We've had our share of pretty good neighbors over the years, particularly now when our across the street neighbors are rescuing us (okay, me) on a regular basis by closing the garage door when we've gone off and left it open, to letting the dog in and out, and much, much more. (I'll let you in on more later, say, around Thanksgiving.)
But, probably the neighbors who put up with us most lived next door when we lived in Willow Creek in Oklahoma City. We've had nodding-acquaintance-neighbors, hold-a-garage-sale-together-neighbors, even share-the-lawn-mower-neighbors, but Robert and Linda were key-swapping neighbors and beyond.
When Jake was a teen-ager and came home to what he thought might have been a break-in he went to their house and Robert went back over and went through the house with him. When a guy has dodged the empty Christmas boxes, and Easter baskets, and wrapping paper flying out of your closets at him without calling that Hoarder's Hotline, you know he's a real friend. When Robert was out of town and water started spewing all over the kitchen floor at their house Dennis returned the favor by dashing madly (yeah, this was a long time ago) through their house looking under all the sinks to find the shut-off valve. It was in a closet, I think. I didn't hear if he got hit in the head with anything falling on him when he opened the door.
They were in our Sunday School class and when Robert received a pair of old bowling balls (they were wrapped beautifully, the package the biggest, the heaviest, who could resist it?) in a gift swap at our class Christmas party he used them as Yuletide decorations on his lawn, then spent the next month turning them into lamps which he presented to me for my birthday. Such a sacrificial giver!
Oddly enough, our dish patterns and even some of our linen patterns were the same, so it was like having access to twice as much party ware when we needed extra. Linda's beautiful crystal serving platters held chocolate-covered strawberries and little cheesecakes on our dining room table when we had Jake and Robyn's engagement party at our house. And the Tool Time wedding shower (HooYa!) for Jake was held at Robert and Linda's.
After Robert and Linda started working in the Youth Department at church they often had crowds at their house which spilled over into the shared yard between us and sometimes we would come home to find mysterious pans of lasagna in our oven, or big pots of chili simmering on the stove when Linda's kitchen was full and the kids were coming over. Most of the time we resisted sampling. Really, we did. Mostly.
I promise I didn't send her over on purpose but after they moved in we didn't spend nearly as much on dog food. Come to find out our dog, Roxie, was making regular forays to their house for her daily treat. Linda bought dog biscuits for her even though they didn't have a dog. Jake's puppy even made his home on their porch a few times. He seemed to think that Robert's shoes were a tree trunk. Or a fire hydrant. Or something.
Of course we didn't take advantage of having their key or anything. Well, maybe except for the time we had a gas leak at our house and the gas company shut off the gas for almost a week and we had no hot water, so they did wind up feeding us several times and we trekked across the yards, dragging our towels and shampoo like kids in a college dorm, and took our showers at Robert and Linda's. And, oh yeah, when we finally were moving away from our beloved neighborhood, I let myself in and went to sleep on their couch while the movers were hauling things to the truck. Robert had already left for work and Linda was still in bed but she didn't bat an eyelash when she came out and found me there, just headed to the kitchen to fix us some breakfast.
When Jake was moving into an apartment at college and someone told me boxes from liquor stores were the best for moving I collected a lot (I went to the stores and asked! I didn't save them up from our personal usage. I did not!) and was storing them in our garage. I decided I'd better let Linda in on what was going on since they were fellow church members and Linda is a well-respected Bible teacher. I didn't want her to see the garage door up and think "Aha! The lushes next door have finally let out their little secret!"
"Oh, don't worry about it," she said. "I know looks are deceiving. When we first moved here I was looking for a present for Cassidy and went into Christy's Toy Box (note from Pat: an infamous "Adult" store in Oklahoma) to see if they had anything. Well, it said 'TOY Box'! Then I had to stay in there for an hour because I was afraid someone would drive by and see me coming out."
It's no wonder that we got along so great. Not that I ever do anything as embarrassing as that. Usually. Well, okay, there is a little store here in Broken Arrow called "Sassy's" (the same people that own Christy's may own it) They don't have manicures for little girls there even if you are only looking for a gift certificate for your granddaughter. I'm going to have to find a neighbor here who will come rescue me from there.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Filed Away
We have one big four-drawer lateral file cabinet, and two big regular four-drawer file cabinets in our garage, and a two-drawer lateral file in the study, not to speak of the file drawer in the desk. And we are running out of space. The other day I found that last year's tax records, unbalanced from on top of one of the cabinets, had dropped into the cat litter box that is in the garage and the cat had expressed his opinion of them right then and there.
When I told Dennis of this situation, (after I threw away the two front pages of the tax file which were just instructions anyway) he said "We need another file cabinet." No-o-o-o-o! He skirts the edges of the TV show "Hoarders, Buried Alive" by keeping all his papers hidden away in drawers and, for the most part, he knows how to find whatever he is looking for if you give him enough time. But if the garage is too full of file cabinets to get a car in, doesn't that count for the Hoaders thing?
