck, she's been driving since she was FOUR!
Copyright 2007, from Bekki Shanklin's 'Thinking all the time' series
I just read that a little 6-year-old kid decided he was hungry and decided to drive to Applebys. He took the booster seat out of the back of the car, put it on the driver's seat and proceeded to back about 75 feet till he came to a stop. Several things cross my mind at this point. One, that's either a very hungry child, or a very precocious one who will go far in the world someday.. even farther than 75 feet! Or two, he'll be doing jail time for boosting cars in a booster seat. And three.. been there, gone through that..
This story brings me back to when my beautiful daughter who is now 26, was just a 4-year-old and decided that she'd waited long enough for me to run in to see my parents and she was going to go ahead and drive home and meet me there. I had a big blue extended van, so here she was, a little bit of a thing, standing up with one hand on a steering wheel that was about as tall as she wasand her other hand took the van out of gear. Fortunately, I'd had the foresight to turn the darned thing off.. Unfortunately, I forgot to set the emergency brake.
I head merrily out the door, waving goodbye to my parents and turn my head from them to the carport. What the...???? My huge van was gone and so was my little girl kid! HOLY CRAP! My parent's carport was set on a slope and when my babygirl brought the gear shift down, the van the size of the state of florida rolled gently down the slope, across a thankfully empty street and through the neighbor across the street's wooden fence. Luckily the fence wasn't actually built yet, but the posts had been set.
The van backed over a fence post and came to rest in the sparcely-landscaped yard. Ok, there was no grass there, just scrub green stuff, but they were trying to get an actual yard going. We're lucky that that dream hadn't happened yet in some ways, as we'd have had to replace elegant landscaping. AAA when they came to get me off the post..umm, not so lucky.
After looking right and left and not seeing my van anywhere, or my daughter, the thought struck me that both were stolen. Not having very bright street lights on that street at the time, it took me a second after I scared the years off my mom and dad with my screaming and jumping up and down in fright, to look across the street and see the van. I ran down the slope, across the street and jerked the door open. My daughter was there, hanging onto the steering wheel for dear life. Hysterical and hiccuppy, tears were streaming down her little adorable face. I grabbed her to me and cried as well.
I held her away from me and wiped her little face. "What were you DOING?" I asked.
"I wanted to drive." she said. Visions of backing into a car, a bike rider, a mom with a stroller, a family of five out for a jog, all danced through my head. I quickly looked under the van to see if, indeed, one or two of the latter were pinned under the runaway vehicle. Whew.. we were lucky this time.
The saga continues: I got my girl out of the van and into my dad's arms and started up the van and prepared to drive back up the slope, park back in the car port and go to the bathroom, which, lucky for me, hadn't been an involuntary function with all the shocks of the previous 5 minutes. I pushed on the gas and the tires spun and the van went nowhere. I backed up and tried again.. THUNK and it stopped. Oh, crap, now what?
I bent over straight-legged (back in the day when I COULD do that) and saw that fence post was up against my gas tank. Double crap. Calling AAA, I went back in with my folks and my girl.. and went to the bathroom, at last. About 30 minutes later, the wrecker came to help me off the post.
Remember how I said that they were TRYING to have a yard? Well, the wrecker guy knelt down in the grass and started moaning and spouting some words that made me glad that my daughter was in the house with the folks.. turned out that the yard they were growing was all sand burrs and his knees were in them to the hilt. He hopped up and his jeans were nailed to his knees with the burrs. Yikes.. I apologized and backed a little farther away from him rather that right in the 'Hey, I'll help you' zone. He pulled on the material of his jeans and they unstuck from his knees, but man, I'll bet they burned like all get out.. he quietly picked the burrs off the jeans and kept shooting looks at me between picking them off and trying to get them unstuck off of his fingers to hurl them away from him. I smiled, shakily, refraining from asking if I could help.. I'm such a helping type of woman.
I don't remember how he actually got my van lifted up enough to jettison it off and over the fence post, but I do know that the post knocked a tiny crack in my gas tank. For the next year, every time I got into the van to go anywhere, I had to kneel down and rub a bar of soap on that little crack to keep the gas from flowing out. Apparently, soap is a great 'stopper of thing that leak'. Unimpressed with a little gas the soap doesn't break down with the fluidity of the gas. Who knew? Another thing I learned was that I went through a lot more gas during rainy season when I'd run through a puddle and have to quickly crawl under the van on the wet street to soap my tank or I'd never make it home AND have gas in the van.
A year or so later, I ran into the wrecker guy and he asked me out. I asked him how his knees were. THEN he suddenly remembered who I was and pointing down past his shorts, I saw the little scars from the sand burrs that had imbedded into his knees. When I looked up, he was backing away telling me to have a good day and I guessed at that point, our prospective date was already over. Ah well, hasta la pasta to Wrecker Man.
My girl grew up and did learn how to drive. Not with all that much confidence but we did learn quickly that she had no rhythm for the fine art of a standard shift. And to this day she hates driving so much that subconsciously, her vast intelligence with her being in dual enrollment, the Gifted group, Dean's list, incredible grades all through school and college, able to take three chemistry classes at the same time, etc., is totally fueled by the fact that she wants a job that will afford her a chauffer to drive her around so she doesn't have to do it herself. Personally, I'm behind her on that one. But she has turned out to not be a bad driver at all. But I'm going to enjoy her having someone to drive her around as well. She needs the break.. heck, she's been driving since she was FOUR!
Copyright 2007, from Bekki Shanklin's 'Thinking all the time' series
The Bikini Wax or, When age overthrows Wisdom..
The Bikini Wax or, When age overthrows Wisdom..
You know when you get older and have a desire for that one last sprint into youth? Well, I had it today and decided I wanted to try a bikini wax. A great good friend of mine, Bev, is a professional esthetician and very good at her job, I must say. She does waxing, permanent makeup, facials and all sorts of cool things that people line up all day to get her to do to them. (**Her contact info available below )
Another of my great lady friends, Linda (also known as the owner of the finally finished backyard pool, discussed as Strousness Monster and the Ceement Pond) came over and we had a waxing party.. NEVER to be confused with doing the floors or wood furniture, this did not entail any energy or effort on OUR part, but we wore poor Bev out with clearing the acreage, weed whacking, or however you want to describe it. What was an effort for her with me is that I have some pretty hairy genes.
My daughter who is a beautiful girl of 24 who would lean against the door of the bathroom and her grimace would get more and more pronounced as she watched my morning ablutions. After using my comic timing for a perfect period of time, I’d then, with an evil grin say, “Guess what, at the age of 40, your coach will turn back into a pumpkin and we’ll look like twins. Heh. Heh. Heh. POUFFE!! No more gorgeous little tiny hard body.. you’ll not only grow a full beard, but you WILL become Sasquatchette and have thighs and saddle bags that would have made the Lone Ranger proud.. and maybe more Chins than a Chinese phone book..” Then I would give the evil mad scientist laugh: BBouuaaaahhhhaaahhhaaahhhhaa.. and rub my palms together in delight. I’m really surprised that my baby girl never just gave up, collapse into a corner and remained there to this day. But she didn’t, and I digress…
Here I am, lying on my bed, she’s putting warm wax on places I can’t even see and haven’t seen for like .. EVER. And then Bev’s telling me, ‘this is going to hurt a bit.’ I was thinking to myself, ‘Danger is no stranger to ME, cha-cha-cha’ and then thinking.. ‘hey, this ain’t so bad after all.’ Then RRRRIiiipppp!!!! HOLY MOTHER OF PEARL!!!!!! EEEYOOOWWWZZERZZ!! Hey, wait.. there’s not the pain that I anticipated, like when we went to see ‘The 40 Year Old Virgin’ and he had his chest waxed. He yelled for a LONG time! And watching that made my eyes water.. Hmm.. this isn’t bad at all.. not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. And then my sleeping skin woke up and said, “What the flaming heck was THAT???? I am NOT amused!” And then it all went back to sleep again until the next patch of skin was rudely awakened and then passed out with a sigh of relief.
Realizing that all three of us ladies have had children, this is NOTHING! Zip.. a mere finger-snap in time.. And Linda got her arm pits done too.. ok, I couldn’t even look at that one. Yikes.. But, she just kept right on talking like we were at The Rose Tea Room and were nibbling on crumpets .. whatever they are.. or, to put it in a perspective I can actually understand, at Arby’s tossing back those cream cheese-filled jalapenos and some Ruben sandwiches chasing it all with a jamoca shake. Sheesh, pits of steel, Linda .. my hero!
Then Bev was telling me that I was going to be walking like a cowboy that had been herding recalcitrant calves all over the state of Wyoming. Hhmm.. let me get THAT picture in my mind for a minute.. and time will tell.. morning and having to actually wear clothes will come soon.. best head to bed, relax and figure out what I can wear to work tomorrow that won’t actually touch any of my personal person.. I’ll get back with you on how it goes from here.. and if I like it.. look out.. I’ll be back! Get back in line there, little doggie!
**To contact Bev Morris, her website is BEAUTEMARX so click on the underlined word!
Copyright 2007. Bekki Shanklin, from her Thinking All The Time series
You know when you get older and have a desire for that one last sprint into youth? Well, I had it today and decided I wanted to try a bikini wax. A great good friend of mine, Bev, is a professional esthetician and very good at her job, I must say. She does waxing, permanent makeup, facials and all sorts of cool things that people line up all day to get her to do to them. (**Her contact info available below )
Another of my great lady friends, Linda (also known as the owner of the finally finished backyard pool, discussed as Strousness Monster and the Ceement Pond) came over and we had a waxing party.. NEVER to be confused with doing the floors or wood furniture, this did not entail any energy or effort on OUR part, but we wore poor Bev out with clearing the acreage, weed whacking, or however you want to describe it. What was an effort for her with me is that I have some pretty hairy genes.
My daughter who is a beautiful girl of 24 who would lean against the door of the bathroom and her grimace would get more and more pronounced as she watched my morning ablutions. After using my comic timing for a perfect period of time, I’d then, with an evil grin say, “Guess what, at the age of 40, your coach will turn back into a pumpkin and we’ll look like twins. Heh. Heh. Heh. POUFFE!! No more gorgeous little tiny hard body.. you’ll not only grow a full beard, but you WILL become Sasquatchette and have thighs and saddle bags that would have made the Lone Ranger proud.. and maybe more Chins than a Chinese phone book..” Then I would give the evil mad scientist laugh: BBouuaaaahhhhaaahhhaaahhhhaa.. and rub my palms together in delight. I’m really surprised that my baby girl never just gave up, collapse into a corner and remained there to this day. But she didn’t, and I digress…
Here I am, lying on my bed, she’s putting warm wax on places I can’t even see and haven’t seen for like .. EVER. And then Bev’s telling me, ‘this is going to hurt a bit.’ I was thinking to myself, ‘Danger is no stranger to ME, cha-cha-cha’ and then thinking.. ‘hey, this ain’t so bad after all.’ Then RRRRIiiipppp!!!! HOLY MOTHER OF PEARL!!!!!! EEEYOOOWWWZZERZZ!! Hey, wait.. there’s not the pain that I anticipated, like when we went to see ‘The 40 Year Old Virgin’ and he had his chest waxed. He yelled for a LONG time! And watching that made my eyes water.. Hmm.. this isn’t bad at all.. not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. And then my sleeping skin woke up and said, “What the flaming heck was THAT???? I am NOT amused!” And then it all went back to sleep again until the next patch of skin was rudely awakened and then passed out with a sigh of relief.
Realizing that all three of us ladies have had children, this is NOTHING! Zip.. a mere finger-snap in time.. And Linda got her arm pits done too.. ok, I couldn’t even look at that one. Yikes.. But, she just kept right on talking like we were at The Rose Tea Room and were nibbling on crumpets .. whatever they are.. or, to put it in a perspective I can actually understand, at Arby’s tossing back those cream cheese-filled jalapenos and some Ruben sandwiches chasing it all with a jamoca shake. Sheesh, pits of steel, Linda .. my hero!
Then Bev was telling me that I was going to be walking like a cowboy that had been herding recalcitrant calves all over the state of Wyoming. Hhmm.. let me get THAT picture in my mind for a minute.. and time will tell.. morning and having to actually wear clothes will come soon.. best head to bed, relax and figure out what I can wear to work tomorrow that won’t actually touch any of my personal person.. I’ll get back with you on how it goes from here.. and if I like it.. look out.. I’ll be back! Get back in line there, little doggie!
**To contact Bev Morris, her website is BEAUTEMARX so click on the underlined word!
Copyright 2007. Bekki Shanklin, from her Thinking All The Time series
A Week of Awareness.. Or.. 'Doh!' Moments NEVER Go Away, They Only Rest For Awhile
A Week of Awareness.. Or.. 'Doh!' Moments NEVER Go Away, They Only Rest For Awhile
You know, every time I think I’ve become all that AND a bag of chips, I do something that levels my own playing field that brings me into a very humble attitude.. and I also laugh at myself so much, I actually look for a place with a big sale on Depends.
Ok, some back-story, I drove myself, in labor, to have my totally beautiful daughter. I worked hard to bring her up on my own and finally married when she was 9 because I fell in love and the by-product of that was I was able to get some help raising my girl! Win-win situation!
When she was little, my dad and I installed window drapes in condos with no previous knowledge of how to do what we needed to do. When I was married, I decided to publish a magazine (again, of course, having no previous knowledge of how to produce one, I figured having my daughter with no prior thought of how to do it worked out ok, yes?) . Well, since no one told me I couldn’t, I did. With the help of my great friend, Vera, we struck out, unencumbered by any clue as to how to do it, and we did it perfectly well for years!
I have learned to take apart, repair and put together again, computers and laptops. I teach beginning computer, I build websites. I’m an award-winning wildlife artist, musician and vocalist with a 4-octave range. I CAN DRIVE A STICK-SHIFT!!!! I’m pretty darned clever most all the time! Well read on, intrepid traveler.. I will disprove this theory, big time!
At the age of 16, I was tested and was shown to have an IQ of 132.. I am thoroughly convinced that it comes in waves and when the tide is out, so is my common sense. Watch as the story of this weekend unfolds..
My dad’s 82nd birthday celebration took place up in the panhandle of Florida this last weekend. I come from a hearty stock of “If you want to do something, figure it out and get it done!”. My brother, who is a musician, incredible chef, computer guru, recording studio maven and artist as well, and his wife decided to put a musical tribute together for Dad. I said I’d drive up and film the event (cause he’s cooking and I love the area and he offers a fabulous place to stay that’s breath-taking.. yeah, I’d not turn that down AND I get to see Dad and the rest of the family as well!).
The day of the party dawned warm, perfect and exciting. Musicians who promised to show up said they’d be there about 3 pm and were! My brother, Robin, of course had started cooking a night or two before and the cooking smells were worth just standing around breathing, but we did have work to do. A friend of his came over and helped him move his entire drum set out to the pool area and I was getting ready to film the monumental event for posterity.
Everyone started showing up, I was meeting and greeting and then the first of the musicians came and set up. OK!!! I’m READY!!!!! I get my digi vid cam out and opened the little viewing door on the side. I started the cam and O GOD! O GOD! O GOD!!!! There was NO picture!!!!! I went inside and Robin’s wife, Lori, was in the kitchen (Lori is a Deputy Sheriff who weighs about a pound, is totally gorgeous, and can take down a giant in two moves, and her thinking is quick and turns on a dime.. Fab Lady!) I wandered casually inside and was talking to her and CASUALLY entered into conversation with her.. CASUALLY I began looking over my camera to see what could be horribly wrong and HOLY CRAP!!!! The lens cover was on!!! (Lori promised not to tell anyone and totally kept her word, but of course, I had to blow my own cover.. pun intended.. a true “DOH!” moment..). The rest of the day filmed perfectly and with much fun and great views of the event. (ok, some of the views were of people’s butts who decided to stand in front of the camera.. I call parts of the film the “Posteriors for Posterity Tour” ~ not sure who’s posterity, but the posteriors were frequent and in full view many times..)
But wait, it gets better…
Yesterday afternoon (and back home after the Family Fun Fest), my cell phone battery ran low and the phone shut off.. WHAT??? I’ve never had it off before! YIKES! Well, I had no phone on my long trek home. I got home and plugged it in and could look at the screen really close and barely see the little battery icon on the dark screen re-charging. I push each of the parts that I thought would turn it on, but it didn’t.. O GOD! O GOD! O GOD!!!! What if I have to buy a new battery, a new phone, is my service off? No, I just paid the bill .. O GOD! O GOD! O GOD!!!!.. what if there’s an accident (not of my own creation or involvement of course..) and how can I help someone else?? .. on and on and on.. (keeping the paper bag ready to over throw hyperventilation) Then in a fit of pique, I just said, “Ok, you stupid phone, you mean NOTHING to me.” And I ignored it for the rest of the day.
So, I got off work early, found the telephone store, read my book for an hour while I waited for my name to be called and when it was, the lady who’d sold me the phone the first of the year was there for me again (she’s totally beautiful, a writer, got great hair and was wearing FABULOUS shoes!). I told her something was wrong with my phone.. O GOD! O GOD! O GOD!!!!
She looked at the phone, did something to it and said, “Hmm.. nothing seems to be wrong with it. What’s it not doing?” “Uh, coming on? It’s dead.” She then turned the screen to me and there it was.. ON.. What the…? “It was just turned off.” Well, HOLY CRAP… Was my face red.. Ok, well, not really. I’m sort of used to Numb-nut moments. She then patiently told me how to work my own phone, especially the on and off part. Sheesh.
So, now I’m back in action with my phone. I’ve learned where the on/off button is on it and I’ve been reminded to check the lens-cap on my camera. It’s been a great week of getting back to simple basics. It seems that having all that technical stuff in my brain really doesn’t leave room for little, simple things any more. Of course, those two very simple things will stand out in my brain for a while.. maybe.
You can see my comedy and singing on youtube.. check it out.. http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=bekki+shanklin&search_type=&aq=f
Bekki Shanklin, copyright 2007, from her “Thinking All The Time” series
You know, every time I think I’ve become all that AND a bag of chips, I do something that levels my own playing field that brings me into a very humble attitude.. and I also laugh at myself so much, I actually look for a place with a big sale on Depends.
Ok, some back-story, I drove myself, in labor, to have my totally beautiful daughter. I worked hard to bring her up on my own and finally married when she was 9 because I fell in love and the by-product of that was I was able to get some help raising my girl! Win-win situation!
When she was little, my dad and I installed window drapes in condos with no previous knowledge of how to do what we needed to do. When I was married, I decided to publish a magazine (again, of course, having no previous knowledge of how to produce one, I figured having my daughter with no prior thought of how to do it worked out ok, yes?) . Well, since no one told me I couldn’t, I did. With the help of my great friend, Vera, we struck out, unencumbered by any clue as to how to do it, and we did it perfectly well for years!
I have learned to take apart, repair and put together again, computers and laptops. I teach beginning computer, I build websites. I’m an award-winning wildlife artist, musician and vocalist with a 4-octave range. I CAN DRIVE A STICK-SHIFT!!!! I’m pretty darned clever most all the time! Well read on, intrepid traveler.. I will disprove this theory, big time!
