Forever 19

There is a child living inside me, I swear there is. She's about 19 and isn't overweight, so she has me convinced I look good. She gets really mad, however, when she sees photographs of me (us) and sees only the older, heavy, outside person.  I've tried to convince her that's really what I look like, but she still isn't convinced and, therefore, neither am I.

 I don't think I'd have as much fun if I didn't let her out now and then, though.  She likes to make me do things, then hide behind the unassuming facade of a 59 year old housewife.  The other day I was at the movie theater, for instance, and was annoyed by a guy in the row ahead of me cracking his gum loudly and repeatedly.  Any mature middle aged person would have simply asked him to stop, but instead I found myself wadding up a piece of paper I just happened to have and throwing it at his head.  I quickly turned back to the movie as he turned to see who had hit him, inwardly snickering along with my alter ego at his confused look.  He's lucky he stopped after that warning shot, because the next one would have been a spit ball. 

And there was the time, a year or so ago when, after playing UNO for shots awhile, I began shouting out the window to the neighbors behind us that the party we could hear them having was lame and we knew how to party! I swear my daughter . . . or that 19 year old . . . or both made me do it.

There you have it. My confession to childishness.  To my credit (maybe), I do act responsibly most of the time. I pay my bills, get the check ups an over 50 year old must get, all that. But there are times I catch a glimpse of that other me, the one who'll never grow old - she's most often seen now driving my convertible, wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses - and I just have to smile.

Some gushing about my granddaughter

Colleen and Brian's baby was born on the fifth and Tom and I went to see her the next day.  She is just adorable! I know I'm biased and that all babies are cute, but Riley (Riley Taylor) is just stunning. She's got the sweetest little face and long fingers and toes and her disposition is as sweet as her face. She never cried, despite being passed around from grandparent to grandparent, and occasionally to parents, too. She only fussed a bit once when she was hungry.

If I didn't know she was adopted, I'd almost believe she was Colleen and Brian's natural born daughter! She has Colleen's long fingers and toes and the shape of her foot could be a match for Colleen's at that age! Both have narrow heels. It's really uncanny!

I went out to a rummage sale to look at a Pack N Play, thinking it would be a handy crib to have here, and ended up getting it, then couldn't resist also getting a few cute clothes I saw.  I hope Colleen likes them, but it's no problem if she doesn't - they didn't cost much.

We're going to see her this weekend and I'm counting the days, and hours, till then!

Sheesh! I was trying to help!

While out in my back garden, the one dominated by a huge box elder tree, I noticed a baby bird in the grass. Not wanting to accidentally step on it, I decided to shoo it over to a more protected spot. Little did I know my good intentions would create a riot among every bird in the yard! The birds were doing their sharp, clattering alarm calls, the baby was squawking at me (with very p'o'ed looks over its little shoulder) and all the birds followed me, cawing, chattering and squawking over my head all the way through the tree as I moved the baby along.  Finally the mom, or maybe the dad, flew down into the yard and did a wounded bird act trying to get me to leave it's baby alone.  I told the parent (and all the other birds that were carrying on in sympathy) that I was trying to help! I wasn't touching the baby! I'd leave it under this nice trailer for safety, shade, and easy access, but by the time I got it there, the whole yard of birds was involved and nothing would do until I finished my work and left the area.  I was a little surprised that blackbirds and grackles cared so much about a baby robin!  I guess, when one bird's not happy, nobody's happy!  I'm just glad none of the birds decided to dive bomb me - or bomb me in another way!

Discoveries in the gardens

I was looking at the daffodils I've got blooming in my garden when I saw the shell of a robin's egg laying on the ground. I looked closer and saw it was a complete, unbroken egg! I picked it up and held it while I looked to see if there was an occupied nest I could leave it in, but found none.  Not wanting to put it back on the cold hard dirt, I fashioned a little nest for it from leaves and dried grass and put it back where I found it.  I don't know if a robin will come to tend it, or if it already has gotten too cold to ever hatch, but I did what I could and will have to see what comes of it.

A few minutes later, I looked at my rhubarb plants, which I had divided last Fall and saw they were doing well.  So well, there was some pickable rhubarb there! It was short, but a nice size, so to have a bit of it and thin out the plants, I picked what I could and cut it up to freeze.

April First Foolishness

A little thing I wrote some years ago and added to recently, based on the antics of my three cats.