I know you have to keep tax records for seven years in case of an audit, but----I am not making this up!----he has forty-five years of them! He has every tax return we have ever filed and the records to back them up. He knows he doesn't need them; he just wants them. In case.
He has files on every house we have ever owned (seven), files about every car we have ever owned (twenty-two), every insurance claim we have ever made on houses and cars. There are files on all of our medical records going back to the blood tests for our marriage license, every picture of every ball team the boys were ever on even if our boys were out sick the day of the picture, everybody's birth certificates, and on and on and on. There are files about every car accident, files that belonged to his mom who died seventeen years ago, and files related to all his businesses. (He has owned three over the years). And now he has files for Medicare. That can fill a file cabinet all of it's own.
Sometimes these files come in handy. If you have a question about, say, what kind of tires did we purchase for Jake's 1985 Cougar, he can tell you. Or who played third base on the Flyers when they went to that tournament in Midwest City? Important stuff like that. You never know what you might need. Okay, sometimes they have been useful.
When Josh and Jerilyn were booking their honeymoon it included a cruise that went into Canada. At the time you could use birth certificates in lieu of passports to enter Canada. No problem, dig into the file cabinet for Josh's birth certificate. An odd thing happened, though. The legal copy of the birth certificate was not to be found. We did send off to Sacramento to get one but the departure date was getting close and it still had not arrived. Back to the file cabinets. There were several Xerox copies of the certificate but no original. There was, however, a corporate seal from one of the old businesses. This is a device that looks kind of like a big hole-punch but it embosses the name of a company on official documents. You've seen them on legal things.....like birth certificates.
Josh and Jerilyn left on their honeymoon with their birth certificates in hand. Josh, though, did not know that his birth certificate was embossed "Agape Industries" instead of "State of California". We held our breath. It looked like the real thing. It felt like the real thing. You would have to hold it up to the light to tell the difference. No one was going to suspect a clean-cut young, honeymooning, pre-med student of forging documents. They went into Canada. They returned from Canada. They had a lovely trip. It was not until after they were home a few days that we let them in on the secret. We were glad Josh didn't have possession of any scalpels or things like that yet.
I might give in on Dennis getting another file cabinet soon. But I already told him, when he dies, the next vehicle after the hearse is going to be one of those big commercial paper shredding trucks.
When I told Dennis of this situation, (after I threw away the two front pages of the tax file which were just instructions anyway) he said "We need another file cabinet." No-o-o-o-o! He skirts the edges of the TV show "Hoarders, Buried Alive" by keeping all his papers hidden away in drawers and, for the most part, he knows how to find whatever he is looking for if you give him enough time. But if the garage is too full of file cabinets to get a car in, doesn't that count for the Hoaders thing?
I know you have to keep tax records for seven years in case of an audit, but----I am not making this up!----he has forty-five years of them! He has every tax return we have ever filed and the records to back them up. He knows he doesn't need them; he just wants them. In case.
He has files on every house we have ever owned (seven), files about every car we have ever owned (twenty-two), every insurance claim we have ever made on houses and cars. There are files on all of our medical records going back to the blood tests for our marriage license, every picture of every ball team the boys were ever on even if our boys were out sick the day of the picture, everybody's birth certificates, and on and on and on. There are files about every car accident, files that belonged to his mom who died seventeen years ago, and files related to all his businesses. (He has owned three over the years). And now he has files for Medicare. That can fill a file cabinet all of it's own.
Sometimes these files come in handy. If you have a question about, say, what kind of tires did we purchase for Jake's 1985 Cougar, he can tell you. Or who played third base on the Flyers when they went to that tournament in Midwest City? Important stuff like that. You never know what you might need. Okay, sometimes they have been useful.
When Josh and Jerilyn were booking their honeymoon it included a cruise that went into Canada. At the time you could use birth certificates in lieu of passports to enter Canada. No problem, dig into the file cabinet for Josh's birth certificate. An odd thing happened, though. The legal copy of the birth certificate was not to be found. We did send off to Sacramento to get one but the departure date was getting close and it still had not arrived. Back to the file cabinets. There were several Xerox copies of the certificate but no original. There was, however, a corporate seal from one of the old businesses. This is a device that looks kind of like a big hole-punch but it embosses the name of a company on official documents. You've seen them on legal things.....like birth certificates.
Josh and Jerilyn left on their honeymoon with their birth certificates in hand. Josh, though, did not know that his birth certificate was embossed "Agape Industries" instead of "State of California". We held our breath. It looked like the real thing. It felt like the real thing. You would have to hold it up to the light to tell the difference. No one was going to suspect a clean-cut young, honeymooning, pre-med student of forging documents. They went into Canada. They returned from Canada. They had a lovely trip. It was not until after they were home a few days that we let them in on the secret. We were glad Josh didn't have possession of any scalpels or things like that yet.