At the age of 16, I was tested and was shown to have an IQ of 132.. I am thoroughly convinced that it comes in waves and when the tide is out, so is my common sense. Watch as the story of this weekend unfolds..
My dad’s 82nd birthday celebration took place up in the panhandle of Florida this last weekend. I come from a hearty stock of “If you want to do something, figure it out and get it done!”. My brother, who is a musician, incredible chef, computer guru, recording studio maven and artist as well, and his wife decided to put a musical tribute together for Dad. I said I’d drive up and film the event (cause he’s cooking and I love the area and he offers a fabulous place to stay that’s breath-taking.. yeah, I’d not turn that down AND I get to see Dad and the rest of the family as well!).
The day of the party dawned warm, perfect and exciting. Musicians who promised to show up said they’d be there about 3 pm and were! My brother, Robin, of course had started cooking a night or two before and the cooking smells were worth just standing around breathing, but we did have work to do. A friend of his came over and helped him move his entire drum set out to the pool area and I was getting ready to film the monumental event for posterity.
Everyone started showing up, I was meeting and greeting and then the first of the musicians came and set up. OK!!! I’m READY!!!!! I get my digi vid cam out and opened the little viewing door on the side. I started the cam and O GOD! O GOD! O GOD!!!! There was NO picture!!!!! I went inside and Robin’s wife, Lori, was in the kitchen (Lori is a Deputy Sheriff who weighs about a pound, is totally gorgeous, and can take down a giant in two moves, and her thinking is quick and turns on a dime.. Fab Lady!) I wandered casually inside and was talking to her and CASUALLY entered into conversation with her.. CASUALLY I began looking over my camera to see what could be horribly wrong and HOLY CRAP!!!! The lens cover was on!!! (Lori promised not to tell anyone and totally kept her word, but of course, I had to blow my own cover.. pun intended.. a true “DOH!” moment..). The rest of the day filmed perfectly and with much fun and great views of the event. (ok, some of the views were of people’s butts who decided to stand in front of the camera.. I call parts of the film the “Posteriors for Posterity Tour” ~ not sure who’s posterity, but the posteriors were frequent and in full view many times..)
But wait, it gets better…
Yesterday afternoon (and back home after the Family Fun Fest), my cell phone battery ran low and the phone shut off.. WHAT??? I’ve never had it off before! YIKES! Well, I had no phone on my long trek home. I got home and plugged it in and could look at the screen really close and barely see the little battery icon on the dark screen re-charging. I push each of the parts that I thought would turn it on, but it didn’t.. O GOD! O GOD! O GOD!!!! What if I have to buy a new battery, a new phone, is my service off? No, I just paid the bill .. O GOD! O GOD! O GOD!!!!.. what if there’s an accident (not of my own creation or involvement of course..) and how can I help someone else?? .. on and on and on.. (keeping the paper bag ready to over throw hyperventilation) Then in a fit of pique, I just said, “Ok, you stupid phone, you mean NOTHING to me.” And I ignored it for the rest of the day.
So, I got off work early, found the telephone store, read my book for an hour while I waited for my name to be called and when it was, the lady who’d sold me the phone the first of the year was there for me again (she’s totally beautiful, a writer, got great hair and was wearing FABULOUS shoes!). I told her something was wrong with my phone.. O GOD! O GOD! O GOD!!!!
She looked at the phone, did something to it and said, “Hmm.. nothing seems to be wrong with it. What’s it not doing?” “Uh, coming on? It’s dead.” She then turned the screen to me and there it was.. ON.. What the…? “It was just turned off.” Well, HOLY CRAP… Was my face red.. Ok, well, not really. I’m sort of used to Numb-nut moments. She then patiently told me how to work my own phone, especially the on and off part. Sheesh.
So, now I’m back in action with my phone. I’ve learned where the on/off button is on it and I’ve been reminded to check the lens-cap on my camera. It’s been a great week of getting back to simple basics. It seems that having all that technical stuff in my brain really doesn’t leave room for little, simple things any more. Of course, those two very simple things will stand out in my brain for a while.. maybe.
You can see my comedy and singing on youtube.. check it out.. http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=bekki+shanklin&search_type=&aq=f
Bekki Shanklin, copyright 2007, from her “Thinking All The Time” series
Running away from home
Running away from home..
There’s a very cute commercial on TV right now. (‘Advert’ for our British fans..) It’s a little bitty boy with bright red hair, pacing with purpose down a sidewalk, teddy bear under one arm and a tiny suitcase in his other hand. Behind him, driving very slowly is his mom. And the voice-over is talking about his mom being there when he’s tired of running away to the circus.
I thought back to my daughter’s growing up. She is away in school and I miss her terribly. But I digress.. I was thinking back on our growing up together and I didn’t remember her ever running away from home. When I was small, I packed my little suitcase.. it was one of those cardboard ones with, I think, Barbie on it.. I know my arms were loaded down, but have no real recollection of what they were loaded with. I do know that, since I wasn’t allowed to cross the street, I sat cross-legged at the end of the sidewalk for what seemed like hours (Mom said it was about 15 minutes.. but it’s all perception, yes? LOL) and then standing up, dragging it all back in and that was the end of it.
I then called my Chicklette and asked her if she ever ran away. She said, “Sure I did! I was seven and I moved out.”
WHAT??? Where the heck was *I*????
She then went on to tell me that she moved under the stairs outside of our apartment (it was inside stairs, so she wasn’t left to the elements.. probably just dust). She hauled her Cabbage Patch Big Wheels down there (maybe for a fast get-away, incase she wanted to see more of the world on her own), took some sheets and a blanket and made a bed and hung out down there. Again, where the heck was *I*??
She went into some detail, reminding me of the guy and girl that lived across the hall that babysat her occasionally. Amazing.. I can’t believe how much I remember that I apprise her of, but I’m always stunned at what she comes up with on her own for memories. What an amazing, beautiful and brilliant girl she is.. I’m so blessed with having her in my life. Or within 3 hours of my actual life..
Well, let me hop into the ‘way back machine to other times when my littlest brother and I ventured off into the wild blue yonder as little kids..
I was born and raised in laid back, quiet, safe Iowa and we lived next door to an old Jewish cemetery. It was beautiful and so peaceful and I’d take my Nancy Drew books over and lay on a headstone and read the afternoon away.. I used to eat the berries that grew on all the fences (Until Dad told me that most of the ‘inmates’ of the property weren’t buried in coffins and probably their.. uh.. pieces-parts were fertilizing the berries.. I thought of all the weeks and years that I’d sated myself, wiped the berry juice off my chin and it was full of DEAD GUYS!?!?!?! Oh, GAK! Double GAK.. Double GAK and a half!!! )
Anyway, digressing again.. Here I am sitting on my favorite headstone, reading Nancy Drew’s latest adventure, a lap full of gooseberries, black berries and raspberries (BEFORE I learned that I was eating DEAD GUYS), and watching a bunch of people coming to my house and then leaving again.. Shrugging, I went back to reading and eating (Dead Guy Berries, remember?).
Finishing the (dead guy) berries.. (still shuddering just to think about that), I sighed and closed the book and sashayed back to the house. My mom screamed, ran over grabbed me up and hugged me and then paddled my butt.. HUH? That was a confusing set of moves.. Turns out, I was lost for a long time. Hmmm.. *I* knew where I was! What’s the big deal? So, after the tears of joy from my mom and the tears of, ‘What the heck?’ from me, we decided that in the future, I’d mention that I was going over to read and dine on DEAD GUY berries. (Remember, I still wasn’t apprised of the fertilizer situation in the cemetery). All was well after that.. with me..
But then, came the situation with my littlest brother.. Revisit me in the cemetery, reading, eating and enjoying the day.. I look up to see people coming and going again and hopped down, stuffed the rest of the Dead Guy berries into my mouth and wandering home. This time, Mom wasn’t looking for me.. it was my second little brother, Robin, she was looking for.. he was about four or five at the time. So, I volunteered to ride my cool bike all over the neighborhood to look for him.
My other brother was two years younger than me and had a red bike. My bike was a girl’s bike and it had a bell and basket. The nut the held the handle bars to the bike said ANDROCK.. no idea why I remember that except that when I hit a fence post, I felt it was branded into my pubic bone for weeks.. yikes, that hurt. But yet AGAIN, I digress..
I hopped on my brother’s camel our bikes had many personalities and names and characteristics of many heroes and means of travel. His was red and FAST! Mine was blue and had a basket and bell. He was cool with my thieving his bike if he could ring the bell on mine and put all his sports stuff in the basket) and road all over the area calling my little brother’s name. Well, that worked wonderfully up until I passed the little local store (wood floors, ceiling fans, no air conditioning ~ it was ancient times, remember, before we ever knew of a/c) and I had a dime.. suddenly, it was ‘what brother?’.. What? Where? Who? IT WAS TIME FOR A SMOKE!!!!!!
Back then I could get a handy, flip-top pack of candy cigarettes for a nickel. Or I could get a package of those little wax soda bottles that housed some of the raunchiest, sweet flavor on the planet and my girlfriends and I LOVED them! (course it left our teeth the same color as whatever heinous stuff was in it.. but, again, I digress). OR.. I could get some waxed red lips.. wow, the tension was maddening.. so I decided to save half of my fortune and grab the ‘smokes’ while I looked for my brother.. oh, yeah, MY BROTHER!!!!! He could be out there in danger.. wild dogs, bears, my girl friends putting their mother’s make-up on him and dressing him like a little doll .. who even knew! It was the 50s, it didn’t seem as dangerous back then, but in my mind, Nancy Drew and I were on the trail.
I stood up and pedaled my little legs as if they were pistons and Nancy and I needed find that kid! But wait.. I needed a smoke first. Pulling over to the side of the road, I chewed up a cig and relaxed. Refreshed, I pedaled my wares on the road and went back on duty. Having only gone a whole block (this was Iowa, these were long blocks), I realized I was thirsty after all the cig-chewing and went back home for water.
While I was slurping down the water, I happened to spill it all over my shirt.. you remember those cute matching shirt and shorts outfits worn with TOTALLY pristine white sneakers and ruffle-dy socks? Well, I had to change. Walking so my long pony tail whipped back and forth (I mastered that walk.. have no idea how it’s done now). I heaved a HUGE sigh and I went to my closet (ok my sister’s and my closet) .. a sort of large, walk-in sort (that was then, probably today, it’s probably a regular size linen closet without the shelving.. but back then, it was HUGE.. especially when I had to clean it out on a regular basis). And I stepped over my little brother who was sound asleep on all my teddy bears.
HOLD THE PHONE! Here he was!!!! What a little rat! I was out there smoking myself into a frazzle and sweating and ruining my cool outfit and the little twerp (ya’ll remember that work, my old friends?) was sound-eyed asleep on my bears!
I stomped out to the living room where my mom was pacing and promising everything to who ever the almighty is to allow her son to live. Righteously, I pulled myself up tall, adjusted my glasses that kept sliding down my hot and sweaty face, moved my shoulders so my pony tail went back down my back, and said, “HE”S ASLEEP ON MY BEARS!!!” With that declaration, my mom rushed to the closet, swept him up and hugged and kissed him awake.
HOLD THE PHONE AGAIN!!! Where was all the bottom spanking? *I* got a whoopin’ and all he got was hugs!?!?!?! LIFE IS NOT FAIR!! Well, PFFT! Where is the justice? Well, there was only one recourse: Back on the bike, pedal to the store, buy the wax lips with my last nickel and once back home, hop off the bike while it was still going about 3400 miles an hour and watch it hit the garage and fall over (wasn’t MY bike, right?), get old Nancy Drew, and stomp off to the cemetery and smoke and chew up my wax lips..
The quiet peace of the afternoon (and the silence of the ‘inmates’) helped assuage my indignation and Nancy Drew ‘drew’ me into danger and the solving of mysteries, the cigs and wax lips got me through the rest of the afternoon and all was right with the world again.
And then there was the time that my little sister, Heidi, and Stevie, the next-door neighbor kid decided that they’d go see the horse that lived at the end of the street.. I was sitting on a head stone, reading Nancy Drew and still didn’t know I was eating Dead Guy berries….
Copyright 2007. Bekki Shanklin, from her Thinking All The Time series.
There’s a very cute commercial on TV right now. (‘Advert’ for our British fans..) It’s a little bitty boy with bright red hair, pacing with purpose down a sidewalk, teddy bear under one arm and a tiny suitcase in his other hand. Behind him, driving very slowly is his mom. And the voice-over is talking about his mom being there when he’s tired of running away to the circus.
I thought back to my daughter’s growing up. She is away in school and I miss her terribly. But I digress.. I was thinking back on our growing up together and I didn’t remember her ever running away from home. When I was small, I packed my little suitcase.. it was one of those cardboard ones with, I think, Barbie on it.. I know my arms were loaded down, but have no real recollection of what they were loaded with. I do know that, since I wasn’t allowed to cross the street, I sat cross-legged at the end of the sidewalk for what seemed like hours (Mom said it was about 15 minutes.. but it’s all perception, yes? LOL) and then standing up, dragging it all back in and that was the end of it.
I then called my Chicklette and asked her if she ever ran away. She said, “Sure I did! I was seven and I moved out.”
WHAT??? Where the heck was *I*????
She then went on to tell me that she moved under the stairs outside of our apartment (it was inside stairs, so she wasn’t left to the elements.. probably just dust). She hauled her Cabbage Patch Big Wheels down there (maybe for a fast get-away, incase she wanted to see more of the world on her own), took some sheets and a blanket and made a bed and hung out down there. Again, where the heck was *I*??
She went into some detail, reminding me of the guy and girl that lived across the hall that babysat her occasionally. Amazing.. I can’t believe how much I remember that I apprise her of, but I’m always stunned at what she comes up with on her own for memories. What an amazing, beautiful and brilliant girl she is.. I’m so blessed with having her in my life. Or within 3 hours of my actual life..
Well, let me hop into the ‘way back machine to other times when my littlest brother and I ventured off into the wild blue yonder as little kids..
I was born and raised in laid back, quiet, safe Iowa and we lived next door to an old Jewish cemetery. It was beautiful and so peaceful and I’d take my Nancy Drew books over and lay on a headstone and read the afternoon away.. I used to eat the berries that grew on all the fences (Until Dad told me that most of the ‘inmates’ of the property weren’t buried in coffins and probably their.. uh.. pieces-parts were fertilizing the berries.. I thought of all the weeks and years that I’d sated myself, wiped the berry juice off my chin and it was full of DEAD GUYS!?!?!?! Oh, GAK! Double GAK.. Double GAK and a half!!! )
Anyway, digressing again.. Here I am sitting on my favorite headstone, reading Nancy Drew’s latest adventure, a lap full of gooseberries, black berries and raspberries (BEFORE I learned that I was eating DEAD GUYS), and watching a bunch of people coming to my house and then leaving again.. Shrugging, I went back to reading and eating (Dead Guy Berries, remember?).
Finishing the (dead guy) berries.. (still shuddering just to think about that), I sighed and closed the book and sashayed back to the house. My mom screamed, ran over grabbed me up and hugged me and then paddled my butt.. HUH? That was a confusing set of moves.. Turns out, I was lost for a long time. Hmmm.. *I* knew where I was! What’s the big deal? So, after the tears of joy from my mom and the tears of, ‘What the heck?’ from me, we decided that in the future, I’d mention that I was going over to read and dine on DEAD GUY berries. (Remember, I still wasn’t apprised of the fertilizer situation in the cemetery). All was well after that.. with me..
But then, came the situation with my littlest brother.. Revisit me in the cemetery, reading, eating and enjoying the day.. I look up to see people coming and going again and hopped down, stuffed the rest of the Dead Guy berries into my mouth and wandering home. This time, Mom wasn’t looking for me.. it was my second little brother, Robin, she was looking for.. he was about four or five at the time. So, I volunteered to ride my cool bike all over the neighborhood to look for him.
My other brother was two years younger than me and had a red bike. My bike was a girl’s bike and it had a bell and basket. The nut the held the handle bars to the bike said ANDROCK.. no idea why I remember that except that when I hit a fence post, I felt it was branded into my pubic bone for weeks.. yikes, that hurt. But yet AGAIN, I digress..
I hopped on my brother’s camel our bikes had many personalities and names and characteristics of many heroes and means of travel. His was red and FAST! Mine was blue and had a basket and bell. He was cool with my thieving his bike if he could ring the bell on mine and put all his sports stuff in the basket) and road all over the area calling my little brother’s name. Well, that worked wonderfully up until I passed the little local store (wood floors, ceiling fans, no air conditioning ~ it was ancient times, remember, before we ever knew of a/c) and I had a dime.. suddenly, it was ‘what brother?’.. What? Where? Who? IT WAS TIME FOR A SMOKE!!!!!!
Back then I could get a handy, flip-top pack of candy cigarettes for a nickel. Or I could get a package of those little wax soda bottles that housed some of the raunchiest, sweet flavor on the planet and my girlfriends and I LOVED them! (course it left our teeth the same color as whatever heinous stuff was in it.. but, again, I digress). OR.. I could get some waxed red lips.. wow, the tension was maddening.. so I decided to save half of my fortune and grab the ‘smokes’ while I looked for my brother.. oh, yeah, MY BROTHER!!!!! He could be out there in danger.. wild dogs, bears, my girl friends putting their mother’s make-up on him and dressing him like a little doll .. who even knew! It was the 50s, it didn’t seem as dangerous back then, but in my mind, Nancy Drew and I were on the trail.
I stood up and pedaled my little legs as if they were pistons and Nancy and I needed find that kid! But wait.. I needed a smoke first. Pulling over to the side of the road, I chewed up a cig and relaxed. Refreshed, I pedaled my wares on the road and went back on duty. Having only gone a whole block (this was Iowa, these were long blocks), I realized I was thirsty after all the cig-chewing and went back home for water.
While I was slurping down the water, I happened to spill it all over my shirt.. you remember those cute matching shirt and shorts outfits worn with TOTALLY pristine white sneakers and ruffle-dy socks? Well, I had to change. Walking so my long pony tail whipped back and forth (I mastered that walk.. have no idea how it’s done now). I heaved a HUGE sigh and I went to my closet (ok my sister’s and my closet) .. a sort of large, walk-in sort (that was then, probably today, it’s probably a regular size linen closet without the shelving.. but back then, it was HUGE.. especially when I had to clean it out on a regular basis). And I stepped over my little brother who was sound asleep on all my teddy bears.
HOLD THE PHONE! Here he was!!!! What a little rat! I was out there smoking myself into a frazzle and sweating and ruining my cool outfit and the little twerp (ya’ll remember that work, my old friends?) was sound-eyed asleep on my bears!
I stomped out to the living room where my mom was pacing and promising everything to who ever the almighty is to allow her son to live. Righteously, I pulled myself up tall, adjusted my glasses that kept sliding down my hot and sweaty face, moved my shoulders so my pony tail went back down my back, and said, “HE”S ASLEEP ON MY BEARS!!!” With that declaration, my mom rushed to the closet, swept him up and hugged and kissed him awake.