 

So, in memory of Timothy and Jasmine, and in honor of my present cat, Millie, I give you:

KITTY PLEDGE

I will not stare at the dog while he's eating to make him eat so fast he chokes.

I will not run wildly through the house, chasing imaginary prey.  Especially not at 2 AM.

I will not hide behind the sofa when I am about to throw up.

I will not throw up in the car.

I will not scootch my bottom along the carpet to get rid of hangers on - or even to scratch an itch.

I will not unroll and shred the toilet paper.

I will allow my humans to cuddle me when they feel the need, without resorting to my "dead cat" routine, or acting as if I can't breathe.

I will cover my poop and not scratch the side of the pan, the wall, the floor and everywhere except my sand.

I will not drag dirty socks and underwear into the living room, especially not when company is present.

I will not wake Mommy up by sticking my paw into her eye, biting her feet, or walking on her stomach.

I will not secretly annoy the dog until he barks and chases me, just to see the humans yell at him.

When in my carrier, I will sit quietly and not wail like a banshee for the entire trip.

I will not drop golf tees, paper wads, or toy mice into shoes.

I will not use my human's lap as a launching pad for my panic attacks when the doorbell rings, the street sweeper goes by or the dog barks - especially not if the human is wearing shorts.

I will remember that the dog is not a trampoline and his ears are not there for me to chew on.

I will not chase Mom down the hall and bite her ankles when she's going to bed instead of to the kitchen.

I will not jam my favorite mouse under the stove, then meow till someone gets it - or if I do, I won't do it again five minutes after it has been retrieved.

I will not scratch the sofa, the chair, the bookcases, the door frames, the piano or the carpets.

I will not eat plants, and I will not tip over flowers in vases.

I will remember it is a big, scary world outside and will not try to leave the house at every opportunity.

If I do accidentally get outside, I will return promptly to my back steps, not hide in the neighbor's bushes and watch while my mom wanders the neighborhood rattling my treat can and calling for me.

I will wear a collar and ID tag with grace and style, instead of hooking my lower jaw on it and gagging until it is removed.

I will show my humans some affection—even when they don't have food I want.

I will be gracious to guest pets, allowing them to use my home as their own, instead of hissing and spitting at visiting dogs, and screaming so loudly at other cats I scare everyone except the visiting cat.

What a mess

I suppose this isn't the sort of stuff one puts in a blog, but it's what's on my mind, so it's what you get.

Yesterday our sump pump, that keeps excess groundwater away from our foundation, was rattling and sounding like it was about to die.  My husband did what he could for it, then went to work, telling me to keep an eye on it.  Within an hour of his leaving, the pump died completely.  I put down towels, hoping to control any overflow, and called my husband, who was able to take a day of vacation and come home.  He got a new pump, installed it and all was well.  . . . we thought.

This morning I woke about 3, just feeling something wasn't right.  Upon hearing the pump, I knew there was a problem. I went down and checked and saw that the room with the pump in it was flooded and water was spewing out every time it kicked in - about once a minute!  I ran/slipped/stumbled up the stairs and woke my husband. He fixed the pipe that had come loose while I began mopping up and squeegeeing the water to the floor drain. Half an hour later, the floor was just wet and rugs that were on the floor were hanging over chairs to eventually dry.

Now if it would ever stop raining/snowing and give the pump a break, I'd be happy.

Irish musings on St. Patrick's Day

First of all, my favorite Irish themed saying:

May those that love us, love us.
And those that don't love us, may God turn their hearts.
And if He cannot turn their hearts, may He turn their ankles,
So we may know them by their limping.

The corned beef is in the crockpot and I'm dressed for the occasion. Not in green, I don't own any green, unless I wear my jacket all day.  So I'm wearing orange.  Not as a political or religious statement, just because it's what I have. So don't you green-wearers hate me ;-)

If you ever have the chance - and the time - read Frank Delany's book, Ireland.  It's fantastic.  It gives you a history of Ireland, all wrapped up in a tale of an itinerant storyteller and a boy who loved him enough not to let him, or his stories, be forgotten.

Although I have an Irish maiden name, I don't think I'm Irish. My paternal grandfather was adopted (he was an "Orphan Train" child) and his biological parents' lineage is cloudy, but from what we do know, it doesn't appear that either of them were Irish.  So I guess you'd say I'm Irish by marriage. And throughout that marriage, which has spanned 2/3 of my life, I have learned two truths:

You can always tell an Irishman . . . but you can't tell him much!

and:

When Irish eyes are smiling . . . they're usually up to something!