I might give in on Dennis getting another file cabinet soon. But I already told him, when he dies, the next vehicle after the hearse is going to be one of those big commercial paper shredding trucks.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Daughters-in-Love
We have two daughters-in-law whom we love dearly. (Most of the time. No, really, we do. All the time. Okay, we have our moments) I would say we got lucky but since we started praying for them the day each of our sons was born, I'm sure it was not luck that brought this about. Had Dennis and I been choosing them ourselves I don't think we could have done better, although our sons did not give us that option. (Not that I didn't make strong suggestions.)
They are both beautiful young women but here is the difference between them: Shoes. One wears them, the other doesn't. I suspect that Jerilyn goes to bed with her really good tennis shoes on because I have almost never seen her without them, except when she is wearing really good dress shoes.
Robyn, on the other hand, is hard pressed to keep her shoes on in a blizzard. She will compromise by wearing flip-flops when shoes are absolutely required. A few years ago for Christmas she asked for, and got, a pair of flip-flops with interchangeable straps that could be swapped out for different looks, dressing them up or down. There are pearls on one of the sets of straps for the dressing up part.
Jerilyn likes antique furniture and classical music. Robyn, country music and the kind of furniture that will accommodate the Great Dane at her house. Cloth napkins for Jerilyn, paper towels for Robyn. Robyn makes lists and schedules. Jerilyn will follow lists and schedules but she doesn't want to make them.
Robyn survived teaching in an inner-city school where she was called on to break up fights daily and bore the bruises to prove it. Jerilyn will do anything to avoid confrontation. Jerilyn survived having to drive herself to the ER, carrying her toddler, during a gall bladder attack when Josh was on call and couldn't leave. (I don't think she even called him.) Robyn was lucky enough to get the husband who will wait on her when she's sick and now her daughters will too. Even her mother-in-law will do what she can. (I did. Really, when the kids were little, I took them. Don't you remember?)
And here is what's the same: They are both godly young women who put the Lord first in their lives, then their families. They make my sons happy. And, oh, yeah. Between them they have given me four beautiful, brilliant, stupendous grandkids. What more could I ask for? (Insert Mother-In-Law joke here)
Okay, I could ask for a pair of slippers. I don't do barefoot, but slippers whenever I'm in the house (and sometimes out) instead of shoes seem perfect to me. Midway between the two, I'd say.
They are both beautiful young women but here is the difference between them: Shoes. One wears them, the other doesn't. I suspect that Jerilyn goes to bed with her really good tennis shoes on because I have almost never seen her without them, except when she is wearing really good dress shoes.
Robyn, on the other hand, is hard pressed to keep her shoes on in a blizzard. She will compromise by wearing flip-flops when shoes are absolutely required. A few years ago for Christmas she asked for, and got, a pair of flip-flops with interchangeable straps that could be swapped out for different looks, dressing them up or down. There are pearls on one of the sets of straps for the dressing up part.
Jerilyn likes antique furniture and classical music. Robyn, country music and the kind of furniture that will accommodate the Great Dane at her house. Cloth napkins for Jerilyn, paper towels for Robyn. Robyn makes lists and schedules. Jerilyn will follow lists and schedules but she doesn't want to make them.
Robyn survived teaching in an inner-city school where she was called on to break up fights daily and bore the bruises to prove it. Jerilyn will do anything to avoid confrontation. Jerilyn survived having to drive herself to the ER, carrying her toddler, during a gall bladder attack when Josh was on call and couldn't leave. (I don't think she even called him.) Robyn was lucky enough to get the husband who will wait on her when she's sick and now her daughters will too. Even her mother-in-law will do what she can. (I did. Really, when the kids were little, I took them. Don't you remember?)
And here is what's the same: They are both godly young women who put the Lord first in their lives, then their families. They make my sons happy. And, oh, yeah. Between them they have given me four beautiful, brilliant, stupendous grandkids. What more could I ask for? (Insert Mother-In-Law joke here)
Okay, I could ask for a pair of slippers. I don't do barefoot, but slippers whenever I'm in the house (and sometimes out) instead of shoes seem perfect to me. Midway between the two, I'd say.
Dear Little Girl
When I met each of our daughters-in-law, and knew that they would be in our family, I said "I've been praying for you all your life, I just didn't know you name till now." I found this the other day. It is from the late seventies. I was mushier then.
******************************
Dear Little Girl,
I prayed for you today, and yesterday, and I will pray for you again tomorrow.
I do not know you. Perhaps you are three or four or perhaps you are a tiny baby, just reaching for your daddy's outstretched finger. Maybe you are not yet even born. But, though I do not know you, I know Someone who does. His Word says "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you." And He is my link to you.
Did your mother reach you just before you ran into the street chasing that ball, oblivious to the pick-up truck full of teen-agers that was roaring around the corner? I was praying for you.
Did the big dog that frightened you so badly last week seem a little less scary today? I was praying for you.