HOLD THE PHONE AGAIN!!! Where was all the bottom spanking? *I* got a whoopin’ and all he got was hugs!?!?!?! LIFE IS NOT FAIR!! Well, PFFT! Where is the justice? Well, there was only one recourse: Back on the bike, pedal to the store, buy the wax lips with my last nickel and once back home, hop off the bike while it was still going about 3400 miles an hour and watch it hit the garage and fall over (wasn’t MY bike, right?), get old Nancy Drew, and stomp off to the cemetery and smoke and chew up my wax lips..
The quiet peace of the afternoon (and the silence of the ‘inmates’) helped assuage my indignation and Nancy Drew ‘drew’ me into danger and the solving of mysteries, the cigs and wax lips got me through the rest of the afternoon and all was right with the world again.
And then there was the time that my little sister, Heidi, and Stevie, the next-door neighbor kid decided that they’d go see the horse that lived at the end of the street.. I was sitting on a head stone, reading Nancy Drew and still didn’t know I was eating Dead Guy berries….
Copyright 2007. Bekki Shanklin, from her Thinking All The Time series.
The Cee-ment Pond, part 2.. the saga continues..
The Cee-ment Pond, part 2.. the saga continues..
Sunday dawned cool and beautiful. Linda had scheduled the concrete guy to come and bring a truck load for us to ‘shoot’ around the outside of the pool walls. The other renter, Ron, had his concrete shooter hooked to his truck in the front yard.
I quietly peeked my head out of my room and there was dead silence. Whew.. maybe they forgot I was here. Previously on Hill Street Blues.. wait, wrong show.. Previously on Wood Street Blues.. ah, we’re back!.. there were supposed to be a couple of guys come over to help ‘shoot the crete’ around the outside of the pool walls: Chris (who’s name has been changed to protect .. something, but then I couldn’t think of a cool name to call him so his name will remain as his real one), called at 7, saying he was sick and couldn’t make it, which meant that when we needed him, and he was texting his woman, he’d have to finish the text-ing before engaging in the ‘shooting of the crete’ and he’d rather text than shoot… .
The other guy, I forget his name, who had such health problems that he was on two morphine patches and would pass out as you were in conversation with him (he was also the one who ran the little front end loader the very first day and kept tipping it over and having to crawl out and drag the back end back down ~ very strong, but not really continuously coherent ~ and drive the load of sand around to the next pile.. ), called off because his wife wasn’t feeling well. Guess if one gets her time of the month at that household, the whole family does.. go figure.
Anyway, I was in charge of holding the little extension cord with the on/off switch to the concrete shooing.. thing.. (“Hey, this is easy!”). Ron, the shooter, walked the big hose from the far corner, down the side toward me and around the end where the steps are and around that corner and half way down, and ran out of hose.
“Sorry, ladies, we’re going to have to take the hose back around the front of the house and come in from the other way.” Uh-oh.. hhmmm the ‘we’ word .. it’s cool, I can do this! So, I laid the little light-weight switch on the end of a really light weight extension cord and said, full of bravado and cchhhhutzpa.. both of which were as false as a silk plant in a patch of fresh flowers.. said, “I’m here for ya, man!”
Lying bravely and trying to bend over in the stupid shorts I’d picked to wear for the day, I pulled up the legs, bent over to pick up this heavy-ass hose (that was, on top of everything else, really dirty). Here I am, hitching up the legs of my shorts, bending over, reaching for the hose to haul, and the hose just ‘skippidy do dah day’d’ beyond my reach.
Did you ever see those funny videos of someone torturing a little kid (and usually winning $10,000 because of it) by dragging something in front of him and making him reach down, run a few steps, reach down and run a few more, never catching what was being pulled ahead of him, but too ignorant to figure out how to actually catch it? We all laughed our butts off, right? Well, it’s not so funny when you’re the older ‘little kid’ who was trying to catch that danged hose, trying to help and not look like a doof.
Finally, I decided to run ahead of the hose and jump into the loop and bend over (again, reaching down to pull up my shorts legs) and grab it as it came to me and catch it up and jog right on behind the guy who had it over his shoulder and was jogging around the house. That would have been really cool if it had actually worked out like that, wouldn’t it? Sad to say, it came rushing at me, ran up over the tops of my bare, thronged feet and darned near threw me down, face first into the driveway. OW. The driveway is a very unforgiving strip of asphalt, but luckily I caught myself in time and didn’t get hurt too badly.. either physically or for the amusement of others.
Did you know that on Sundays, the whole neighborhood is in motion? Jogging, walking dogs, driving slowly by and gawking, coming out of homes to see what’s going on in their neighbor’s homes.. (we even had one nosey nimrod that actually said, “I’m from three streets over and want to know if this will concern me in any way? What are you doing and do you have permission to do any of this?”)
After we all looked at him in surprise, (I had visions of going over, scooping up a shovel full of wet cement and asking him to hold it in his lap.. but luckily for me and the fact that going to court and doing actual jail time sort of scares the hell out of me, the moment passed.. what a drive-by butthead, though..) he was smartly dispatched by us turning around and ignoring him. He finally drove away (probably because he didn’t want to walk all the way up to the door where the permits are taped or getting accidentally hit in the back of the head with my shovel and ending up as part of the cement collar holding the pool together.. call me Guido.)
But I digress.. I was able to actually get hold of the hose when it suddenly stopped. I picked it up (and mentally went ‘eeaauww’ when I saw how dirty it was) and started hauling my end up to where Ron was standing. I fleetingly noticed Linda bent over by the side of the house.. it didn’t enter my head or penetrate skin until I sort of jogged up to her, about 10 feet with that hose cradled against my chest and I was sort of jogging-staggering toward her that she was saying in a breathy tone that she was maybe having a heart attack. That bad boy was heavy as hell! But she straightened up, looked a bit vacant and then came back around.
What we’d forgotten about was not only was the hose itself weighy, but it was also full of un-shot concrete. Double Duh and a half! Sheesh! What I also didn’t realize until I went into the same zone that Linda was, thinking she was having a heart attack. At this point, I was only seeing those dark spots before my eyes and I was distracted from being totally alarmed by the fact that they were now turning into bright, iridescent, cool-looking shapes and zooming off like a fire works show.
The toss up was, A) enjoy the show or B) get a bit tense because my heart was trying to burst out of my shirt. I decided, screw it, enjoy the show and hope that I am able to catch my breath again before the day was out. But then I saw a bright light and my mom, who’d passed in ’85, was waving at me. “Mom? I’m comin, Ma!” WAIT! I have work to do here! So the bright white light faded and I waved a fond adieu to her. Sigh. Back to work..
We finally got the hose relocated to the other side of the house and around to the back. I think what made it more frustrating was that the guy who brought the truck load of cement was sitting on the side of his truck smoking a cigarette and watching the entertainment of two women about ready to walk into the light and see God (and my Mom). Butthead.
Moments later, in reality, but it seemed as if time stopped for about an hour and a half, Linda was in the back w the hose, waiting to shoot the rest of the concrete around the pool, but the mix was so crappy that it all separated and Ron had to climb into the hopper and shovel it all out onto the lawn to un-jam what was stuck in the thingy that the hose hooked into. So, he was scooping it all out onto the lawn. Something about that didn’t seem right, but I was trying to stuff my bulging eyeballs back into my face and not have my head explode from recovering from toting that hose full of cement.
I later realized that we’d have to remove the cement from the drainage ditch or during the rainy season, the rest of the neighbors and the housing association were going to get very cranky and it would probably spawn some hefty fines for Linda or at least some severe and very annoying whining from someone driving past and putting in their two cents for no reason at all. (We’d just witnessed that happenstance, and were not willing to deal with it again, on any level)
What was TOTALLY lucky for me, was that I’d planned to go to Dinner Theatre matinee with a couple of lady friends of mine and my parole was about to come up sooner than later! Ahhh.. life is good!!!
So, in my benevolence, I decided to go ahead and shovel up the mess in the ditch, toss it into the wheelbarrow that Linda had brought down and thus, started scooping and tossing into the waiting bucket. Suddenly, the darn thing tipped over. I’d shoveled too much, too much faster than Linda was filling her side and over it went. I scrambled up the little incline, my thongs sticking and my walking out of them to help get the barrow back upright. Easier said than done.. we were lifting heavy stuff again. After much mental swearing (ok, maybe there WERE a few discouraging words being heard, but the sky was not cloudy all day!), we got the thing set up again for the load.
Once loaded, Linda decided to just pick it up and run it on back to the back yard. In theory and desire, she was there. Regarding the muscle and the back up and push it would take to get it there, it lacked something.. mainly, the muscle and back up and push. So, again, I scrambled up the little incline, again losing my flops and after stopping and retrieving them, Ron had gently moved Linda out of the way by saying, “Look out, I’ve got it.” And leaving both of us in the dust (which was my plan altogether, which had worked for me for years as a kid avoiding helping mom w the dishes in the evenings by claiming nature calls to the bathroom. Little did she know that in that length of time I’d been able to read the entire 45 volumes of the encyclopedia set we’d bought and were in the handy-dandy wall off books JUST outside the bathroom door in our house in Iowa. Good goin’, dad! My favorite tome was the one that said ‘Banf to Boxing’ and the one w the cellophane body in it where you turn the pages and it layers to go from skin to bones and back again.. NEAT-O!).
At that point, the helpful concrete driver had accosted Linda for his money, and while they were counting out the bux, I took the hose and completely, to the best of my ability started washing down Ron’s bit yellow concrete shooting appendage on the back of his truck. This not only helped my heart-rate get back to acceptable beat-age, but bought me time looking like I was doing something before I could escape for my dinner theatre date. Stupidly, I finished and asked what else was needed before I got ready to go. Luckily, I only had to roll up the water hose and be on my way to getting ready.
That was Sunday. Monday, the concrete hardened. Tuesday, I came home from work and decided to fill in under the pool stairs with sand, so people could just walk across a little bridge from the ‘mainland’ to the pool and climb down to do the finish work in the center itself.
So, I went right out after work, picked up a shovel and went off in my mind with many thoughts while I shoveled like an automaton. Ten minutes later, I was suddenly brought back to the real world by the black dots. Whew! I stopped and looked at my progress and my right arm was a bit tender. Time to change arms. (this is my ‘work my body evenly so that on one side I don’t look like Ahh-nold and on the other side have the muscle and attraction of a stewing chicken’ mind-set ~ usually it happens that I don’t work either side, so I’m evenly soggy on both sides.. works for me!)
I shoveled again, getting lost in my thoughts, was brought back by the black dots. Stopped and calmed, thought and breathed. Then I needed to climb down and get the sand totally under the steps and packed down. So, I did that, got lost in thought and didn’t come back till beyond the black dots and was going into the iridescent fireworks. Hanging onto the handle of the shovel, I sat on the side of the sand wall where I’d been shoveling. The white light opened up and my mom was there, not looking pleased.
In my mind, she was telling me, “Look, I’ve got stuff to do up here, I can’t be just running to the light to see what you’re up to, we’re not ready for you yet, your room’s not finished yet. OY! Get yourself back in there, stop digging and leave me alone! I love you, will see you someday, now Go Away!” Taking that to heart (once I caught it and returned it to my chest, while questioning who my mom has been hanging out with to come up with the ‘oy!’ thing, I decided that I could wait for another time to go see my big lavender room in the sky, I dragged myself out of the hole, leaned the shovel up against the wall and went in to clean up and find something to eat.
The saga will continue, but maybe not with my personal participation in it.. I’ll just keep taking pictures from afar..
Bekki Shanklin, copyright 2006, from her “Thinking All The Time” series
Sunday dawned cool and beautiful. Linda had scheduled the concrete guy to come and bring a truck load for us to ‘shoot’ around the outside of the pool walls. The other renter, Ron, had his concrete shooter hooked to his truck in the front yard.
I quietly peeked my head out of my room and there was dead silence. Whew.. maybe they forgot I was here. Previously on Hill Street Blues.. wait, wrong show.. Previously on Wood Street Blues.. ah, we’re back!.. there were supposed to be a couple of guys come over to help ‘shoot the crete’ around the outside of the pool walls: Chris (who’s name has been changed to protect .. something, but then I couldn’t think of a cool name to call him so his name will remain as his real one), called at 7, saying he was sick and couldn’t make it, which meant that when we needed him, and he was texting his woman, he’d have to finish the text-ing before engaging in the ‘shooting of the crete’ and he’d rather text than shoot… .
The other guy, I forget his name, who had such health problems that he was on two morphine patches and would pass out as you were in conversation with him (he was also the one who ran the little front end loader the very first day and kept tipping it over and having to crawl out and drag the back end back down ~ very strong, but not really continuously coherent ~ and drive the load of sand around to the next pile.. ), called off because his wife wasn’t feeling well. Guess if one gets her time of the month at that household, the whole family does.. go figure.
Anyway, I was in charge of holding the little extension cord with the on/off switch to the concrete shooing.. thing.. (“Hey, this is easy!”). Ron, the shooter, walked the big hose from the far corner, down the side toward me and around the end where the steps are and around that corner and half way down, and ran out of hose.
“Sorry, ladies, we’re going to have to take the hose back around the front of the house and come in from the other way.” Uh-oh.. hhmmm the ‘we’ word .. it’s cool, I can do this! So, I laid the little light-weight switch on the end of a really light weight extension cord and said, full of bravado and cchhhhutzpa.. both of which were as false as a silk plant in a patch of fresh flowers.. said, “I’m here for ya, man!”
Lying bravely and trying to bend over in the stupid shorts I’d picked to wear for the day, I pulled up the legs, bent over to pick up this heavy-ass hose (that was, on top of everything else, really dirty). Here I am, hitching up the legs of my shorts, bending over, reaching for the hose to haul, and the hose just ‘skippidy do dah day’d’ beyond my reach.
Did you ever see those funny videos of someone torturing a little kid (and usually winning $10,000 because of it) by dragging something in front of him and making him reach down, run a few steps, reach down and run a few more, never catching what was being pulled ahead of him, but too ignorant to figure out how to actually catch it? We all laughed our butts off, right? Well, it’s not so funny when you’re the older ‘little kid’ who was trying to catch that danged hose, trying to help and not look like a doof.
Finally, I decided to run ahead of the hose and jump into the loop and bend over (again, reaching down to pull up my shorts legs) and grab it as it came to me and catch it up and jog right on behind the guy who had it over his shoulder and was jogging around the house. That would have been really cool if it had actually worked out like that, wouldn’t it? Sad to say, it came rushing at me, ran up over the tops of my bare, thronged feet and darned near threw me down, face first into the driveway. OW. The driveway is a very unforgiving strip of asphalt, but luckily I caught myself in time and didn’t get hurt too badly.. either physically or for the amusement of others.
Did you know that on Sundays, the whole neighborhood is in motion? Jogging, walking dogs, driving slowly by and gawking, coming out of homes to see what’s going on in their neighbor’s homes.. (we even had one nosey nimrod that actually said, “I’m from three streets over and want to know if this will concern me in any way? What are you doing and do you have permission to do any of this?”)
After we all looked at him in surprise, (I had visions of going over, scooping up a shovel full of wet cement and asking him to hold it in his lap.. but luckily for me and the fact that going to court and doing actual jail time sort of scares the hell out of me, the moment passed.. what a drive-by butthead, though..) he was smartly dispatched by us turning around and ignoring him. He finally drove away (probably because he didn’t want to walk all the way up to the door where the permits are taped or getting accidentally hit in the back of the head with my shovel and ending up as part of the cement collar holding the pool together.. call me Guido.)
But I digress.. I was able to actually get hold of the hose when it suddenly stopped. I picked it up (and mentally went ‘eeaauww’ when I saw how dirty it was) and started hauling my end up to where Ron was standing. I fleetingly noticed Linda bent over by the side of the house.. it didn’t enter my head or penetrate skin until I sort of jogged up to her, about 10 feet with that hose cradled against my chest and I was sort of jogging-staggering toward her that she was saying in a breathy tone that she was maybe having a heart attack. That bad boy was heavy as hell! But she straightened up, looked a bit vacant and then came back around.
What we’d forgotten about was not only was the hose itself weighy, but it was also full of un-shot concrete. Double Duh and a half! Sheesh! What I also didn’t realize until I went into the same zone that Linda was, thinking she was having a heart attack. At this point, I was only seeing those dark spots before my eyes and I was distracted from being totally alarmed by the fact that they were now turning into bright, iridescent, cool-looking shapes and zooming off like a fire works show.
The toss up was, A) enjoy the show or B) get a bit tense because my heart was trying to burst out of my shirt. I decided, screw it, enjoy the show and hope that I am able to catch my breath again before the day was out. But then I saw a bright light and my mom, who’d passed in ’85, was waving at me. “Mom? I’m comin, Ma!” WAIT! I have work to do here! So the bright white light faded and I waved a fond adieu to her. Sigh. Back to work..
We finally got the hose relocated to the other side of the house and around to the back. I think what made it more frustrating was that the guy who brought the truck load of cement was sitting on the side of his truck smoking a cigarette and watching the entertainment of two women about ready to walk into the light and see God (and my Mom). Butthead.
Moments later, in reality, but it seemed as if time stopped for about an hour and a half, Linda was in the back w the hose, waiting to shoot the rest of the concrete around the pool, but the mix was so crappy that it all separated and Ron had to climb into the hopper and shovel it all out onto the lawn to un-jam what was stuck in the thingy that the hose hooked into. So, he was scooping it all out onto the lawn. Something about that didn’t seem right, but I was trying to stuff my bulging eyeballs back into my face and not have my head explode from recovering from toting that hose full of cement.
I later realized that we’d have to remove the cement from the drainage ditch or during the rainy season, the rest of the neighbors and the housing association were going to get very cranky and it would probably spawn some hefty fines for Linda or at least some severe and very annoying whining from someone driving past and putting in their two cents for no reason at all. (We’d just witnessed that happenstance, and were not willing to deal with it again, on any level)
What was TOTALLY lucky for me, was that I’d planned to go to Dinner Theatre matinee with a couple of lady friends of mine and my parole was about to come up sooner than later! Ahhh.. life is good!!!
So, in my benevolence, I decided to go ahead and shovel up the mess in the ditch, toss it into the wheelbarrow that Linda had brought down and thus, started scooping and tossing into the waiting bucket. Suddenly, the darn thing tipped over. I’d shoveled too much, too much faster than Linda was filling her side and over it went. I scrambled up the little incline, my thongs sticking and my walking out of them to help get the barrow back upright. Easier said than done.. we were lifting heavy stuff again. After much mental swearing (ok, maybe there WERE a few discouraging words being heard, but the sky was not cloudy all day!), we got the thing set up again for the load.
Once loaded, Linda decided to just pick it up and run it on back to the back yard. In theory and desire, she was there. Regarding the muscle and the back up and push it would take to get it there, it lacked something.. mainly, the muscle and back up and push. So, again, I scrambled up the little incline, again losing my flops and after stopping and retrieving them, Ron had gently moved Linda out of the way by saying, “Look out, I’ve got it.” And leaving both of us in the dust (which was my plan altogether, which had worked for me for years as a kid avoiding helping mom w the dishes in the evenings by claiming nature calls to the bathroom. Little did she know that in that length of time I’d been able to read the entire 45 volumes of the encyclopedia set we’d bought and were in the handy-dandy wall off books JUST outside the bathroom door in our house in Iowa. Good goin’, dad! My favorite tome was the one that said ‘Banf to Boxing’ and the one w the cellophane body in it where you turn the pages and it layers to go from skin to bones and back again.. NEAT-O!).