Are you beginning to understand, just a little, when your teacher tells you of a wonderful Man who loves little children so much that He told His helpers not to send them away, even though He was very busy? I am praying for you.
Do you wonder that I, a stranger, am praying for you? I am praying for you because in my house there lives a little boy. He is straight and strong and tall for his age. Some days he feels God is calling him to be a baseball player, some days a fireman. He loves Jesus very much and speaks of Him and to Him as naturally as he speaks with me.
Our Heavenly Father, in His wisdom and love, wanted to give us here on earth a tiny taste of what His love is like and so He planned for families. He planned for a man and woman to love each other and to have children that will symbolize the Family of God.
God's Word tells us that He sees us before we are born and schedules each day of our lives before we begin to breathe. That is why I believe, dear Little Girl, that God's plan for you already includes my Little Boy, and that His plan for him already includes you. And so I pray for you each day.
I pray that you will come to know Jesus early and well. I pray that you will learn to love and be loved freely. I pray that your life will be filled with laughter and joy and that you will be able to share that happiness with the Little Boy I know and the little girls and boys that God sees fit to send the two of you someday.
I pray that in God's perfect timing you will come into the life of my son and that he will recognize you and you him.
And so, dear Little Girl, I am praying for you today and I will pray for you tomorrow and all the tomorrows of your life.
******************************
Dear Little Girl,
I prayed for you today, and yesterday, and I will pray for you again tomorrow.
I do not know you. Perhaps you are three or four or perhaps you are a tiny baby, just reaching for your daddy's outstretched finger. Maybe you are not yet even born. But, though I do not know you, I know Someone who does. His Word says "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you." And He is my link to you.
Did your mother reach you just before you ran into the street chasing that ball, oblivious to the pick-up truck full of teen-agers that was roaring around the corner? I was praying for you.
Did the big dog that frightened you so badly last week seem a little less scary today? I was praying for you.
Are you beginning to understand, just a little, when your teacher tells you of a wonderful Man who loves little children so much that He told His helpers not to send them away, even though He was very busy? I am praying for you.
Do you wonder that I, a stranger, am praying for you? I am praying for you because in my house there lives a little boy. He is straight and strong and tall for his age. Some days he feels God is calling him to be a baseball player, some days a fireman. He loves Jesus very much and speaks of Him and to Him as naturally as he speaks with me.
Our Heavenly Father, in His wisdom and love, wanted to give us here on earth a tiny taste of what His love is like and so He planned for families. He planned for a man and woman to love each other and to have children that will symbolize the Family of God.
God's Word tells us that He sees us before we are born and schedules each day of our lives before we begin to breathe. That is why I believe, dear Little Girl, that God's plan for you already includes my Little Boy, and that His plan for him already includes you. And so I pray for you each day.
I pray that you will come to know Jesus early and well. I pray that you will learn to love and be loved freely. I pray that your life will be filled with laughter and joy and that you will be able to share that happiness with the Little Boy I know and the little girls and boys that God sees fit to send the two of you someday.
I pray that in God's perfect timing you will come into the life of my son and that he will recognize you and you him.
And so, dear Little Girl, I am praying for you today and I will pray for you tomorrow and all the tomorrows of your life.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Cat-Tales
There were cat prints all over the windshield of my van this morning. Paw prints going up on the driver's side, slide marks going down on the passenger side. Apparently Morning, our tuxedo cat, was climbing up on the roof of the van and slaloming down for his evening entertainment, what time he wasn't sleeping in the back seat on Dennis's sweater and weaving his fur into it.
He had been consigned to the garage for the night because he was galloping up and down the hall, pounding on closet doors and jumping up, down, and across the bed at two in the morning while we were trying to sleep, meowing to try to get our attention. He got mine. I threw him into the garage as soon as I could catch him. ( Oh, don't go all PETA on me! I leave the car window down so he can sleep in there when he's finished skiing on the windshield.)
Carl Sandburg, who wrote "The fog comes in on little cat feet...", obviously never owned a cat. Sandburg was going for softness and silence. When a cat barrels down the hall it sounds like nine horses in the fifth at Kentucky Downs. It is magnified at night. A cat's life is twenty hours sleeping, one hour eating and grooming himself, and three hours wreaking havoc.
Before we became Politically Correct we let a cat we owned have kittens. It's possible there is nothing in this world cuter than a teeny kitten. They literally bounce into the air when they are jumping around chasing wadded up pieces of paper or strings or each other. They can fit into anything, like in Dennis's dress shoes. They are quickly litter-trained, but before that they may make an occasional mistake, like in Dennis's dress shoes. That made for some unpleasant rides to work in the winter with the heater going!
I swear I wasn't really retaliating for the shoe incident when I almost killed those kittens. It was simple human error! This was before self-cleaning ovens. I read that you could clean an oven by stuffing all the vent holes with dish towels and leaving a bowl of ammonia inside the oven for several hours. There was no mention of the fact that if you don't get the vents completely closed off and you leave the house shut up with kittens inside all day with ammonia in the oven that the kittens might be overcome! We did get home from work in time to rescue them but it was kind of a close call.