At that point, the helpful concrete driver had accosted Linda for his money, and while they were counting out the bux, I took the hose and completely, to the best of my ability started washing down Ron’s bit yellow concrete shooting appendage on the back of his truck. This not only helped my heart-rate get back to acceptable beat-age, but bought me time looking like I was doing something before I could escape for my dinner theatre date. Stupidly, I finished and asked what else was needed before I got ready to go. Luckily, I only had to roll up the water hose and be on my way to getting ready.
That was Sunday. Monday, the concrete hardened. Tuesday, I came home from work and decided to fill in under the pool stairs with sand, so people could just walk across a little bridge from the ‘mainland’ to the pool and climb down to do the finish work in the center itself.
So, I went right out after work, picked up a shovel and went off in my mind with many thoughts while I shoveled like an automaton. Ten minutes later, I was suddenly brought back to the real world by the black dots. Whew! I stopped and looked at my progress and my right arm was a bit tender. Time to change arms. (this is my ‘work my body evenly so that on one side I don’t look like Ahh-nold and on the other side have the muscle and attraction of a stewing chicken’ mind-set ~ usually it happens that I don’t work either side, so I’m evenly soggy on both sides.. works for me!)
I shoveled again, getting lost in my thoughts, was brought back by the black dots. Stopped and calmed, thought and breathed. Then I needed to climb down and get the sand totally under the steps and packed down. So, I did that, got lost in thought and didn’t come back till beyond the black dots and was going into the iridescent fireworks. Hanging onto the handle of the shovel, I sat on the side of the sand wall where I’d been shoveling. The white light opened up and my mom was there, not looking pleased.
In my mind, she was telling me, “Look, I’ve got stuff to do up here, I can’t be just running to the light to see what you’re up to, we’re not ready for you yet, your room’s not finished yet. OY! Get yourself back in there, stop digging and leave me alone! I love you, will see you someday, now Go Away!” Taking that to heart (once I caught it and returned it to my chest, while questioning who my mom has been hanging out with to come up with the ‘oy!’ thing, I decided that I could wait for another time to go see my big lavender room in the sky, I dragged myself out of the hole, leaned the shovel up against the wall and went in to clean up and find something to eat.
The saga will continue, but maybe not with my personal participation in it.. I’ll just keep taking pictures from afar..
Bekki Shanklin, copyright 2006, from her “Thinking All The Time” series
We're building us a Cee-Ment Pond, part 1
Remember when I said we were putting in our own pool? Update #1
The Locke Strouse Monster ~ or ~ notes from digging our own pool
Well, we're digging us a Cee-ment Pond.. well, actually it's an in-ground vinyl liner pool.. a completely unknown and alien item for the permitting gods downtown. So, because of that 'well, what the hell is that!?' factor, it set us back a bit. From the time we WANTED to build this oasis of sun and fun, which started about March, and by the time we got the clearance, vacations over with and labor lined up, here we are right in the middle of the first hurricane, Eduarrrrrrdo.
Saturday:
We got the front-end loader on Saturday and a friend of the family ran it all day long, dug this huge hole. And I got to lay out and not do any manual labor.. whew.. remember, I'm nearly 60 and sit on my butt day in and day out doing computer stuff.. The lady I rent from is basically a dynamo of physical activity.. a tad older in age than me, but far younger than me with her enthusiasm and activity and joy of life and "gettin' 'er done". Compared to her, I'm a total slug.. give me a book, some food and leave me alone, I'll roll over when my wrist goes to sleep from holding my head up and turning pages. Heck, I would drive to the door to get into the car.. and steps?? Uh, no thanks, I'll wait here for ya, or .. is there an elevator?
Sunday:
Anyway, Sunday slid in, sunny and bright! I was up and showered and here came all our help! We ended up with the original guy running the front-end loader and four other guys, the event creator (Linda, my landlady), and me! I escaped actual work by being a gopher.. go fer this and go fer that.. till the 'could you run and get me' needs ended with a squeal of brakes and, 'hey, can you help level this soil when we dump it into the front yard?' became the battle cry of the needy.. sigh.. ok, sure…
The main problem with the project became the total swamping of the big hole in the back yard from up-sweating of ground water. Every time we sucked that brown sludge-water out, it suddenly appeared again. I kept looking for floating caskets or at least a femur bone that would stop the project till the local news crews captured our amazing find had left, but no luck. We only found about 4 billion cinder blocks from the original building of the house, since we don't think the Seminoles actually used cinder blocks for their chikki huts when they settled the land originally, we figured it was the original builder.
So, I jumped into the hole with the guys, womanned a shovel and then a rake.
I quickly dissuaded myself from doing manly things like wiping my nose on my arm, flexing my biceps and tossing up a shovel-full of sand quite quickly for about three different reasons:
1) When I wiped my nose on my arm, it was full of sand and I immediately brought tears to my own eyes because of the sand-paper effect on my poor sunburned nosey!
2) I repeat, I'm nearly 60 years old.. there is NOTHING on my arm to flex.. I'm lucky I still have skin that supports my furniture body: my chest is sliding to my drawers and guess what else is following. And finally,
3) for me to toss up a shovel full of sandy clay, I realized, rather belatedly that I have to toss that crap up over six feet above me. After I heaved that shovel-full on up, and lost contact with the shovel and watched it disappear over the sand pile while the rest of the load landed on my head. I thought to myself.. Uh.. where is that rake again?
So, I leveled and tamped and was asked to make little meandering trails for the water to drain to the big hole they dug so they could dispatch the water from the hole. I stood big and tall like the Jolly Green Giant (HO-HO-HO), feet spread from land mass to land mass, thinking "This must be what it felt to create rivers and countries!" Feeling very 'superhuman-like' I then stepped back on a rock and nearly sat my butt right on the Liliputian little community I created and dammed up the drainage process with my personal personage.
I might at this juncture point out that I lost my flip flops (no, not steel-toed work boots, which was probably the recommended sort of footwear for this sort of enterprising project) when I jumped into the hole full of this mud, went ankle-deep, and tore my flop up as the huge sucking sound tore the toe part from the sole part of my shoe.. well, crap, I just threw that torn-up side and the still-good side up on the bank and said, "toss these puppies."
Monday:
I got up and cheerfully went to my computer job, where I was allowed to rest, except for crawling twice under the table to re-hook up a computer that had been altered and was now back in its 'oh, so handy' place where you have to crawl on rock-like ceramic tile on your knees.. (cast your mind back on my extremely advanced, but curiously adroit and limber age and cheerful disposition). But I wasn't shoveling or raking, was I? Life was good.
While I was living large at work, back at the ranch.. er, pool project.. Things were sort of going fine, except for the fact that we had three dominant, all-knowing men, who ended up moving parts of the dirt pile from one side of the yard, back to the pile, then to the other side of the yard, while Linda kept hearing the Ka-CHING of the 'by the hour' charge for the front-end loader, while Mo, Larry and Curley were deciding where to put the scoops, 'no, put it over there, no, we need it more over THERE..' I was thinking of bringing Linda an ice pack for her head, but saw that she already had one in the freezer for later ..
She has a picture - we'll have to block out the face for embarrassment reasons, not because he was nude - of the front end loader totally flipped nose-first in the yard because the driver miscalculated the load and the irregular ground. I think they caught the combined memorable facial expression wafting between shock, awe and fear, but sadly you won't be able to see that look because of the request for anonymity. We'll try to catch it again if it happens.. which we thoroughly expect will, several more times before the project is finished.
We are thinking of just leaving the hole this way, with the murky water and apprise our dates of it's location. We figure if they don't treat us right, we'll create several tires to look like some sort of heinous monster and let them know we DO allow our recalcitrant guests to try and outrun the Locke Strouse Monster.. more about that thought later.
More after the hurricane!
Bekki Shanklin, copyright 2006 from her "Thinkin' all the time" Series
The Locke Strouse Monster ~ or ~ notes from digging our own pool
Well, we're digging us a Cee-ment Pond.. well, actually it's an in-ground vinyl liner pool.. a completely unknown and alien item for the permitting gods downtown. So, because of that 'well, what the hell is that!?' factor, it set us back a bit. From the time we WANTED to build this oasis of sun and fun, which started about March, and by the time we got the clearance, vacations over with and labor lined up, here we are right in the middle of the first hurricane, Eduarrrrrrdo.
Saturday:
We got the front-end loader on Saturday and a friend of the family ran it all day long, dug this huge hole. And I got to lay out and not do any manual labor.. whew.. remember, I'm nearly 60 and sit on my butt day in and day out doing computer stuff.. The lady I rent from is basically a dynamo of physical activity.. a tad older in age than me, but far younger than me with her enthusiasm and activity and joy of life and "gettin' 'er done". Compared to her, I'm a total slug.. give me a book, some food and leave me alone, I'll roll over when my wrist goes to sleep from holding my head up and turning pages. Heck, I would drive to the door to get into the car.. and steps?? Uh, no thanks, I'll wait here for ya, or .. is there an elevator?
Sunday:
Anyway, Sunday slid in, sunny and bright! I was up and showered and here came all our help! We ended up with the original guy running the front-end loader and four other guys, the event creator (Linda, my landlady), and me! I escaped actual work by being a gopher.. go fer this and go fer that.. till the 'could you run and get me' needs ended with a squeal of brakes and, 'hey, can you help level this soil when we dump it into the front yard?' became the battle cry of the needy.. sigh.. ok, sure…
The main problem with the project became the total swamping of the big hole in the back yard from up-sweating of ground water. Every time we sucked that brown sludge-water out, it suddenly appeared again. I kept looking for floating caskets or at least a femur bone that would stop the project till the local news crews captured our amazing find had left, but no luck. We only found about 4 billion cinder blocks from the original building of the house, since we don't think the Seminoles actually used cinder blocks for their chikki huts when they settled the land originally, we figured it was the original builder.
So, I jumped into the hole with the guys, womanned a shovel and then a rake.
I quickly dissuaded myself from doing manly things like wiping my nose on my arm, flexing my biceps and tossing up a shovel-full of sand quite quickly for about three different reasons:
1) When I wiped my nose on my arm, it was full of sand and I immediately brought tears to my own eyes because of the sand-paper effect on my poor sunburned nosey!
2) I repeat, I'm nearly 60 years old.. there is NOTHING on my arm to flex.. I'm lucky I still have skin that supports my furniture body: my chest is sliding to my drawers and guess what else is following. And finally,
3) for me to toss up a shovel full of sandy clay, I realized, rather belatedly that I have to toss that crap up over six feet above me. After I heaved that shovel-full on up, and lost contact with the shovel and watched it disappear over the sand pile while the rest of the load landed on my head. I thought to myself.. Uh.. where is that rake again?
So, I leveled and tamped and was asked to make little meandering trails for the water to drain to the big hole they dug so they could dispatch the water from the hole. I stood big and tall like the Jolly Green Giant (HO-HO-HO), feet spread from land mass to land mass, thinking "This must be what it felt to create rivers and countries!" Feeling very 'superhuman-like' I then stepped back on a rock and nearly sat my butt right on the Liliputian little community I created and dammed up the drainage process with my personal personage.
I might at this juncture point out that I lost my flip flops (no, not steel-toed work boots, which was probably the recommended sort of footwear for this sort of enterprising project) when I jumped into the hole full of this mud, went ankle-deep, and tore my flop up as the huge sucking sound tore the toe part from the sole part of my shoe.. well, crap, I just threw that torn-up side and the still-good side up on the bank and said, "toss these puppies."
Monday:
I got up and cheerfully went to my computer job, where I was allowed to rest, except for crawling twice under the table to re-hook up a computer that had been altered and was now back in its 'oh, so handy' place where you have to crawl on rock-like ceramic tile on your knees.. (cast your mind back on my extremely advanced, but curiously adroit and limber age and cheerful disposition). But I wasn't shoveling or raking, was I? Life was good.
While I was living large at work, back at the ranch.. er, pool project.. Things were sort of going fine, except for the fact that we had three dominant, all-knowing men, who ended up moving parts of the dirt pile from one side of the yard, back to the pile, then to the other side of the yard, while Linda kept hearing the Ka-CHING of the 'by the hour' charge for the front-end loader, while Mo, Larry and Curley were deciding where to put the scoops, 'no, put it over there, no, we need it more over THERE..' I was thinking of bringing Linda an ice pack for her head, but saw that she already had one in the freezer for later ..
She has a picture - we'll have to block out the face for embarrassment reasons, not because he was nude - of the front end loader totally flipped nose-first in the yard because the driver miscalculated the load and the irregular ground. I think they caught the combined memorable facial expression wafting between shock, awe and fear, but sadly you won't be able to see that look because of the request for anonymity. We'll try to catch it again if it happens.. which we thoroughly expect will, several more times before the project is finished.
We are thinking of just leaving the hole this way, with the murky water and apprise our dates of it's location. We figure if they don't treat us right, we'll create several tires to look like some sort of heinous monster and let them know we DO allow our recalcitrant guests to try and outrun the Locke Strouse Monster.. more about that thought later.
More after the hurricane!
Bekki Shanklin, copyright 2006 from her "Thinkin' all the time" Series
Now I remember why I don't have dogs
Now I remember why I don't have dogs..
They poop.. and they pee and they whine ..
Previously on: Why I don't have dogs..
When I was married, my daughter and I wanted to adopt a miniature grey hound. My husband said there would NEVER be a dog in his house. Well, I could understand that, since when we entered the hallowed marriage thing, we brought a cat with us, he already had two and then when one was thrown out in traffic, we rushed to adopt it, couldn't because it had to be healed and stuff, but we fell for a cat that kept trying to claw at us from its cage.
Well, we thought it was cute, sadly, that was all this cat wanted to do: claw us. Then a friend had a beautiful cat called 'Pumpkin' that her mother had, but when mama passed away, the daughter was so allergic that her eyes swelled shut just getting this guy to us for us to watch and help find a home. We renamed him "Punkin Thomas' which sounded more manly than the original woosie name.
Then we adopted 'Dweezel' the Hemingway cat with all the toes and then a friend of ours gave us 'Kit' who was a little bitty thing, who went out and got pregnant by a HUGE cat, had three babies about the same size she was. My daughter birthed all the kitties at the tender age of about 12 and between that and at the age of about four helping to take the staples out of my stomach after a hysterectomy, she was on her way to a medical career.
One newly-birthed white cat was huge with a pampas grass tail (of the three Kit had, he was the only one that lived..) My husband, in all of his vast creativity named him 'Whitey'.
Oh, we'd also adopted a pig we named Kirby after we saw the movie, "Babe", but when he got so large that when I'd head for the kitchen for any reason, he'd knock us all over beating us to the punch in hopes that we'd drop food on him, we had to send him to be adopted by a place that promised that he'd go and live with lots of other piggies in a fabulous place that they never told us the location of. .. we hope he lived a great and full life after that.
In the middle of all of this animal adopting, there was never talk of bringing in a dog. It was verboten, a no-way-Jose sort of thing, and all was right with the world.
One day, in the middle of August (and this is Florida, so you know it was HOT HOT HOT..) the man is looking for a blanket. I was on the computer, in the middle of a great mental masterpiece of some sort when I came back to earth and noticed the rustling around in the linen closet, in the garage, in the clothes closet, under the bed and in all the drawers. As my eyes regained focus on my surroundings, I asked what he was looking for. And of course, the answer that I got was, "A blanket."
"Uhh.. for what?"
"The Dog." Ahh.. the dog. Ok. And I went back to my typing and whatever I was creating at the time. Shortly thereafter, my head snapped up and what he'd told me sunk in. A DOG????? What the???
Well, it seems that when he went out that morning, something drew him to the back yard. I never knew he even went to the back yard. I published magazines and in exchange for advertising, we had a yard guy.. HE went into the back yard and kept our lawn looking so good, it was an erotic experience for me just to look out at our miniscule acreage and see how beautifully well-tended it was. Between that and my other drugs of choice: Food and great books, I was a VERY contented woman.
But I digress.. the man had found a PUPPY in the back yard. She was not all that big, totally starved and had feet the size of dinner plates. Holy crap. He was holding and rocking his beast, declaring love for her (that he'd never gotten that excited about to declare to me, his wife) and that she'd never have to worry about a home or food again (ok, well he did declare that to me, but now it looked very suspicious in the 'maybe he thinks I'm a pet' mode). Who the hell WAS this man??? And this thing was going to grow up to be the size of a small horse! And smell like DOG. Ugh… no.
My adamant 'no way Joses' fell on deaf ears. Damn it. So, Ginger (since she had copper colored fur or hair or whatever dogs have) joined our merry menagerie. Oh, did I mention that we had an aviary of cool birds that chirped all morning long (I love that sound): 2 cockatiels (Storm and Key ~ Key learned the Andy Griffith theme song and then wrote his own concert around it. Storm was a girl who was just generally pissed at the world and ignored the concert); we also had 2 non-descript parakeets, which is why there is no description other than one was yellow and the other was blue); and a bunch of little finch things all in 3 cages denoting their genus. And the cats loved to lie between the cages and flick their tails and listen to the concerts with little cat-like looks of 'wow, this is a great life.. yawn'.
So, here comes this stupid dog. The man originally took her out every day (which totaled about three days in all, then my daughter took over for about two days and I never took over at all – not my dog/project) up until a new computer game came out. Then the dog was inside all day long. At that point, he designated the aviary as the dog poop room. And that's not the worst part (although some of you neat freaks might have already established several worst parts, wait! There's MORE!)
Ginger kept running out the door whenever anyone came or went. I guess having already tasted the outdoors, she grew bored with the a/c and the man yelling to his game people, "Suck on a flame strike M.F (fill in the blanks here)" and ignoring all of the rest of us. So, Ginger set out to have her own adventures without him. And from one of those adventures, he was too late in getting her neutered since a new game had come out, (I can only brow beat so much. I'm only one woman), she came home with child/children/pups.
Upon the glorious day of the birth of Ginger's litter, I returned home from being in town and picking up my daughter from school to find the dog up on my BRAND NEW FUTON, the man on the computer, and puppies and dog birthing and all sorts of crap spewing out on MY BRAND NEW FUTON. It must have been my ear-piercing scream and slamming of the front door that brought him out of his 'suck on a flame-strike' mode and bring his attention to the situation at hand on MY BRAND NEW FUTON.
At that point, he looks at the situation, blinks back to reality, is excited that he's winning the game and there is a miracle of birth happening right in front of him, and then he runs to the linen closet, gets out ONE OF MY BRAND NEW TOWELS and sort of shoves it up under her nether regions that's spewing the above-mentioned birthing crap .. and goes back to his game with a 'sorry honey! But I'm in the middle of a situation here'… yeah, he looked pretty good for a man that close to death and I DON'T mean on the computer game. Butthead.
Well, the old girl had about 8 or so kids. We took pictures, he took the pictures to work and throngs of his postal-worker-mate-guys came and took almost all the butt-headed dogs away. But wait! There's more! Until they could take them, that meant that they needed to stay with their precious mama for SIX WEEKS! And of course they needed to stay on something soft and comfortable, LIKE MY GRAMMA'S FREAKING HAND-APPLIQUED ANTIQUE QUILT! But wait! There's MORE!
When all the little guys pee'd and pooped and made a mess, the man decided that he'd surprise me and clean up! So, he gathered the quilt together, shook it out ON THE FLOOR, and tossed it, WITH BLEACH into our clothes-eating washer and matching clothes-melting dryer! He had his sad, "Honey, I'm sorry" face on upon gathering up all the little formerly brightly colored once-all-together-in-an -artisticially-arranged-design pieces that were now shriveled sort of white things with melted and burned places on them. BUT WAIT! THERE'S SO MUCH MORE!
When he dumped all the little, stinky baby puppy poops on the carpeting, that we ended up ripping out and tossing to the curb (much to our neighbors dismay as the winds changed direction.. down-wind was always relative out where we used to live..) he used my NEW $300 HEAVY DUTY COMMERCIAL VACUUM CLEANER to suck all the fragrant poopies up!.. but wait! There's MORE!!!!
He fell in love with the littlest runt of a puppy.. totally retarded on so many levels (not sure if I'm talking about the man or the baby dog here). Ok, the man became retarded too when we saw this puppy. And the puppy himself is also retarded. He WAS cute, like a little polar bear with an orange/ginger back end and tail. But one of the most stupid dogs I've ever seen in my life. Andrew still lives in the house with his mother and the cats and the man.
Now, being allergic to animals, all of this seriously had, in the six or nine years we were married (sort of a timeless blur of sneezing, swollen eyes and four hits of Primatene mists a day on my part) put a crimp in my love-factor for this man, the house and the local, in-house zoo. So, after a while we congenially (and from my end, with great relief) parted company. We still go to movies together and stuff, but in the five years since we've been apart, I don't think he's ever cleaned the house. Gak and double-gak.
Zip forward six years later: I live in a house with a dog groomer and she baby-sits dogs.
I needed a safe place to stay. An intruder into my life and home decided that he needed to do me harm. Not liking the aspect of dealing with another human being on that level, I figured it was time to blend into the scenery and just find a quiet, easy-going place to live. Henceforth, into my life re-popped up Linda, a lady friend of mine from the past. We'd been acquaintances for about 6 years and had re-acquainted and she mentioned she had a quiet, safe, off the beaten path room to rent. EUREKA!! This could work! Up until I walked into her home the first time. A BIG dog lived there too.. a shepherd. And I was only five feet into the front door when my eyes swelled shut, I was wheezing and breaking out in a rash.
We then went out into the fresh air to a great swimming place and discussed the possibility of my moving in. Seeing what the dander did to me, she apprised me of the fact that she was re-doing her house and had already intended to tear up the carpet and put in tile. So, she asked me to return the next weekend after having done the carpet removal thing and see if I could handle the house after that. I walked in cautiously, was there for several hours without a sneeze! YES! And I moved in the next weekend and have been here about a year.
Now, about 5 months ago, a friend of hers decided to divorce her husband and since she could only take one dog to her new apartment, she brought a little black pug to come and live here. This was ok, once I got used to her looking at me and making snoring sounds. Now I snore like a freight train going through a tunnel, but this dog that weighs about 10 lb has me beat. And she loves coming into my room (this is MY room, thus, the NO DOG ZONE) and falling asleep standing up. Then she wakes up, lowers her head to one of my shoes and goes back to sleep. At that point, I click the volume up on my tv to compensate for her exuberant snoring.
Now, what really pissed me off was when my housemate went on vacation for a week and I had to deal with the dogs. Because this little weasel needs psychiatric help dealing with abandonment issues, she'd come to my room, where I keep the door closed, and pee and poop on the throw-rug in front of my door. Sometimes she did it in my bathroom, but at least I could see the poop nuggets on my light-colored bathroom floor.. I just never saw them in the dark on the floor on the WAY to the bathroom. Slipping going into the door in a nearly total sleepwalking experience, often woke me up. Waking me up in the middle of the night, having to hike my foot up to my waist and washing off the poop and THEN having to clean up the slid-in poop REALLY pissed me off along with the waking me up thing.
I searched the house for something to block her coming to my little end of the house and I located a folding, metal plant stand. HOW CLEVER! I said to myself. So I laid it down, only a little over a foot tall at that point, she's about that tall as well! This could work! So, I covered it with a light colored towel, and drug out my purple Christmas lights to illuminate it so, incase I needed to go into the main part of the house I wouldn't trip over it myself.
So, I'm sitting in my room, my housemate comes in to tell me something and behind her is the pug. WHAT THE….????? "How'd SHE get in here?" I quietly queried. "Well, you know she leaps up into the lounge chair to sleep, this was a small leap for her." CRAP! "Well, maybe she'll forget to come and poop in this end of the house." I hoped. "Right." Linda said and having asked her question, turned and left, the pug trailing behind her and I heard her little feet hit the floor as she flew like Flicka over the purple-lit doggie steeple-chase barrier. CRAP!
Two more poop nights and when my friend, Vera, and I went to Wally World (Walmart, for those of you not knowing the 'hip talk' used nationwide) and went to the baby department (never again.. that's too many babies and moms .. babies upset, moms ignoring them and having a coffee klatch, without the coffee, jamming the aisles) and found a baby gate for about $10 and I brought it home.
I installed this gate (only partially installed because there is base-board trim-work and a wall and the gate doesn't adjust to lock to both… CRAP!) and put the light-colored towel over it and draped the purple Christmas lights over it. Wow, the little creep SURELY can't jump that high! And I was right, only neither can I. And neither can Linda on a bad day if she needs to come back to my room for any reason. CRAP!
So, here I am, working out like a fiend, deep knee bends, jogging place, toe-touches just to lift my freaking leg over the damned gate to get to the other part of the house, which also houses the kitchen. CRAP!
Well, Linda went on a cruise this last week, so I was in charge of taking the two mutleys for their morning and evening poop-fests. I had to alter my life twice a day and although that might not be a problem of five minutes twice a day for some, it slowly eroded my love and joy for dogs, which was about non-existant before, reaching totally non-existant proportions since then.
Every morning for 8 days, I'd throw water on my sleep hair, quickly go to the bathroom myself, and throw my first leg over the gate, hang onto the wall and try to get my hind leg high enough not to snag the gate and totally pitch forward onto the concrete floor. Fear of actually having to land hard and then drag myself off the ground was WAY too much to think about just out of a sound sleep to wade through sand to have one dog poop and pee immediately and the pug have to say hello to every freaking blade of grass till she found THE BEST ONE to stop, squat and drop on or next to. And that was just to pee.. she repeated it soon after for the poop section of her day.
And I'd lose my train of thought and stare off at.. something .. nearly waking myself up snoring standing up, when I'd realize the beasts had woven their leashes around me like a may pole. CRAP! Then I have to unweave myself and guide the weasels back to the front door. Oh, did I mention that if I touch a pet of any sort, I break out in big welts.. Dog sitting has been a many-faceted experience..
The Dog Whisperer.
Linda got back Saturday morning. She had a date Saturday night that lasted through Sunday, when she and the date had to be on a private boat at 10 am in Marco.. my unholy dog incarceration continued a day longer than my excitement level for the task.
So, I drug my butt up AGAIN on my day off at 6, grabbed my leg and staggered over the gate, put the damned leashes on and thought, this is the LAST time!!! She'll be home this eve for SURE!!!! So, after I got back in with the weasels dropping their gifts all over my side of the house.. right under my window.. (I stood there in many a morning stupor in the near light and thought about that .. that I should take them somewhere other than where their delightful fragrance could waft into my room, but then forgot about it as soon as I thought about it and the deeds were done.. guess I was just grateful they stopped, squatted and dropped to be that concerned about WHERE..)
I was basking in the knowledge that I, the Dog Whisperer, was hanging up the leashes for the last time when Linda called later in the day while I was shopping with Vera asking what time I'd be home because DORIAN (I call him Damian, like the devil child in The Omen) was coming over at 5 and she'd forgotten about it and could I be there to greet him.
Now, Damian, er Dorian is a black standard poodle, about the size of a German shepherd.. has been fixed but has no clue that it happened, so he's still humping air and going around in a circle in the middle of the floor all day long. He's a total waste of dog fur, in my opinion, but I'm not his doting, adoring parents.. sheesh. And when he's not going in circles, he's agitated if you tell him to sit down and SHUT UP! And pees on a wall, the couch, the little dog.. it just dribbles out of him in his fear/panic/excitement/breathing .
Luckily, I'd already taken the other two out previous to Dorian's arrival, so all I had to do was let him in the house (I'd crated the other two by Linda's suggestion) and he started agitating the two in the crate. Whining, Howling Banshees comes to mind in regards to the wailing they put up. So, brandishing newspapers (also under Linda's suggestion) I waved it at Dorian, who proceeded to pee where he stood in fear, then turned, ran through it and went into tiny tailspin circles in the living room. The other two dogs just looked at me from the crate grate with their eyes glittering in the kitchen light. I could feel them flipping me off in their minds.
After threatening to find even MORE newspapers in a very loud voice, I dragged my legs over the darned gate and went to my room and shut the door, hoping I'd find dog fur slippers already made by non-dog appreciating little elves by the time I got back. No luck. The ruckus started again.
I called Linda and I think she could tell by the message that my Dog Whispering days were over and I was turning in my Give a Damn about the dogs when I said just that in my message to her, since she didn't immediately answer the phone. Little did I know at that time that the crab boat they were in to go out in to the gulf blew something mechanical and they were having to nurse it slowly back to shore.
Had I known that and the POSSIBLE thought that they'd be lost at sea, needing Coast Guard to find them after four days, my 'get your ass back home NOW' vibes would have been much stronger. But I do feel that even with the actual current strength of those vibes at the moment, the diesel engine angels were working to get the group back to shore to stop an even more heinous situation of my driving away in the car with the front door left open. I'd then arrive back at the house with a surprised look on my face when I came back three days later finding either all three dogs gone, or there waiting for me, pissed because I hadn't filled their dog dishes.
At 10 pm Linda finally got home. The dogs were alive and my door shut, not wanting to know about blood shed or rampant peeing throughout the house.. my watch was over. They were all alive. I did my job. The Dog Whisperer was retired.
I got a scratch on my door.. Linda's way of knocking.. and when I opened it, got a huge hug of thanks from her. "You did great, thanks SO much! I owe ya." (she has NO clue) So, I went to bed, not to sleep, but to have heart palpitations all night thinking about what would have happened if she HADN'T come home by morning.. two dogs I can sort of handle. Three.. I refuse. No-way-Jose. Don't make them hear about me on the morning news.. So I got up this morning, went in for a shower, said to hell with it, my eyes are too tired, I'm going back to bed.
Thus ends my Dog Days of September.. October is a brand new month. Amen and good night..
Bekki J.Shanklin, Copyright 2006, from her "Thinking all the time" series
They poop.. and they pee and they whine ..
Previously on: Why I don't have dogs..
When I was married, my daughter and I wanted to adopt a miniature grey hound. My husband said there would NEVER be a dog in his house. Well, I could understand that, since when we entered the hallowed marriage thing, we brought a cat with us, he already had two and then when one was thrown out in traffic, we rushed to adopt it, couldn't because it had to be healed and stuff, but we fell for a cat that kept trying to claw at us from its cage.
Well, we thought it was cute, sadly, that was all this cat wanted to do: claw us. Then a friend had a beautiful cat called 'Pumpkin' that her mother had, but when mama passed away, the daughter was so allergic that her eyes swelled shut just getting this guy to us for us to watch and help find a home. We renamed him "Punkin Thomas' which sounded more manly than the original woosie name.
Then we adopted 'Dweezel' the Hemingway cat with all the toes and then a friend of ours gave us 'Kit' who was a little bitty thing, who went out and got pregnant by a HUGE cat, had three babies about the same size she was. My daughter birthed all the kitties at the tender age of about 12 and between that and at the age of about four helping to take the staples out of my stomach after a hysterectomy, she was on her way to a medical career.
One newly-birthed white cat was huge with a pampas grass tail (of the three Kit had, he was the only one that lived..) My husband, in all of his vast creativity named him 'Whitey'.
Oh, we'd also adopted a pig we named Kirby after we saw the movie, "Babe", but when he got so large that when I'd head for the kitchen for any reason, he'd knock us all over beating us to the punch in hopes that we'd drop food on him, we had to send him to be adopted by a place that promised that he'd go and live with lots of other piggies in a fabulous place that they never told us the location of. .. we hope he lived a great and full life after that.
In the middle of all of this animal adopting, there was never talk of bringing in a dog. It was verboten, a no-way-Jose sort of thing, and all was right with the world.
One day, in the middle of August (and this is Florida, so you know it was HOT HOT HOT..) the man is looking for a blanket. I was on the computer, in the middle of a great mental masterpiece of some sort when I came back to earth and noticed the rustling around in the linen closet, in the garage, in the clothes closet, under the bed and in all the drawers. As my eyes regained focus on my surroundings, I asked what he was looking for. And of course, the answer that I got was, "A blanket."
"Uhh.. for what?"
"The Dog." Ahh.. the dog. Ok. And I went back to my typing and whatever I was creating at the time. Shortly thereafter, my head snapped up and what he'd told me sunk in. A DOG????? What the???
Well, it seems that when he went out that morning, something drew him to the back yard. I never knew he even went to the back yard. I published magazines and in exchange for advertising, we had a yard guy.. HE went into the back yard and kept our lawn looking so good, it was an erotic experience for me just to look out at our miniscule acreage and see how beautifully well-tended it was. Between that and my other drugs of choice: Food and great books, I was a VERY contented woman.
But I digress.. the man had found a PUPPY in the back yard. She was not all that big, totally starved and had feet the size of dinner plates. Holy crap. He was holding and rocking his beast, declaring love for her (that he'd never gotten that excited about to declare to me, his wife) and that she'd never have to worry about a home or food again (ok, well he did declare that to me, but now it looked very suspicious in the 'maybe he thinks I'm a pet' mode). Who the hell WAS this man??? And this thing was going to grow up to be the size of a small horse! And smell like DOG. Ugh… no.
My adamant 'no way Joses' fell on deaf ears. Damn it. So, Ginger (since she had copper colored fur or hair or whatever dogs have) joined our merry menagerie. Oh, did I mention that we had an aviary of cool birds that chirped all morning long (I love that sound): 2 cockatiels (Storm and Key ~ Key learned the Andy Griffith theme song and then wrote his own concert around it. Storm was a girl who was just generally pissed at the world and ignored the concert); we also had 2 non-descript parakeets, which is why there is no description other than one was yellow and the other was blue); and a bunch of little finch things all in 3 cages denoting their genus. And the cats loved to lie between the cages and flick their tails and listen to the concerts with little cat-like looks of 'wow, this is a great life.. yawn'.
So, here comes this stupid dog. The man originally took her out every day (which totaled about three days in all, then my daughter took over for about two days and I never took over at all – not my dog/project) up until a new computer game came out. Then the dog was inside all day long. At that point, he designated the aviary as the dog poop room. And that's not the worst part (although some of you neat freaks might have already established several worst parts, wait! There's MORE!)
Ginger kept running out the door whenever anyone came or went. I guess having already tasted the outdoors, she grew bored with the a/c and the man yelling to his game people, "Suck on a flame strike M.F (fill in the blanks here)" and ignoring all of the rest of us. So, Ginger set out to have her own adventures without him. And from one of those adventures, he was too late in getting her neutered since a new game had come out, (I can only brow beat so much. I'm only one woman), she came home with child/children/pups.
Upon the glorious day of the birth of Ginger's litter, I returned home from being in town and picking up my daughter from school to find the dog up on my BRAND NEW FUTON, the man on the computer, and puppies and dog birthing and all sorts of crap spewing out on MY BRAND NEW FUTON. It must have been my ear-piercing scream and slamming of the front door that brought him out of his 'suck on a flame-strike' mode and bring his attention to the situation at hand on MY BRAND NEW FUTON.
At that point, he looks at the situation, blinks back to reality, is excited that he's winning the game and there is a miracle of birth happening right in front of him, and then he runs to the linen closet, gets out ONE OF MY BRAND NEW TOWELS and sort of shoves it up under her nether regions that's spewing the above-mentioned birthing crap .. and goes back to his game with a 'sorry honey! But I'm in the middle of a situation here'… yeah, he looked pretty good for a man that close to death and I DON'T mean on the computer game. Butthead.
Well, the old girl had about 8 or so kids. We took pictures, he took the pictures to work and throngs of his postal-worker-mate-guys came and took almost all the butt-headed dogs away. But wait! There's more! Until they could take them, that meant that they needed to stay with their precious mama for SIX WEEKS! And of course they needed to stay on something soft and comfortable, LIKE MY GRAMMA'S FREAKING HAND-APPLIQUED ANTIQUE QUILT! But wait! There's MORE!
When all the little guys pee'd and pooped and made a mess, the man decided that he'd surprise me and clean up! So, he gathered the quilt together, shook it out ON THE FLOOR, and tossed it, WITH BLEACH into our clothes-eating washer and matching clothes-melting dryer! He had his sad, "Honey, I'm sorry" face on upon gathering up all the little formerly brightly colored once-all-together-in-an -artisticially-arranged-design pieces that were now shriveled sort of white things with melted and burned places on them. BUT WAIT! THERE'S SO MUCH MORE!
When he dumped all the little, stinky baby puppy poops on the carpeting, that we ended up ripping out and tossing to the curb (much to our neighbors dismay as the winds changed direction.. down-wind was always relative out where we used to live..) he used my NEW $300 HEAVY DUTY COMMERCIAL VACUUM CLEANER to suck all the fragrant poopies up!.. but wait! There's MORE!!!!
He fell in love with the littlest runt of a puppy.. totally retarded on so many levels (not sure if I'm talking about the man or the baby dog here). Ok, the man became retarded too when we saw this puppy. And the puppy himself is also retarded. He WAS cute, like a little polar bear with an orange/ginger back end and tail. But one of the most stupid dogs I've ever seen in my life. Andrew still lives in the house with his mother and the cats and the man.
Now, being allergic to animals, all of this seriously had, in the six or nine years we were married (sort of a timeless blur of sneezing, swollen eyes and four hits of Primatene mists a day on my part) put a crimp in my love-factor for this man, the house and the local, in-house zoo. So, after a while we congenially (and from my end, with great relief) parted company. We still go to movies together and stuff, but in the five years since we've been apart, I don't think he's ever cleaned the house. Gak and double-gak.
Zip forward six years later: I live in a house with a dog groomer and she baby-sits dogs.
I needed a safe place to stay. An intruder into my life and home decided that he needed to do me harm. Not liking the aspect of dealing with another human being on that level, I figured it was time to blend into the scenery and just find a quiet, easy-going place to live. Henceforth, into my life re-popped up Linda, a lady friend of mine from the past. We'd been acquaintances for about 6 years and had re-acquainted and she mentioned she had a quiet, safe, off the beaten path room to rent. EUREKA!! This could work! Up until I walked into her home the first time. A BIG dog lived there too.. a shepherd. And I was only five feet into the front door when my eyes swelled shut, I was wheezing and breaking out in a rash.