Now, I certainly don't believe in reincarnation but cats do have nine lives, they say, and they live a long time (unless overcome by ammonia) like into the teens, so while I don't have any basis for this, I'm wondering if the latest cats we have had may somehow be getting back at us for that unfortunate ammonia thing.
The grand kids gave Dennis two kittens, brothers, for his birthday a few years ago. They were darling to begin with and just wanted to cuddle, but they swiftly turned into the cats from hell. Midnight (Dennis named them. Don't blame me.) liked to be up high, the better to look down on you and plot his next move. He would manage to leap from the floor to the chair to the top of the bookcases and walk back and forth till he had displaced every decorative object up there, then he would sprawl out and take his nap, frequent naps being required of cats but only in the daytime. The bookcases form an L on the wall at the corner and there is about a twelve inch square opening between them. Soon after we got the kittens Midnight completed his high jump and tumbled right down between the bookcases six feet to the floor. I considered leaving him there but the howling was rising to a crescendo that was going to disturb the neighbors. And the grandkids might have noticed.
I made a desperate phone call and Robyn came to our rescue. While I was preparing to remove all seventy-two linear feet of books prior to pulling out the bookcases Robyn attached some scarves to a basket handle, climbed onto a chair and lowered the basket with a cat treat for bait in it down the hole and gently pulled up the cat. I knew that girl was smart!
Dennis wanted to put them in the garage at night so we could get some sleep but I was more tender-hearted. We compromised by getting a sweet little cat bed and shutting them in the laundry room/pantry. They thanked us by climbing the pantry shelves and knocking down as many cereal boxes as they could and drop-kicking several glass bowls that were on the very top shelf.
From that experience I learned to tightly cover anything left in the pantry overnight, especially the cat food, but when I was gone for a week baby-sitting our Edmond grand kids, Dennis didn't think about the cover. In the morning when he went in to retrieve the kittens they had knocked over not only the whole container of cat food but also their water dish making a slushy mess. Dennis, who really wasn't the one who had put the ammonia in the oven, slipped, slid and fell, breaking his leg in three places and, home alone, had to crawl through the house to even reach a telephone to call for help. This, dear readers, is why he walks with a limp to this day.
I may be doing penance for the ammonia thing but I'm not too soft-hearted to put him in the garage any more.
He had been consigned to the garage for the night because he was galloping up and down the hall, pounding on closet doors and jumping up, down, and across the bed at two in the morning while we were trying to sleep, meowing to try to get our attention. He got mine. I threw him into the garage as soon as I could catch him. ( Oh, don't go all PETA on me! I leave the car window down so he can sleep in there when he's finished skiing on the windshield.)
Carl Sandburg, who wrote "The fog comes in on little cat feet...", obviously never owned a cat. Sandburg was going for softness and silence. When a cat barrels down the hall it sounds like nine horses in the fifth at Kentucky Downs. It is magnified at night. A cat's life is twenty hours sleeping, one hour eating and grooming himself, and three hours wreaking havoc.
Before we became Politically Correct we let a cat we owned have kittens. It's possible there is nothing in this world cuter than a teeny kitten. They literally bounce into the air when they are jumping around chasing wadded up pieces of paper or strings or each other. They can fit into anything, like in Dennis's dress shoes. They are quickly litter-trained, but before that they may make an occasional mistake, like in Dennis's dress shoes. That made for some unpleasant rides to work in the winter with the heater going!
I swear I wasn't really retaliating for the shoe incident when I almost killed those kittens. It was simple human error! This was before self-cleaning ovens. I read that you could clean an oven by stuffing all the vent holes with dish towels and leaving a bowl of ammonia inside the oven for several hours. There was no mention of the fact that if you don't get the vents completely closed off and you leave the house shut up with kittens inside all day with ammonia in the oven that the kittens might be overcome! We did get home from work in time to rescue them but it was kind of a close call.
Now, I certainly don't believe in reincarnation but cats do have nine lives, they say, and they live a long time (unless overcome by ammonia) like into the teens, so while I don't have any basis for this, I'm wondering if the latest cats we have had may somehow be getting back at us for that unfortunate ammonia thing.
The grand kids gave Dennis two kittens, brothers, for his birthday a few years ago. They were darling to begin with and just wanted to cuddle, but they swiftly turned into the cats from hell. Midnight (Dennis named them. Don't blame me.) liked to be up high, the better to look down on you and plot his next move. He would manage to leap from the floor to the chair to the top of the bookcases and walk back and forth till he had displaced every decorative object up there, then he would sprawl out and take his nap, frequent naps being required of cats but only in the daytime. The bookcases form an L on the wall at the corner and there is about a twelve inch square opening between them. Soon after we got the kittens Midnight completed his high jump and tumbled right down between the bookcases six feet to the floor. I considered leaving him there but the howling was rising to a crescendo that was going to disturb the neighbors. And the grandkids might have noticed.