We then went out into the fresh air to a great swimming place and discussed the possibility of my moving in. Seeing what the dander did to me, she apprised me of the fact that she was re-doing her house and had already intended to tear up the carpet and put in tile. So, she asked me to return the next weekend after having done the carpet removal thing and see if I could handle the house after that. I walked in cautiously, was there for several hours without a sneeze! YES! And I moved in the next weekend and have been here about a year.
Now, about 5 months ago, a friend of hers decided to divorce her husband and since she could only take one dog to her new apartment, she brought a little black pug to come and live here. This was ok, once I got used to her looking at me and making snoring sounds. Now I snore like a freight train going through a tunnel, but this dog that weighs about 10 lb has me beat. And she loves coming into my room (this is MY room, thus, the NO DOG ZONE) and falling asleep standing up. Then she wakes up, lowers her head to one of my shoes and goes back to sleep. At that point, I click the volume up on my tv to compensate for her exuberant snoring.
Now, what really pissed me off was when my housemate went on vacation for a week and I had to deal with the dogs. Because this little weasel needs psychiatric help dealing with abandonment issues, she'd come to my room, where I keep the door closed, and pee and poop on the throw-rug in front of my door. Sometimes she did it in my bathroom, but at least I could see the poop nuggets on my light-colored bathroom floor.. I just never saw them in the dark on the floor on the WAY to the bathroom. Slipping going into the door in a nearly total sleepwalking experience, often woke me up. Waking me up in the middle of the night, having to hike my foot up to my waist and washing off the poop and THEN having to clean up the slid-in poop REALLY pissed me off along with the waking me up thing.
I searched the house for something to block her coming to my little end of the house and I located a folding, metal plant stand. HOW CLEVER! I said to myself. So I laid it down, only a little over a foot tall at that point, she's about that tall as well! This could work! So, I covered it with a light colored towel, and drug out my purple Christmas lights to illuminate it so, incase I needed to go into the main part of the house I wouldn't trip over it myself.
So, I'm sitting in my room, my housemate comes in to tell me something and behind her is the pug. WHAT THE….????? "How'd SHE get in here?" I quietly queried. "Well, you know she leaps up into the lounge chair to sleep, this was a small leap for her." CRAP! "Well, maybe she'll forget to come and poop in this end of the house." I hoped. "Right." Linda said and having asked her question, turned and left, the pug trailing behind her and I heard her little feet hit the floor as she flew like Flicka over the purple-lit doggie steeple-chase barrier. CRAP!
Two more poop nights and when my friend, Vera, and I went to Wally World (Walmart, for those of you not knowing the 'hip talk' used nationwide) and went to the baby department (never again.. that's too many babies and moms .. babies upset, moms ignoring them and having a coffee klatch, without the coffee, jamming the aisles) and found a baby gate for about $10 and I brought it home.
I installed this gate (only partially installed because there is base-board trim-work and a wall and the gate doesn't adjust to lock to both… CRAP!) and put the light-colored towel over it and draped the purple Christmas lights over it. Wow, the little creep SURELY can't jump that high! And I was right, only neither can I. And neither can Linda on a bad day if she needs to come back to my room for any reason. CRAP!
So, here I am, working out like a fiend, deep knee bends, jogging place, toe-touches just to lift my freaking leg over the damned gate to get to the other part of the house, which also houses the kitchen. CRAP!
Well, Linda went on a cruise this last week, so I was in charge of taking the two mutleys for their morning and evening poop-fests. I had to alter my life twice a day and although that might not be a problem of five minutes twice a day for some, it slowly eroded my love and joy for dogs, which was about non-existant before, reaching totally non-existant proportions since then.
Every morning for 8 days, I'd throw water on my sleep hair, quickly go to the bathroom myself, and throw my first leg over the gate, hang onto the wall and try to get my hind leg high enough not to snag the gate and totally pitch forward onto the concrete floor. Fear of actually having to land hard and then drag myself off the ground was WAY too much to think about just out of a sound sleep to wade through sand to have one dog poop and pee immediately and the pug have to say hello to every freaking blade of grass till she found THE BEST ONE to stop, squat and drop on or next to. And that was just to pee.. she repeated it soon after for the poop section of her day.
And I'd lose my train of thought and stare off at.. something .. nearly waking myself up snoring standing up, when I'd realize the beasts had woven their leashes around me like a may pole. CRAP! Then I have to unweave myself and guide the weasels back to the front door. Oh, did I mention that if I touch a pet of any sort, I break out in big welts.. Dog sitting has been a many-faceted experience..
The Dog Whisperer.
Linda got back Saturday morning. She had a date Saturday night that lasted through Sunday, when she and the date had to be on a private boat at 10 am in Marco.. my unholy dog incarceration continued a day longer than my excitement level for the task.
So, I drug my butt up AGAIN on my day off at 6, grabbed my leg and staggered over the gate, put the damned leashes on and thought, this is the LAST time!!! She'll be home this eve for SURE!!!! So, after I got back in with the weasels dropping their gifts all over my side of the house.. right under my window.. (I stood there in many a morning stupor in the near light and thought about that .. that I should take them somewhere other than where their delightful fragrance could waft into my room, but then forgot about it as soon as I thought about it and the deeds were done.. guess I was just grateful they stopped, squatted and dropped to be that concerned about WHERE..)
I was basking in the knowledge that I, the Dog Whisperer, was hanging up the leashes for the last time when Linda called later in the day while I was shopping with Vera asking what time I'd be home because DORIAN (I call him Damian, like the devil child in The Omen) was coming over at 5 and she'd forgotten about it and could I be there to greet him.
Now, Damian, er Dorian is a black standard poodle, about the size of a German shepherd.. has been fixed but has no clue that it happened, so he's still humping air and going around in a circle in the middle of the floor all day long. He's a total waste of dog fur, in my opinion, but I'm not his doting, adoring parents.. sheesh. And when he's not going in circles, he's agitated if you tell him to sit down and SHUT UP! And pees on a wall, the couch, the little dog.. it just dribbles out of him in his fear/panic/excitement/breathing .
Luckily, I'd already taken the other two out previous to Dorian's arrival, so all I had to do was let him in the house (I'd crated the other two by Linda's suggestion) and he started agitating the two in the crate. Whining, Howling Banshees comes to mind in regards to the wailing they put up. So, brandishing newspapers (also under Linda's suggestion) I waved it at Dorian, who proceeded to pee where he stood in fear, then turned, ran through it and went into tiny tailspin circles in the living room. The other two dogs just looked at me from the crate grate with their eyes glittering in the kitchen light. I could feel them flipping me off in their minds.
After threatening to find even MORE newspapers in a very loud voice, I dragged my legs over the darned gate and went to my room and shut the door, hoping I'd find dog fur slippers already made by non-dog appreciating little elves by the time I got back. No luck. The ruckus started again.
I called Linda and I think she could tell by the message that my Dog Whispering days were over and I was turning in my Give a Damn about the dogs when I said just that in my message to her, since she didn't immediately answer the phone. Little did I know at that time that the crab boat they were in to go out in to the gulf blew something mechanical and they were having to nurse it slowly back to shore.
Had I known that and the POSSIBLE thought that they'd be lost at sea, needing Coast Guard to find them after four days, my 'get your ass back home NOW' vibes would have been much stronger. But I do feel that even with the actual current strength of those vibes at the moment, the diesel engine angels were working to get the group back to shore to stop an even more heinous situation of my driving away in the car with the front door left open. I'd then arrive back at the house with a surprised look on my face when I came back three days later finding either all three dogs gone, or there waiting for me, pissed because I hadn't filled their dog dishes.
At 10 pm Linda finally got home. The dogs were alive and my door shut, not wanting to know about blood shed or rampant peeing throughout the house.. my watch was over. They were all alive. I did my job. The Dog Whisperer was retired.
I got a scratch on my door.. Linda's way of knocking.. and when I opened it, got a huge hug of thanks from her. "You did great, thanks SO much! I owe ya." (she has NO clue) So, I went to bed, not to sleep, but to have heart palpitations all night thinking about what would have happened if she HADN'T come home by morning.. two dogs I can sort of handle. Three.. I refuse. No-way-Jose. Don't make them hear about me on the morning news.. So I got up this morning, went in for a shower, said to hell with it, my eyes are too tired, I'm going back to bed.
Thus ends my Dog Days of September.. October is a brand new month. Amen and good night..
Bekki J.Shanklin, Copyright 2006, from her "Thinking all the time" series
I'm so glad I never had boys
I'm so glad I never had boys..
I live in a house and rent a room from a very nice lady and good friend of mine. She was gone all last week and it was SOOOOOOOOOOoooooo quiet and peaceful, I just stretched, snuggled down in my bed and listened to the silence.. I could do what I wanted to do and enjoyed every minute of it.
I have found that I used to be a social being, but now enjoy solitude and it being all ME ME ME!!!!!! Well, that ended last Tuesday evening.. My friend, who'd been on vacation came home.. with her two grandsons who are 11 and 13. Oh. My. God..
Back in the day, I'd wanted to sell my most-precious-being-in-the-whole world, sweetest daughter to anyone who came by with $5 from the age of 13 to 16.. and I'd have packed whatever clothes she wanted to take with her on that journey.. but I had no idea about boys..
These two bicker, whine, battle and tattle, pick on each other and talk louder and louder and louder and fight to get computer time. One is a geek and the other is an 'I can give you a smartass answer to whatever you're saying, right in the middle of what ever it is you ARE saying' kind of kid.. they're not evil, they're just trying to find their path.. while kicking rocks into mine..
Are more than one kid in a family like this? Having had just the one (see 'now darling' comments above), and I had previously, while pregnant, refused to have a boy (she was lucky she was a girl or I'd have traded her for a girl at birth to someone who'd wanted a boy if I'd indeed had a boy .. sort of like bringing a covered dish to a gathering.. everyone trading for someone else's food..)
Boys also don't bathe that much.. I guess the fear of water is more prevalent in boys than in girls (unless there is a swimming pool handy, then you can't get them OUT of the water) .. but these two sure know what they want at this age.. the geek states that he'll never have a girlfriend, especially if she would take away from his computer time. And the younger one wants 4 kids.. one of each (huh?).. he backtracked on that one after I actually did say, "Huh?"
But, I HAVE instilled in them many little nature nuggets on how to comport themselves in the future that will win them more friends (including future wives and live-in girlfriends) and influence more people than the way they were going when they got here on Tuesday.
Rule number 1: When you use my bathroom, you flush (didn't know that needed reminding, but there you are), you put the lid down (foremost rule.. if you watched Myth Busters you know that flush sends crap ~ and I mean that ~ up 6 feet which floats all over the area for the next two hours and DOES land on your toothbrush.. gak..) ok, it's for the gak factor and the fact that I could, at any or several times in the night (damned older age) and drop for more feet than I'd like (you know that fear of falling dream?) and end up in icy and perhaps gakky water.. double gak.. and wake up the whole house with my screams and cursing.. don't worry, they already know those words..
Rule number 2: Still bathroom rules, dry off IN the bathtub and don't sop up my throw rug. It's ok, it CAN be done..
Rule number 3: Still bathroom rules, but shake the curtain to get rid of the excess water, then close the curtain after you turn off the water.. it helps also to help dry and not corrode or mold the curtain before its time and I don't have to wear out my arms stretching to replace the liner before it's time, or I'm ready to do it.. once a year works well for me..
And rule number 4: Quit bickering, whining, battling and tattling, picking on each other and talking louder and louder and louder and giving smartass answer to whatever someone's saying, right in the middle of what ever it is they ARE saying.. it's unattractive and doesn't win friends and make people like being around you on any level... until I leave the room.. which is often and for great lengths of time. Luckily they leave (hopefully alive) on Wednesday morning.. it will have been a LONG week..
And for those of you with little boys.. or more than one kid in general.. god bless ya and good luck.. I can see if they have Over the Counter Children's Chewable Valium, orange-flavored, Flintstone-shaped, in bottles of a couple of thousand or so.. not sure who it would be for, you or the kids..
Until then, please, my precious baby girlie.. I'm too young to have grandkids.. for about another 49 years or so.. ok? (Hoping that goes from my lips to my girl's earrings..)
But I love you, my girl!
Mama
Bekki Shanklin, copyright 2006, from her 'Thinking all the time' series
I live in a house and rent a room from a very nice lady and good friend of mine. She was gone all last week and it was SOOOOOOOOOOoooooo quiet and peaceful, I just stretched, snuggled down in my bed and listened to the silence.. I could do what I wanted to do and enjoyed every minute of it.
I have found that I used to be a social being, but now enjoy solitude and it being all ME ME ME!!!!!! Well, that ended last Tuesday evening.. My friend, who'd been on vacation came home.. with her two grandsons who are 11 and 13. Oh. My. God..
Back in the day, I'd wanted to sell my most-precious-being-in-the-whole world, sweetest daughter to anyone who came by with $5 from the age of 13 to 16.. and I'd have packed whatever clothes she wanted to take with her on that journey.. but I had no idea about boys..
These two bicker, whine, battle and tattle, pick on each other and talk louder and louder and louder and fight to get computer time. One is a geek and the other is an 'I can give you a smartass answer to whatever you're saying, right in the middle of what ever it is you ARE saying' kind of kid.. they're not evil, they're just trying to find their path.. while kicking rocks into mine..
Are more than one kid in a family like this? Having had just the one (see 'now darling' comments above), and I had previously, while pregnant, refused to have a boy (she was lucky she was a girl or I'd have traded her for a girl at birth to someone who'd wanted a boy if I'd indeed had a boy .. sort of like bringing a covered dish to a gathering.. everyone trading for someone else's food..)
Boys also don't bathe that much.. I guess the fear of water is more prevalent in boys than in girls (unless there is a swimming pool handy, then you can't get them OUT of the water) .. but these two sure know what they want at this age.. the geek states that he'll never have a girlfriend, especially if she would take away from his computer time. And the younger one wants 4 kids.. one of each (huh?).. he backtracked on that one after I actually did say, "Huh?"
But, I HAVE instilled in them many little nature nuggets on how to comport themselves in the future that will win them more friends (including future wives and live-in girlfriends) and influence more people than the way they were going when they got here on Tuesday.
Rule number 1: When you use my bathroom, you flush (didn't know that needed reminding, but there you are), you put the lid down (foremost rule.. if you watched Myth Busters you know that flush sends crap ~ and I mean that ~ up 6 feet which floats all over the area for the next two hours and DOES land on your toothbrush.. gak..) ok, it's for the gak factor and the fact that I could, at any or several times in the night (damned older age) and drop for more feet than I'd like (you know that fear of falling dream?) and end up in icy and perhaps gakky water.. double gak.. and wake up the whole house with my screams and cursing.. don't worry, they already know those words..
Rule number 2: Still bathroom rules, dry off IN the bathtub and don't sop up my throw rug. It's ok, it CAN be done..
Rule number 3: Still bathroom rules, but shake the curtain to get rid of the excess water, then close the curtain after you turn off the water.. it helps also to help dry and not corrode or mold the curtain before its time and I don't have to wear out my arms stretching to replace the liner before it's time, or I'm ready to do it.. once a year works well for me..
And rule number 4: Quit bickering, whining, battling and tattling, picking on each other and talking louder and louder and louder and giving smartass answer to whatever someone's saying, right in the middle of what ever it is they ARE saying.. it's unattractive and doesn't win friends and make people like being around you on any level... until I leave the room.. which is often and for great lengths of time. Luckily they leave (hopefully alive) on Wednesday morning.. it will have been a LONG week..
And for those of you with little boys.. or more than one kid in general.. god bless ya and good luck.. I can see if they have Over the Counter Children's Chewable Valium, orange-flavored, Flintstone-shaped, in bottles of a couple of thousand or so.. not sure who it would be for, you or the kids..
Until then, please, my precious baby girlie.. I'm too young to have grandkids.. for about another 49 years or so.. ok? (Hoping that goes from my lips to my girl's earrings..)
But I love you, my girl!
Mama
Bekki Shanklin, copyright 2006, from her 'Thinking all the time' series
Listen to the Silence
Listen to the silence..
I have heard music all my life.. I’ve heard loving words, yelling, laughing, sirens, talking, birds chirping on a beautiful spring morning. I am a vocalist and musician. I have four octaves and have been told I have an amazing voice. I sing and listen to music all the time.
I was in a relationship with a man who is deaf. He has never heard the emotion of music. He will never know that some music is so wonderful and amazing that will break his heart and bring tears to his eyes because of its beauty and emotion. He will never hear me sing.
When I moved to south Florida with its subtropical climate, I started getting severe earaches. Each time, antibiotics cleared it up from the pain, to that rolling metal ball feel and then suddenly I noticed that it was just .. gone .. and my life went on as usual but with only a loud surf in my head. The louder it got, the louder my voice got in my head and I started to speak very softly. My husband would touch my hand and I could see his lips ask me to speak up. When I did, it was shouting in my head.
One time, though, I never felt the pain, and for a month and a half I was deaf. When my husband and I were in the store, he’d touch my hand and mouth the words asking if I needed whatever was on the shelf. One morning I woke up and my daughter came out of her room with her hands over her ears as a water heater has burst in the apartment above, there was water flowing out of all of the electrical outlets and the smoke alarm was going off incessantly. I didn’t hear it. But I also didn’t think about correcting it but somehow, deep inside, I knew it wasn’t permanent.
The final straw was when I took my daughter to school and when I got home my neighbor came up to me telling me I was about to blow my engine because there was no oil in it and it was making horrid sounds.
I immediately went in and got my husband and went back to the clinic and in two days I had my hearing back. I’d had the surf in my ears and head for so long that the silence of no surf sounds was deafening.. I could hear birds and sirens. I could hear my beloved daughter talking to me and I could hear her laugh.
My friend, Greg, will never get antibiotics to make him hear. Going to movies in theatres for him is very hard work. He has to watch lips and actions and the actor is speaking with his back to the camera, what he’s saying is lost.
I had my Josh Groban CD playing in my car and knowing how his music was affecting me wrenched my heart that Greg couldn’t hear his words of love that he was singing. I switched to Kenny Loggins. I kept putting in more and more touching music. Paul Potts.. Greg will never hear ‘Nessan Dorma’. Greg will never be able to go to Dinner Theatre with me and enjoy the productions as I do. But.. Greg has more to him than just not being able to hear. Greg has the joy of life. So many people don’t. They just ‘get through’ the day.
My friend Linda and I were talking about what would we do with ourselves if we lost our hearing.. as you read, I’ve sort of been there.. our sight .. I did a little bit of that as well. Once, in Salt Lake City, where I ran a sod yard and had to be on the lot by 6 am. So as not to waken my roommates, I learned to take showers, get dressed, etc (including shaving) in total darkness with my eyes closed. I could do it, but I’d hate every second of it.
But if it really would happen, what would we do with our lives? I’m a musician, artist and photographer. What would I do? What would I do if I couldn’t hear OR see? The mind boggles.