I made a desperate phone call and Robyn came to our rescue. While I was preparing to remove all seventy-two linear feet of books prior to pulling out the bookcases Robyn attached some scarves to a basket handle, climbed onto a chair and lowered the basket with a cat treat for bait in it down the hole and gently pulled up the cat. I knew that girl was smart!
Dennis wanted to put them in the garage at night so we could get some sleep but I was more tender-hearted. We compromised by getting a sweet little cat bed and shutting them in the laundry room/pantry. They thanked us by climbing the pantry shelves and knocking down as many cereal boxes as they could and drop-kicking several glass bowls that were on the very top shelf.
From that experience I learned to tightly cover anything left in the pantry overnight, especially the cat food, but when I was gone for a week baby-sitting our Edmond grand kids, Dennis didn't think about the cover. In the morning when he went in to retrieve the kittens they had knocked over not only the whole container of cat food but also their water dish making a slushy mess. Dennis, who really wasn't the one who had put the ammonia in the oven, slipped, slid and fell, breaking his leg in three places and, home alone, had to crawl through the house to even reach a telephone to call for help. This, dear readers, is why he walks with a limp to this day.
I may be doing penance for the ammonia thing but I'm not too soft-hearted to put him in the garage any more.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Fast Friends
A lady I met in the line at Wal-Mart drives 27 miles to work each day, coming from Sapulpa to Broken Arrow. And she bought macaroni and cheese on sale for thirty-nine cents because Wal-Mart will price-match. And soda. Her teen-ager drinks a lot of soda, but she doesn't drink it at all. There was more, but you get the gist. I never saw her before and probably won't ever see her again. We had a nice chat, though.
And last week my husband was sitting in the car with Gus, our dog, while I ran into a convenience store. Just as I came out a lady came up to the car to see Gus (Who wouldn't? He just happens to be the cutest Yorkie in three states). She thought he was cute but apparently she thought hers was cuter because before I knew it she was sticking her cell phone into the car to show us a picture of her dog, which was the the screen saver, and all the saved ones in the album. But they wouldn't let her take her little Gretel into the Aquarium and on and on. We would have been home half an hour sooner if Gus had just kept his head inside the window in the first place.
Almost every time I go into the post office or a store I learn all the details of the check-out guys' failed prom date, the sad saga of a lady who had lost all her trees to a tornado and was replacing her shade plants with sun plants, several stories of operations, failed and successful, the pros and cons of making your own baby food and quite a few recipes (mostly for Mexican dishes, this is Oklahoma, after all). You don't want to know what I've learned in doctors' offices.
It's kind of like Speed Dating for grown-ups; a couple of minutes of pleasant conversation but you don't make a date, in fact you never see them again. I, of course, would never talk to strangers myself. Well, okay, but only when I have something really interesting to say. Or ask. Like whenever I see a guy buying a bouquet of flowers I give him a thumbs up. I'd like to know what he did that he's apologizing for but I haven't gotten up the nerve to ask...yet. And maybe I talk to babies sitting in the grocery cart while their moms are unloading things onto the checkout belt. (Oh, don't tell me you never do that! I see you every time.) And I have to whisper a little encouragement to the same moms who are trying to deal with temper tantrums being thrown in public by their two year olds and still hanging in there. It's a Grandma Rule.
Once, when I opened my wallet and found I was short two dollars to pay the bill, the lady behind me insisted on paying it for me even though I was sure I could go out to the car and scrounge up that much in change from under the seats. That's one I've tried to pass on and it's pretty fun.
I hope I'm not stepping on anybody's toes here, but when our kids lived in a state farther north and east, people didn't speak to you if they didn't know you. I thought I was in a foreign country! I couldn't even get a smile out of the person handing me my food at the drive-through. And when we were leaving the hospital with our new-born grandbaby and several other people were in the elevator with us, not a soul spoke! Can you imagine being right next to a baby you know was just born and not talking baby talk or finding out how long the labor was? It must be something to do with the cold weather back there.
One time when I was in a serving line at a buffet---an out of town wedding, I think---a total stranger, I'd never seen her before in my life, was chatting with me as we waited to be served. "I try not to take too much at these affairs," she said. "But, you know me, I always do."
It's been about five years since I met that lady, and while I restrained myself from saying "Uh, no ma'am, I don't know you." I've thought about her a lot and I realized that, yeah, maybe I do know her. I think she's Me.
And last week my husband was sitting in the car with Gus, our dog, while I ran into a convenience store. Just as I came out a lady came up to the car to see Gus (Who wouldn't? He just happens to be the cutest Yorkie in three states). She thought he was cute but apparently she thought hers was cuter because before I knew it she was sticking her cell phone into the car to show us a picture of her dog, which was the the screen saver, and all the saved ones in the album. But they wouldn't let her take her little Gretel into the Aquarium and on and on. We would have been home half an hour sooner if Gus had just kept his head inside the window in the first place.
Almost every time I go into the post office or a store I learn all the details of the check-out guys' failed prom date, the sad saga of a lady who had lost all her trees to a tornado and was replacing her shade plants with sun plants, several stories of operations, failed and successful, the pros and cons of making your own baby food and quite a few recipes (mostly for Mexican dishes, this is Oklahoma, after all). You don't want to know what I've learned in doctors' offices.
It's kind of like Speed Dating for grown-ups; a couple of minutes of pleasant conversation but you don't make a date, in fact you never see them again. I, of course, would never talk to strangers myself. Well, okay, but only when I have something really interesting to say. Or ask. Like whenever I see a guy buying a bouquet of flowers I give him a thumbs up. I'd like to know what he did that he's apologizing for but I haven't gotten up the nerve to ask...yet. And maybe I talk to babies sitting in the grocery cart while their moms are unloading things onto the checkout belt. (Oh, don't tell me you never do that! I see you every time.) And I have to whisper a little encouragement to the same moms who are trying to deal with temper tantrums being thrown in public by their two year olds and still hanging in there. It's a Grandma Rule.
Once, when I opened my wallet and found I was short two dollars to pay the bill, the lady behind me insisted on paying it for me even though I was sure I could go out to the car and scrounge up that much in change from under the seats. That's one I've tried to pass on and it's pretty fun.
I hope I'm not stepping on anybody's toes here, but when our kids lived in a state farther north and east, people didn't speak to you if they didn't know you. I thought I was in a foreign country! I couldn't even get a smile out of the person handing me my food at the drive-through. And when we were leaving the hospital with our new-born grandbaby and several other people were in the elevator with us, not a soul spoke! Can you imagine being right next to a baby you know was just born and not talking baby talk or finding out how long the labor was? It must be something to do with the cold weather back there.
One time when I was in a serving line at a buffet---an out of town wedding, I think---a total stranger, I'd never seen her before in my life, was chatting with me as we waited to be served. "I try not to take too much at these affairs," she said. "But, you know me, I always do."
It's been about five years since I met that lady, and while I restrained myself from saying "Uh, no ma'am, I don't know you." I've thought about her a lot and I realized that, yeah, maybe I do know her. I think she's Me.
Friday, September 23, 2011
After the Fall
It was raining cats and dogs this morning. Literally. When I got out of the car to carry Gus, the Wonder-Yorkie, into the groomer's I slipped on the wet sidewalk and plopped myself down. I tried my best to hold onto Gus, especially since he sometimes bolts if he gets loose outside, but he fell like rain the last few inches. Or maybe like a huge chunk of hail (he was okay). I grabbed his fur and lay there, holding onto him and wondering how in the world I was going to get up.
Being an Old, (okay, and yes, very out of shape, thank you for bringing that up) Wife, if I get down on the floor, or in this case the sidewalk, I can't get up without holding onto someone or something. Dennis was in the car but I had fallen right in front of the hood, too close for him to see me laying there flailing about like some lobster in a trap and the windows were rolled up and with the pounding rain I was pretty sure if I yelled loud enough for him to hear me the tornado sirens across the street would go off. There were brick pillars on either side of me, about four feet away and I thought of crawling to one, but I had to hold onto Gus. The one-handed crawling thing wasn't working so well.
Then, here came a car with people in it hurrying to my rescue. I use the term hurrying loosely because the car hurried but when it stopped I saw that the couple in it were even older than I am and the lady was the only one who was able to get out to try to help. At this point Dennis finally noticed that I had gotten out one side of the car and he had never seen me emerge onto the other side and he came out to try to help too. Again, the term hurrying is not really relevant. He did take the dog, though, the lady guided me to the point I could kneel up and all's well that ends well.
It was Deja vu all over again, so to speak, but first you must know about my winter coat. I used to have to walk almost 2/10 of a mile across a huge parking lot to work. (Okay, I'm a wimp, but YOU try walking that far in -54 degree wind-chill!), so when I saw the wonderfully padded full-length coat in a catalogue, I ordered it. The fact that it was purple should be secondary except for the fact that when I wear it with the hood up all my kids say I look like Barney. Whatever! It is extremely warm. And, as it happens, the padding comes in pretty handy too.
I think it was Josh's senior year in high school that I had a winter of winding up on the pavement every week or so. I swear I don't drink, but I'm sure that's what it looked like when I suddenly went down on my backside, not just sitting there but sprawled out flat on my back, while walking across a parking lot. It was too bad that it was the church parking lot. I was wearing the Barney coat. Fortunately I was not hurt because of the padding; unfortunately, the padding made it even harder to haul myself upright. Josh and Jake picked me up and no one from church was rude enough to mention it.