I enjoyed having this man in my life for as long as we were supposed to hang out. He and another disabled man were both in my life for a major reason. Both are nearly mensa with their intelligence. The other man, Tony, gifted me with a production computer where I can do my part filming and editing documentaries. I can create gentle meditations. We can do so many wonderful things with this medium I’ve longed to have in hand for decades. My gratitude in knowing these wonderful people is endless.
And we are all in this together to do great works. We are here to bring awareness to others what I had no clue of. And it’s going to be amazing.. and truly humbling. Especially for me.. I am blown away with what I’m learning and I will bring to you all what I learn as the adventure goes on.
Copyright 2008, From Bekki Shanklin’s “Thinking all the time” series
I have heard music all my life.. I’ve heard loving words, yelling, laughing, sirens, talking, birds chirping on a beautiful spring morning. I am a vocalist and musician. I have four octaves and have been told I have an amazing voice. I sing and listen to music all the time.
I was in a relationship with a man who is deaf. He has never heard the emotion of music. He will never know that some music is so wonderful and amazing that will break his heart and bring tears to his eyes because of its beauty and emotion. He will never hear me sing.
When I moved to south Florida with its subtropical climate, I started getting severe earaches. Each time, antibiotics cleared it up from the pain, to that rolling metal ball feel and then suddenly I noticed that it was just .. gone .. and my life went on as usual but with only a loud surf in my head. The louder it got, the louder my voice got in my head and I started to speak very softly. My husband would touch my hand and I could see his lips ask me to speak up. When I did, it was shouting in my head.
One time, though, I never felt the pain, and for a month and a half I was deaf. When my husband and I were in the store, he’d touch my hand and mouth the words asking if I needed whatever was on the shelf. One morning I woke up and my daughter came out of her room with her hands over her ears as a water heater has burst in the apartment above, there was water flowing out of all of the electrical outlets and the smoke alarm was going off incessantly. I didn’t hear it. But I also didn’t think about correcting it but somehow, deep inside, I knew it wasn’t permanent.
The final straw was when I took my daughter to school and when I got home my neighbor came up to me telling me I was about to blow my engine because there was no oil in it and it was making horrid sounds.
I immediately went in and got my husband and went back to the clinic and in two days I had my hearing back. I’d had the surf in my ears and head for so long that the silence of no surf sounds was deafening.. I could hear birds and sirens. I could hear my beloved daughter talking to me and I could hear her laugh.
My friend, Greg, will never get antibiotics to make him hear. Going to movies in theatres for him is very hard work. He has to watch lips and actions and the actor is speaking with his back to the camera, what he’s saying is lost.
I had my Josh Groban CD playing in my car and knowing how his music was affecting me wrenched my heart that Greg couldn’t hear his words of love that he was singing. I switched to Kenny Loggins. I kept putting in more and more touching music. Paul Potts.. Greg will never hear ‘Nessan Dorma’. Greg will never be able to go to Dinner Theatre with me and enjoy the productions as I do. But.. Greg has more to him than just not being able to hear. Greg has the joy of life. So many people don’t. They just ‘get through’ the day.
My friend Linda and I were talking about what would we do with ourselves if we lost our hearing.. as you read, I’ve sort of been there.. our sight .. I did a little bit of that as well. Once, in Salt Lake City, where I ran a sod yard and had to be on the lot by 6 am. So as not to waken my roommates, I learned to take showers, get dressed, etc (including shaving) in total darkness with my eyes closed. I could do it, but I’d hate every second of it.
But if it really would happen, what would we do with our lives? I’m a musician, artist and photographer. What would I do? What would I do if I couldn’t hear OR see? The mind boggles.
I enjoyed having this man in my life for as long as we were supposed to hang out. He and another disabled man were both in my life for a major reason. Both are nearly mensa with their intelligence. The other man, Tony, gifted me with a production computer where I can do my part filming and editing documentaries. I can create gentle meditations. We can do so many wonderful things with this medium I’ve longed to have in hand for decades. My gratitude in knowing these wonderful people is endless.
And we are all in this together to do great works. We are here to bring awareness to others what I had no clue of. And it’s going to be amazing.. and truly humbling. Especially for me.. I am blown away with what I’m learning and I will bring to you all what I learn as the adventure goes on.
Copyright 2008, From Bekki Shanklin’s “Thinking all the time” series
The Power Girls Day Out
The Power Girl's Day Out!
What a cool day we had today!
Last Monday, I went to my friend, Lois’, house and helped her set up a blog and did some website work for her and in the meantime, since I had to register her for an email address, I learned that her birthday was that following Thursday. Pocketing this information quietly and sneakily into my memory banks, I just didn’t say much, but kept a secret smile on my face for the next couple of days.
Upon returning home, my little devilish horns came out and I alerted our other two close gal pals, Vera and Sally, that Lois’ birthday was Thursday, what should we do about it? Once the news was out, we started planning a big surprise for her for that following Saturday.. but wait! We should probably find out what Lois was actually DOING that Saturday, April 1st, which would make or break our little surprise.
Putting Vera and Sally into a sort of ‘holding pattern’ I told them I’d get back with them. Calling Lois, I did find out that after her usual, successful yard sailing morning, she was ‘at her leisure’ for the rest of the afternoon.. ‘why,’ she asked? ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘Vera and Sally wanted to know if we all wanted to trek to Sally’s and have a Power Girls Afternoon of lunch and chatter!’ Lois said to count her in! Whoo-hoo! The sneaky stage was set!
Getting back with Vera and Sally, we quietly and with determination set the stage for a day of surprises!
Saturday in Florida dawned bright, warm and beautiful. Lois had decided to come around 12:30 and pick me up first, then drive across town to gather up Vera and then we’d pick up lunch and head out to Sally’s house. Sally lives in what used to be ‘the country’ part of Lee County.. now she’s surrounded by new highway and home building and we never get to her house the same way because of all the construction.
As we drove out we were just chattering away, like girl friends do, when I looked up and said, “Turn right HERE!!!!!” So, being the quick and great driver that she is, Lois wrenched the wheel and made the turn onto a sort of service road that would take us to Sally’s little house. Since we’d stopped at The Colonel’s for chicken and sodas, the sodas went air-borne and THANKFULLY.. and with much surprise .. the lids stayed on and there was no great crash and splash with the turn.. the Universe was totally looking out for us today!
But I digress.. we got to Sally’s house and said hello to her husband, who decided that being scarce was the better part of valor.. so we didn’t see him again as he quietly made his way to the computer room and stayed there quietly.. (we were teasing him about getting into a thong and being a Chippendale dancer, because we’d all brought dollar bills! LOL.. but alas, it was not to be.. ) I’m sure we heard a sigh of relief when he was creeping quietly and unobserved into the other room and we were distracted by Sally bringing out Lois’ birthday cake.
About my birthday card to Lois .. I stopped at a grocery store that was closing and saw just the card.. checking my watch.. grabbed the card and an envelope.. it was only today that I found that the card was about an inch larger than the envelope.. but she loved the card anyway and got a nice envelope that she can use .. for something .. Thank heaven I’m cute.. LOL
Anyway, after the cake we were having a wonderful conversation when my cell phone rang. It was my beautiful daughter, Anjelica, who is in the Orlando area and an Athletic Trainer. And uttered horrific words.. “MOM!!!!! I just had a horrible accident.. I hit someone and my car insurance lapsed! What should I DO???”
Lois, who was sitting across from me said I went white as a sheet .. with holes for my eyes and my mouth was a big O. Suddenly all four of us were in ‘protect the kid’ mode. We were all thinking what she needed to do next.. how to protect her from a law suit making her pay someone for the rest of her life, or worse! Four executives, educated, maternal, with protective and cunning minds trying to plan instantly what to do to save our Universal baby girl.
And then came the laughter. “APRIL FOOLS!!” And then we four executives, educated, maternal, protective mamas got pissed!!!!! I just passed the phone to each.. after we determined that she was truly safe, had her insurance paid up and hadn’t wrecked the car, we each told her that paybacks were just waiting to happen! There was a lot of mentioning of spankings and butt kicking.. (now remember, Lois just turned 70, Vera is 67, Sally is 61 and I will be turning 57 this August). I passed the phone to each of the others, in turn, and all spoke to her threatening reciprocation with the possibility of us all working-out to practice getting our legs high enough to kick her cute little tushey! The little wench-lette was still laughing uproariously. (We’ll get you, my pretty, and your little dog too! Remember, old and cunning outwits young and cute, every day!!!)
The thought of her being in trouble scared each of us. At that point, it was necessary to rejuvenate ourselves with another small piece of cake and the fanning of our hot, ‘coming off a huge fright’ faces with our napkins in fear for her, which quickly turned to ‘why that little pest!’, totally wore us out.
Soon after, with much relieved laughter, gratefulness of such a wonderful day of camaraderie, fine food and the need for Lois to get back to her place for a couple of rounds of Texas Hold Em with her park friends, broke up our fabulous afternoon.
Vera, Lois and I hugged and kissed Sally goodbye, and promptly got lost on our way back to the highway at the front of her house and waved all three times we passed her house trying to get back on the road .. and finally were on our way. We then dropped off a still-chuckling Vera, who began planning paybacks for the chicklette. Then Lois dropped me off. Hugs and kisses all around.
What a fabulous day with some of the most wonderful women on the planet. We’re planning another Power Girls Day Out Saturday afternoon again soon in the future.. we won’t tell my daughter.. we need it to be a quiet, non-stressful time to laugh and have lunch and yammer-on afternoon.
Bekki Shanklin, copyright 2006, from her “Thinking All The Time” series.
What a cool day we had today!
Last Monday, I went to my friend, Lois’, house and helped her set up a blog and did some website work for her and in the meantime, since I had to register her for an email address, I learned that her birthday was that following Thursday. Pocketing this information quietly and sneakily into my memory banks, I just didn’t say much, but kept a secret smile on my face for the next couple of days.
Upon returning home, my little devilish horns came out and I alerted our other two close gal pals, Vera and Sally, that Lois’ birthday was Thursday, what should we do about it? Once the news was out, we started planning a big surprise for her for that following Saturday.. but wait! We should probably find out what Lois was actually DOING that Saturday, April 1st, which would make or break our little surprise.
Putting Vera and Sally into a sort of ‘holding pattern’ I told them I’d get back with them. Calling Lois, I did find out that after her usual, successful yard sailing morning, she was ‘at her leisure’ for the rest of the afternoon.. ‘why,’ she asked? ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘Vera and Sally wanted to know if we all wanted to trek to Sally’s and have a Power Girls Afternoon of lunch and chatter!’ Lois said to count her in! Whoo-hoo! The sneaky stage was set!
Getting back with Vera and Sally, we quietly and with determination set the stage for a day of surprises!
Saturday in Florida dawned bright, warm and beautiful. Lois had decided to come around 12:30 and pick me up first, then drive across town to gather up Vera and then we’d pick up lunch and head out to Sally’s house. Sally lives in what used to be ‘the country’ part of Lee County.. now she’s surrounded by new highway and home building and we never get to her house the same way because of all the construction.
As we drove out we were just chattering away, like girl friends do, when I looked up and said, “Turn right HERE!!!!!” So, being the quick and great driver that she is, Lois wrenched the wheel and made the turn onto a sort of service road that would take us to Sally’s little house. Since we’d stopped at The Colonel’s for chicken and sodas, the sodas went air-borne and THANKFULLY.. and with much surprise .. the lids stayed on and there was no great crash and splash with the turn.. the Universe was totally looking out for us today!
But I digress.. we got to Sally’s house and said hello to her husband, who decided that being scarce was the better part of valor.. so we didn’t see him again as he quietly made his way to the computer room and stayed there quietly.. (we were teasing him about getting into a thong and being a Chippendale dancer, because we’d all brought dollar bills! LOL.. but alas, it was not to be.. ) I’m sure we heard a sigh of relief when he was creeping quietly and unobserved into the other room and we were distracted by Sally bringing out Lois’ birthday cake.
About my birthday card to Lois .. I stopped at a grocery store that was closing and saw just the card.. checking my watch.. grabbed the card and an envelope.. it was only today that I found that the card was about an inch larger than the envelope.. but she loved the card anyway and got a nice envelope that she can use .. for something .. Thank heaven I’m cute.. LOL
Anyway, after the cake we were having a wonderful conversation when my cell phone rang. It was my beautiful daughter, Anjelica, who is in the Orlando area and an Athletic Trainer. And uttered horrific words.. “MOM!!!!! I just had a horrible accident.. I hit someone and my car insurance lapsed! What should I DO???”
Lois, who was sitting across from me said I went white as a sheet .. with holes for my eyes and my mouth was a big O. Suddenly all four of us were in ‘protect the kid’ mode. We were all thinking what she needed to do next.. how to protect her from a law suit making her pay someone for the rest of her life, or worse! Four executives, educated, maternal, with protective and cunning minds trying to plan instantly what to do to save our Universal baby girl.
And then came the laughter. “APRIL FOOLS!!” And then we four executives, educated, maternal, protective mamas got pissed!!!!! I just passed the phone to each.. after we determined that she was truly safe, had her insurance paid up and hadn’t wrecked the car, we each told her that paybacks were just waiting to happen! There was a lot of mentioning of spankings and butt kicking.. (now remember, Lois just turned 70, Vera is 67, Sally is 61 and I will be turning 57 this August). I passed the phone to each of the others, in turn, and all spoke to her threatening reciprocation with the possibility of us all working-out to practice getting our legs high enough to kick her cute little tushey! The little wench-lette was still laughing uproariously. (We’ll get you, my pretty, and your little dog too! Remember, old and cunning outwits young and cute, every day!!!)
The thought of her being in trouble scared each of us. At that point, it was necessary to rejuvenate ourselves with another small piece of cake and the fanning of our hot, ‘coming off a huge fright’ faces with our napkins in fear for her, which quickly turned to ‘why that little pest!’, totally wore us out.
Soon after, with much relieved laughter, gratefulness of such a wonderful day of camaraderie, fine food and the need for Lois to get back to her place for a couple of rounds of Texas Hold Em with her park friends, broke up our fabulous afternoon.
Vera, Lois and I hugged and kissed Sally goodbye, and promptly got lost on our way back to the highway at the front of her house and waved all three times we passed her house trying to get back on the road .. and finally were on our way. We then dropped off a still-chuckling Vera, who began planning paybacks for the chicklette. Then Lois dropped me off. Hugs and kisses all around.
What a fabulous day with some of the most wonderful women on the planet. We’re planning another Power Girls Day Out Saturday afternoon again soon in the future.. we won’t tell my daughter.. we need it to be a quiet, non-stressful time to laugh and have lunch and yammer-on afternoon.
Bekki Shanklin, copyright 2006, from her “Thinking All The Time” series.
I sold my lawnmower today
I sold my lawnmower today
About 3 years ago, I decided, because I was living in a house with a yard and had roommates that wanted to do yard work, I'd whip out and buy a lawnmower. A really nice one. A red one. I was told on the tag that when you hold the little bar up tight against the horizontal handle, it would help propel the mower and if the one pushing the mower, fell, slipped, stepped in a rabbit hole or in any other way passed out and let go of the handle, the mower would stop immediately.
I took this as gospel, since I was never going to be the one pushing the mower, in any way, for any reason. My roommate, although he would have probably appreciated a John Deer mini-tractor of some sort that allowed you to sit on it, turn on a dime and had a cup holder that would fit a Big Gulp, but he just got a mower that cost a little over $100.
Well, he used the mower about 4 times, and then decided that he'd just sink his money into a yard man to come every week, whip out HIS riding mower, take 10 minutes to do the largess of my small yard, ride the thing back up on the trailer. And go away.
So, to store the mower after each time it was used (remember, all four times), he washed, polished, took tweezers to any stray piece of grass that tried to hide from his discerning eye. He didn't want to use the mower, but he felt he would be abusive to it if he didn't clean it like new each time (remember, all four times) that he broke it out and wandered around the yard with the mighty red beast.
He did enjoy the mowing, when he was in the mood, but he really hated making ever-diminishing squares, so every time (remember, all four times) he'd mow, after the first time, which means all the rest of the time.. three times.. he'd do a figure 8's, circles, and triangles (which when butted together were really squares, but I didn't want to ruin his fun), and that was the extent of his yard mowing.
He would sit and watch the yard guy and his assistant, a really sturdy, well-molded woman that would come with the yard guy. She turned out to be his girlfriend, but my roommate would take them water and then talk to the girl as she did the trim work around the house. He would tell her how he loved being in the outdoors. He stopped talking to her when she told him she hated working in the outdoors, but her 'old man' lost all his help and she had to drag with him each day. He said, "oh." And came back in the house, and got lost in his computer game. But I digress...
I moved to a mobile home park and had a little yard, so I thought, 'What the heck? I'll get the lawnmower out of storage and mow this puppy myself!" So, being the Amazonian woman I felt I was at that moment, I drove my car to the shed, folded the mower handle back on itself, hoisted it into my trunk, all by myself. Then I stopped at the gas station and got 2 gallons of gas, got everything all ready .. and the darned thing wouldn't start.
A helpful neighbor came over, cleaned the spark plug, primed the little pump (where the heck do people learn to DO this stuff???), and vaVOOM! The little red beast cranked right up! Whoo-hoo! The neighbor looked at me with a question in his eyes, and I stepped up and said, "Thanks so much! I'm going to mow the yard!" He stepped back, still holding the bar up against the handle and I took over. The captain of my own ship, and facilitator of making a beautiful yard! Here I GO!!!!!
Dang. About 50 steps into this project I was silently begging for someone to shoot me now. But, seeing my neighbors, including the one who got the darned thing going, were bent over a car engine as if they were really trying to fix it, but every time I'd stop to wipe sweat out of my eyes and happen to glance over, they quickly looked back earnestly at the car engine instead of flat out watching me.
I noticed that they'd put the cell phone right on the fender next to where they were working. I later found out that my face was so red, my face with such a grim expression on it and my arms shaking more than the vibration of the mower itself, that they thought they'd have to call 9-1-1. About 40 minutes later, seemed like three years, I staggered through the last width of grass and let go of the handle and the mower stopped short and there was quiet. Except of course the thundering in my ears and I kept trying to wipe the spots that kept swirling around in my eyes away.
I dragged the mower back beside the steps to my door, sat down and breathed deeply and willed my heart to slow down.. not stop.. but just ease up just a little. The black spots were moving straight to the iridescent. The neighbors, by that time, were asking me something. When my throbbing heart slowed and my hearing came back, and my glasses unfeigned, I smiled, wiped my forehead on my grass-shredded forearm and said, "No, I'm fine! I DID IT!!!! Whoo-hoo!!"
What I can't understand was, after I grooved on mowing my own yard that first time, and I would get gas at the station on the corner and get home with it, my yard was mowed, weed-whacked, leaf blown.. and I never got another chance to mow my yard again.
So yesterday, I happened to mention that I was selling my mower to a co-worker and he jumped right on it. He wanted the mower for his son so the son could start mowing yards and making spending money for his x-box stuff.. whatever that is, heck, I just learned to start up the lawnmower.