A few weeks later when we were visiting Oklahoma Baptist University to preview it before Josh's application was turned in, there I went, splat onto the parking lot. OBU is an alcohol-free campus. There were looks sent my way. They may have noticed the purple coat. Think Guinness Book of World Records-winning biggest grape Popsicle. Or Barney. I think Josh wavered between picking me up and pretending not to know me. Since he would eventually have to ride home with me, though, he decided to be a gentleman and help me up. We waited awhile before turning in his paperwork.
Christmas Eve, that same year, Josh was working at Chic-Fil-A in Penn Square Mall. Jake, Dennis and I went to pick him up from work and since parking places were non-existent, Dennis pulled over to the curb and I was going to go in to get Josh. He parked very close to the curb. I opened the car door and rolled out like a lapsed AA member and fell once again, this time between the curb and the car. I was stuck. The doors on the street side were blocked by traffic, or so Jake and Dennis said later, and there I lay. No flailing, It was too tight a fit, with the purple coat and all. It did not help that the car was bouncing up and down with somebody laughing hysterically inside. I have to admit I was laughing that hard too so there was really no way in the world I could free myself. I guess I'd still be there if a man from across the mall had not seen me laying there and, full of the Christmas spirit, come across to pull me out. He did not seem to think it was funny and he certainly gave Jake and Dennis a dirty look for letting Barney lay there, humiliated, and having to be rescued by a stranger. I tried to stifle my laughter and look pitiful. They deserved his attitude!
I hope this morning was not the start of another season like that one. I guess I'd better get out the purple coat.
Being an Old, (okay, and yes, very out of shape, thank you for bringing that up) Wife, if I get down on the floor, or in this case the sidewalk, I can't get up without holding onto someone or something. Dennis was in the car but I had fallen right in front of the hood, too close for him to see me laying there flailing about like some lobster in a trap and the windows were rolled up and with the pounding rain I was pretty sure if I yelled loud enough for him to hear me the tornado sirens across the street would go off. There were brick pillars on either side of me, about four feet away and I thought of crawling to one, but I had to hold onto Gus. The one-handed crawling thing wasn't working so well.
Then, here came a car with people in it hurrying to my rescue. I use the term hurrying loosely because the car hurried but when it stopped I saw that the couple in it were even older than I am and the lady was the only one who was able to get out to try to help. At this point Dennis finally noticed that I had gotten out one side of the car and he had never seen me emerge onto the other side and he came out to try to help too. Again, the term hurrying is not really relevant. He did take the dog, though, the lady guided me to the point I could kneel up and all's well that ends well.
It was Deja vu all over again, so to speak, but first you must know about my winter coat. I used to have to walk almost 2/10 of a mile across a huge parking lot to work. (Okay, I'm a wimp, but YOU try walking that far in -54 degree wind-chill!), so when I saw the wonderfully padded full-length coat in a catalogue, I ordered it. The fact that it was purple should be secondary except for the fact that when I wear it with the hood up all my kids say I look like Barney. Whatever! It is extremely warm. And, as it happens, the padding comes in pretty handy too.
I think it was Josh's senior year in high school that I had a winter of winding up on the pavement every week or so. I swear I don't drink, but I'm sure that's what it looked like when I suddenly went down on my backside, not just sitting there but sprawled out flat on my back, while walking across a parking lot. It was too bad that it was the church parking lot. I was wearing the Barney coat. Fortunately I was not hurt because of the padding; unfortunately, the padding made it even harder to haul myself upright. Josh and Jake picked me up and no one from church was rude enough to mention it.
A few weeks later when we were visiting Oklahoma Baptist University to preview it before Josh's application was turned in, there I went, splat onto the parking lot. OBU is an alcohol-free campus. There were looks sent my way. They may have noticed the purple coat. Think Guinness Book of World Records-winning biggest grape Popsicle. Or Barney. I think Josh wavered between picking me up and pretending not to know me. Since he would eventually have to ride home with me, though, he decided to be a gentleman and help me up. We waited awhile before turning in his paperwork.
Christmas Eve, that same year, Josh was working at Chic-Fil-A in Penn Square Mall. Jake, Dennis and I went to pick him up from work and since parking places were non-existent, Dennis pulled over to the curb and I was going to go in to get Josh. He parked very close to the curb. I opened the car door and rolled out like a lapsed AA member and fell once again, this time between the curb and the car. I was stuck. The doors on the street side were blocked by traffic, or so Jake and Dennis said later, and there I lay. No flailing, It was too tight a fit, with the purple coat and all. It did not help that the car was bouncing up and down with somebody laughing hysterically inside. I have to admit I was laughing that hard too so there was really no way in the world I could free myself. I guess I'd still be there if a man from across the mall had not seen me laying there and, full of the Christmas spirit, come across to pull me out. He did not seem to think it was funny and he certainly gave Jake and Dennis a dirty look for letting Barney lay there, humiliated, and having to be rescued by a stranger. I tried to stifle my laughter and look pitiful. They deserved his attitude!
I hope this morning was not the start of another season like that one. I guess I'd better get out the purple coat.
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