Bekki Shanklin, copyright 2006, from her "Thinking all the time" series
About 3 years ago, I decided, because I was living in a house with a yard and had roommates that wanted to do yard work, I'd whip out and buy a lawnmower. A really nice one. A red one. I was told on the tag that when you hold the little bar up tight against the horizontal handle, it would help propel the mower and if the one pushing the mower, fell, slipped, stepped in a rabbit hole or in any other way passed out and let go of the handle, the mower would stop immediately.
I took this as gospel, since I was never going to be the one pushing the mower, in any way, for any reason. My roommate, although he would have probably appreciated a John Deer mini-tractor of some sort that allowed you to sit on it, turn on a dime and had a cup holder that would fit a Big Gulp, but he just got a mower that cost a little over $100.
Well, he used the mower about 4 times, and then decided that he'd just sink his money into a yard man to come every week, whip out HIS riding mower, take 10 minutes to do the largess of my small yard, ride the thing back up on the trailer. And go away.
So, to store the mower after each time it was used (remember, all four times), he washed, polished, took tweezers to any stray piece of grass that tried to hide from his discerning eye. He didn't want to use the mower, but he felt he would be abusive to it if he didn't clean it like new each time (remember, all four times) that he broke it out and wandered around the yard with the mighty red beast.
He did enjoy the mowing, when he was in the mood, but he really hated making ever-diminishing squares, so every time (remember, all four times) he'd mow, after the first time, which means all the rest of the time.. three times.. he'd do a figure 8's, circles, and triangles (which when butted together were really squares, but I didn't want to ruin his fun), and that was the extent of his yard mowing.
He would sit and watch the yard guy and his assistant, a really sturdy, well-molded woman that would come with the yard guy. She turned out to be his girlfriend, but my roommate would take them water and then talk to the girl as she did the trim work around the house. He would tell her how he loved being in the outdoors. He stopped talking to her when she told him she hated working in the outdoors, but her 'old man' lost all his help and she had to drag with him each day. He said, "oh." And came back in the house, and got lost in his computer game. But I digress...
I moved to a mobile home park and had a little yard, so I thought, 'What the heck? I'll get the lawnmower out of storage and mow this puppy myself!" So, being the Amazonian woman I felt I was at that moment, I drove my car to the shed, folded the mower handle back on itself, hoisted it into my trunk, all by myself. Then I stopped at the gas station and got 2 gallons of gas, got everything all ready .. and the darned thing wouldn't start.
A helpful neighbor came over, cleaned the spark plug, primed the little pump (where the heck do people learn to DO this stuff???), and vaVOOM! The little red beast cranked right up! Whoo-hoo! The neighbor looked at me with a question in his eyes, and I stepped up and said, "Thanks so much! I'm going to mow the yard!" He stepped back, still holding the bar up against the handle and I took over. The captain of my own ship, and facilitator of making a beautiful yard! Here I GO!!!!!
Dang. About 50 steps into this project I was silently begging for someone to shoot me now. But, seeing my neighbors, including the one who got the darned thing going, were bent over a car engine as if they were really trying to fix it, but every time I'd stop to wipe sweat out of my eyes and happen to glance over, they quickly looked back earnestly at the car engine instead of flat out watching me.
I noticed that they'd put the cell phone right on the fender next to where they were working. I later found out that my face was so red, my face with such a grim expression on it and my arms shaking more than the vibration of the mower itself, that they thought they'd have to call 9-1-1. About 40 minutes later, seemed like three years, I staggered through the last width of grass and let go of the handle and the mower stopped short and there was quiet. Except of course the thundering in my ears and I kept trying to wipe the spots that kept swirling around in my eyes away.
I dragged the mower back beside the steps to my door, sat down and breathed deeply and willed my heart to slow down.. not stop.. but just ease up just a little. The black spots were moving straight to the iridescent. The neighbors, by that time, were asking me something. When my throbbing heart slowed and my hearing came back, and my glasses unfeigned, I smiled, wiped my forehead on my grass-shredded forearm and said, "No, I'm fine! I DID IT!!!! Whoo-hoo!!"
What I can't understand was, after I grooved on mowing my own yard that first time, and I would get gas at the station on the corner and get home with it, my yard was mowed, weed-whacked, leaf blown.. and I never got another chance to mow my yard again.
So yesterday, I happened to mention that I was selling my mower to a co-worker and he jumped right on it. He wanted the mower for his son so the son could start mowing yards and making spending money for his x-box stuff.. whatever that is, heck, I just learned to start up the lawnmower.
Bekki Shanklin, copyright 2006, from her "Thinking all the time" series
At the Batting Cage
An Interesting Day at the Batting Cage
A good friend of mine was in town yesterday afternoon and where did he want to go? not to the new butterfly garden with the flowers and stuff.. not to a movie where sitting down in the dark appeals to me, not a cool restaurant (again with the sitting down thing).. but to Mike Greenwell's to play the arcade, go into the batting cages and play miniature golf.
So, I thought to myself, ok, I'll play your silly reindeer games and I met him there.. first of all .. the arcade.. smelled pretty good.. fragrant disinfectant smell-good.. but then I remembered that a LOT of ppl/kids/etc touch all this stuff and I don't see the attendants running around with clorox wipes cleaning up after everyone's touching the stuff.
I survived the boredom of two air hockey games. HINT: do NOT put your hand on the railing w your fingers hanging over it.. it's a magnet for that puck-thing.. but I was able to use both hands, alternatingly to work the muscles on both arms, so that was cool.. Then we raced souped up cars.. I chose the baja run a couple of times and kept hitting coyotes.. the graphics didn't seem to mind running over the cacti and coyotes and big rocks..
My top speed was 58mph.. felt at LEAST like 59. But I digress..
I did like the toss the ball up a 'thing' and under a net to see what hole it went into.. the more points I got to, the more tickets rolled out.. I was then able to attain the epitome of 9 tickets.. thus got 3 tootsie roll minis and it was all good.. But THEN.. I wanted to go to the batting cages.. I had to don a helmet that only 1220000000 other people had previously donned, but they sprayed it w lysol for me.. whew.. did I feel better! and she asked what bat I wanted.. I said 'one of those there on the wall'.. she asked, 'softball or hardball?' I said, "gimme a bat".. she handed me one. My friend got a heavier one.. we went out and kept walking around until we got to the 'grounders' cage.. ok, slowpitch maybe it was listed.. but I did pretty good.. I hit some right-handed, then I switched arms and hit some left-handed. With whatever action sport I do, I alternate hands/arms so that I'm sore on both sides as well as 'worked out' vs just in major pain on one side only.
I discovered I'm an equal opportunity ball misser.. but some actually connected.. and the more I swung and played, the more connected. The more my body hurt.. but the action of hitting the ball.. oh, yeah, I had a REAL hitter stance.. pfft.. but I did get some movement in that I'm not used to, as witnessed trying to roll out of my waterbed this morning.. a sad and sorry sight.
But I'd love to go back to the batting cage, missing the previously touched 'stuff' inside the arcade, and keep the exercise going.. luckily I had taken off my glasses as when I did it before 30 years ago, they fogged up and I couldn't see the ball coming.. and this time, I could see it and didn't get all sweaty. I passed on the miniature golf.. I was done..
I just don't compete and he was trying to get me to the fast ball cage to see how many he could hit vs me.. I passed when I heard the sound of the ball hitting the pad on the back of the cage and if I'd be hit, it would hurt FAR more than 'my love of the game'.. and frankly, my give a damn is broken when it comes to how many points someone makes vs another .. pfft.. next.. then he punched my arm saying 'come ON!!! get INTO it!!!' I punched him back and said, "NAH.. where should we eat?" but I jogged over to my car! man, I felt SO good!!!!!
Anyway, on a side note, my peace sign bags seem to the first choice for most ppl.. and Whoopie Goldberg is wearing a shirt w a big one on it today too! Interesting..
Copyright 2008, From Bekki Shanklin’s “Thinking all the time” series
A good friend of mine was in town yesterday afternoon and where did he want to go? not to the new butterfly garden with the flowers and stuff.. not to a movie where sitting down in the dark appeals to me, not a cool restaurant (again with the sitting down thing).. but to Mike Greenwell's to play the arcade, go into the batting cages and play miniature golf.
So, I thought to myself, ok, I'll play your silly reindeer games and I met him there.. first of all .. the arcade.. smelled pretty good.. fragrant disinfectant smell-good.. but then I remembered that a LOT of ppl/kids/etc touch all this stuff and I don't see the attendants running around with clorox wipes cleaning up after everyone's touching the stuff.
I survived the boredom of two air hockey games. HINT: do NOT put your hand on the railing w your fingers hanging over it.. it's a magnet for that puck-thing.. but I was able to use both hands, alternatingly to work the muscles on both arms, so that was cool.. Then we raced souped up cars.. I chose the baja run a couple of times and kept hitting coyotes.. the graphics didn't seem to mind running over the cacti and coyotes and big rocks..
My top speed was 58mph.. felt at LEAST like 59. But I digress..
I did like the toss the ball up a 'thing' and under a net to see what hole it went into.. the more points I got to, the more tickets rolled out.. I was then able to attain the epitome of 9 tickets.. thus got 3 tootsie roll minis and it was all good.. But THEN.. I wanted to go to the batting cages.. I had to don a helmet that only 1220000000 other people had previously donned, but they sprayed it w lysol for me.. whew.. did I feel better! and she asked what bat I wanted.. I said 'one of those there on the wall'.. she asked, 'softball or hardball?' I said, "gimme a bat".. she handed me one. My friend got a heavier one.. we went out and kept walking around until we got to the 'grounders' cage.. ok, slowpitch maybe it was listed.. but I did pretty good.. I hit some right-handed, then I switched arms and hit some left-handed. With whatever action sport I do, I alternate hands/arms so that I'm sore on both sides as well as 'worked out' vs just in major pain on one side only.
I discovered I'm an equal opportunity ball misser.. but some actually connected.. and the more I swung and played, the more connected. The more my body hurt.. but the action of hitting the ball.. oh, yeah, I had a REAL hitter stance.. pfft.. but I did get some movement in that I'm not used to, as witnessed trying to roll out of my waterbed this morning.. a sad and sorry sight.
But I'd love to go back to the batting cage, missing the previously touched 'stuff' inside the arcade, and keep the exercise going.. luckily I had taken off my glasses as when I did it before 30 years ago, they fogged up and I couldn't see the ball coming.. and this time, I could see it and didn't get all sweaty. I passed on the miniature golf.. I was done..
I just don't compete and he was trying to get me to the fast ball cage to see how many he could hit vs me.. I passed when I heard the sound of the ball hitting the pad on the back of the cage and if I'd be hit, it would hurt FAR more than 'my love of the game'.. and frankly, my give a damn is broken when it comes to how many points someone makes vs another .. pfft.. next.. then he punched my arm saying 'come ON!!! get INTO it!!!' I punched him back and said, "NAH.. where should we eat?" but I jogged over to my car! man, I felt SO good!!!!!
Anyway, on a side note, my peace sign bags seem to the first choice for most ppl.. and Whoopie Goldberg is wearing a shirt w a big one on it today too! Interesting..
Copyright 2008, From Bekki Shanklin’s “Thinking all the time” series
The day I won the DAODD award
Guess who's the DAOTD award? yup.. me
Well, today started with my waking up w a scratchy throat, which threw off all my mental capacity for reasoning, logic and memory. Today was another instance of when I side-stepped my IQ.
Let me tell you what happened: I work for Kodak and today I went into the walmart that I was assigned to and hung out for my hours.
When I first got there, I laboriously set my mind-particles to remember how many places from the door I was.. which was 5 after the disabled places and the tree. I walk straight up to the door, go to sign in at customer service and walked back to the back of the store to go hang with my camera buddies who hate working at walmart.
When I was finished, I walked back up to cust service to turn in my required 'vendor' tag. I was happy to be going home b/c my throat continued to be scratchy.
I went out the door, counted the 5 places after the disabled parking and the tree and my car wasn't there.. HOLY CRAP! I can't find my car! I wander around in 100,000,000 degree heat holding my key thing up on the air and clicking it, waiting for my girl.. (my car) to beep and wave back at me saying, "I'm right here, mama!".. nothing.. zip.. not a peep from the girl.
Still wandering around after about 10 min that seemed like all the rest of the afternoon, sweat coursing down my back and running down my.. well, you know.. I expected to turn around to see where I was walking and find a sweat trail.. I was lucky.. it all puddled into my underpants.. sheesh..
So, not shaking too badly, I bit the bullet and went in and called 9-1-1.. "Hello? I'm so sorry to bother you, but I think my car's been stolen." "No problem, where are you located?" "Walmart".. long pause where I'm sure she covered the mic and yelled "We've got another noodlehead who lost her car at walmart". But at that time, I was oblivious to anyone else's problems but mine..
A short time later I see 3 sheriff's cars pulling into the parking lot like they were doing a shoot for a scene on Flashpoint, where the SWAT team is called in. I went out and flagged down one that slid up next to the building on the tarmac and not the parking lot.. he was serious about not making me walk any farther in the heat..
"Could I see your driver's license, Ma'am?" .. "Sure, but if there are wants and warrants, I'll go quietly b/c you have your a/c going in the car.. I'll sit on your lap now for some of that.. " He laughed nervously. I was serious.
He pulled up my info and saw what my tag read (I could only give him the 3 of the 6 numbers).. and he turns to me and said, "We found it ma'am".. HOLY CRAP !! that was FAST! He said, "do you realize that there are TWO ways to get into walmart? We're in front of row 4, your car is exactly where you said it was.. on row 12.. in front of the other door.
I'd already called my friend, Linda and daughter, Anjelica.. they were freaking out waiting for me to call back to see if my car was, indeed, stolen.
I said to the cop, "wow, is my face red".. he said, "could be the heat, Ma'am" .. I agreed w him.. so I hoofed it all the way across the parking lot and POUFFE! notice I didn't say POUTTE! (that's another embarrasing tale).. there was another cop sitting in his car.. in the a/c .. behind my car, pointing to it. And I thanked him and told him to hug the other guys too.. then rescinded it, knowing that deed would never be done. But the one cop said that this happens in big parking lots sev times a week.. glad I could help with the percentage for the week.. duh..
So, I quickly called my daughter and she laughed her buns off.. thus awarding me THE DUMB ASS OF THE DAY award. I accepted it and thanked all the little people who helped me win it.. mostly me..
thank heaven I'm cute..
But WAIT!! there's more!! the other week when I went to spend time with my daugther, she had her apartment temp down to 70 degrees.. other side of the spectrum from the above story. And we were laying on her bed and she'd pulled up a corner of the comforter and pulled it over her legs and my feet.. but we kept being cold, so I snuggled closer, she pulled more inches of the comforter over us.. then she got up to go to the kitchen for something and came back and I'd taken her place and pulled more of the comforter over my legs..
When she came in with her hands full.. she said, "hey, ..... why don't we get UNDER the comforter?" we laughed so hard she's lucky she didn't have to change the sheets, too.. we accepted the DOUBLE DUMB ASSES OF THE DAY award.. It was a double-cup on that trophy.. I rest my case that only one person can win it at a time..
Copyright 2009, From Bekki Shanklin's "Thinking all the time" series.
Well, today started with my waking up w a scratchy throat, which threw off all my mental capacity for reasoning, logic and memory. Today was another instance of when I side-stepped my IQ.
Let me tell you what happened: I work for Kodak and today I went into the walmart that I was assigned to and hung out for my hours.
When I first got there, I laboriously set my mind-particles to remember how many places from the door I was.. which was 5 after the disabled places and the tree. I walk straight up to the door, go to sign in at customer service and walked back to the back of the store to go hang with my camera buddies who hate working at walmart.
When I was finished, I walked back up to cust service to turn in my required 'vendor' tag. I was happy to be going home b/c my throat continued to be scratchy.
I went out the door, counted the 5 places after the disabled parking and the tree and my car wasn't there.. HOLY CRAP! I can't find my car! I wander around in 100,000,000 degree heat holding my key thing up on the air and clicking it, waiting for my girl.. (my car) to beep and wave back at me saying, "I'm right here, mama!".. nothing.. zip.. not a peep from the girl.
Still wandering around after about 10 min that seemed like all the rest of the afternoon, sweat coursing down my back and running down my.. well, you know.. I expected to turn around to see where I was walking and find a sweat trail.. I was lucky.. it all puddled into my underpants.. sheesh..
So, not shaking too badly, I bit the bullet and went in and called 9-1-1.. "Hello? I'm so sorry to bother you, but I think my car's been stolen." "No problem, where are you located?" "Walmart".. long pause where I'm sure she covered the mic and yelled "We've got another noodlehead who lost her car at walmart". But at that time, I was oblivious to anyone else's problems but mine..
A short time later I see 3 sheriff's cars pulling into the parking lot like they were doing a shoot for a scene on Flashpoint, where the SWAT team is called in. I went out and flagged down one that slid up next to the building on the tarmac and not the parking lot.. he was serious about not making me walk any farther in the heat..
"Could I see your driver's license, Ma'am?" .. "Sure, but if there are wants and warrants, I'll go quietly b/c you have your a/c going in the car.. I'll sit on your lap now for some of that.. " He laughed nervously. I was serious.
He pulled up my info and saw what my tag read (I could only give him the 3 of the 6 numbers).. and he turns to me and said, "We found it ma'am".. HOLY CRAP !! that was FAST! He said, "do you realize that there are TWO ways to get into walmart? We're in front of row 4, your car is exactly where you said it was.. on row 12.. in front of the other door.
I'd already called my friend, Linda and daughter, Anjelica.. they were freaking out waiting for me to call back to see if my car was, indeed, stolen.
I said to the cop, "wow, is my face red".. he said, "could be the heat, Ma'am" .. I agreed w him.. so I hoofed it all the way across the parking lot and POUFFE! notice I didn't say POUTTE! (that's another embarrasing tale).. there was another cop sitting in his car.. in the a/c .. behind my car, pointing to it. And I thanked him and told him to hug the other guys too.. then rescinded it, knowing that deed would never be done. But the one cop said that this happens in big parking lots sev times a week.. glad I could help with the percentage for the week.. duh..
So, I quickly called my daughter and she laughed her buns off.. thus awarding me THE DUMB ASS OF THE DAY award. I accepted it and thanked all the little people who helped me win it.. mostly me..
thank heaven I'm cute..
But WAIT!! there's more!! the other week when I went to spend time with my daugther, she had her apartment temp down to 70 degrees.. other side of the spectrum from the above story. And we were laying on her bed and she'd pulled up a corner of the comforter and pulled it over her legs and my feet.. but we kept being cold, so I snuggled closer, she pulled more inches of the comforter over us.. then she got up to go to the kitchen for something and came back and I'd taken her place and pulled more of the comforter over my legs..
When she came in with her hands full.. she said, "hey, ..... why don't we get UNDER the comforter?" we laughed so hard she's lucky she didn't have to change the sheets, too.. we accepted the DOUBLE DUMB ASSES OF THE DAY award.. It was a double-cup on that trophy.. I rest my case that only one person can win it at a time..
Copyright 2009, From Bekki Shanklin's "Thinking all the time" series.
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