A Little Conversation

WARNING: The following is a typical conversation around the supper table. It is not for the faint of heart.

Husband says something about where the (fill in the blank, I can't remember) is.

I sing the first line of "Where the Boys are".

Daughter, looking at me accusingly, "Is the second line of that song 'someone waits for me'?"

I smile and sing the first line again, adding the line she just told me. (I did a beautiful job, I might add).

She shakes her head. "They played that song all the time at work. I am so over that song."

Husband: "Connie Francis was very famous in her day. Just about every song she sang was popular."

Me: "She also produced Princess Leia."

Daughter: "Who?"

Me: You know, 'Star Wars'. "

Daughter "Oh. You  mean Princess Leia."  I said lee-uh, she said lay-uh.

Me: "Whatever."

Husband: "No, her mama was Debbie Reynolds."

Me: "I get those two mixed up all the time!"

Husband: "Her ex-husband, Bobby Fisher, said she was all fake."

Me: "Bobby Fisher was the chess champ."

Husband: "Oh. I mean Eddie Fisher."

Daughter: "Thanks a lot! Now that stupid song is stuck in my head."

Husband: (and he  means it) "What song?"

I begin a lovely rendition of "Where the Boys are."

Daughter: "Mama!!!"

And so it goes.

Happenin' Stuff

So much has been going on these past few days, I don't know where to start.

Thanksgiving was nice. We did the usual preparations, except we are all chipping in more and more and Mother less. She should actually be doing nothing but when you figure out how to keep her from it, let me know, okay?
Last year I was flat on my back and had to rely on Daughter to do my part, too. This year I hung in there and wasn't flat on my back until Friday. But the massage therapist has helped. If I ain't a lot better, chiropractor, here I come. I hate being on muscle relaxants too much, but sometimes that seems to be the only solution. Daughter and I are doing a duet at church tomorrow, so I may be hollering for help in putting on my pantyhose. I'm not sure it's possible.

Speaking of being flat on one's back, one of my dearest, bestest friend's husband fell off the roof and landed flat on his back. He has grievous injuries to his back and at least ten if not more ribs broken. One surgery has been done, the "real" surgery is set for Monday if his lungs have healed enough.

I am heartbroken for them. Their lives have changed forever. As she once told me, "There was  your life before you fell, now you have a life for after you have fallen."

If you are of the praying sort, get to it, please. They need it.

I have been asked to speak to the genealogy society here. I reckon it's because I'm so old they figure I can remember way back yonder. Unfortunately, I'm so old I can't remember way back yonder, so I'll read some of a book or two of mine and we can laugh and talk about it.

I can still talk real good.

And, speaking of books, mine are still selling pretty well. If you've missed one or two, you need to contact me. Also, Christmas is coming up and I have a book for just about every age.

Oh, and please raise your hand if you know my password for my e-mail.

Eh, me neither.

Later.

Do You Smell That? Part 2

Okay, so the charred rat was taken away to the woods, the air finally cleared and our house was beginning to get warm again.

I went out to the studio to blog and do some other work on my computer, when out of the corner of my eye I saw something scurrying close to the baseboards.

I'm sure you know what this was.

I sat really still, and in a few minutes, the mouse got braver and came out into the room, about two feet from me. When it started toward me, I said, "Okay, that's a little too brave." I started clapping my hands and the mouse spazzed.

Frantically trying to find a tiny uncovered place underneath the door that leads to the garage, it kept banging its head on the rug that was stuffed there. But finally, it found the place where it had come in and disappeared.

Mice: 2   Humans 0. (I know the first one fried, but talk about disrupting our lives!)

I gave Husband the good news. He asked, "Do I have to kill it?"

"Not if you don't mind all our wires being chewed in half. The choice is yours."

He sighed heavily and set traps.

No sign of a creature stirring today.

Not even a mouse.

Something's Fishy - I Smell a Rat

As you know, we haven't had heat in our downstairs since Saturday. It was 23 degrees this morning. 

Chilling news.

We took the little electric heater from the upstairs bathroom down and made do yesterday.

But this morning was a different story. When I hadn't heard from the service people by 9:05 a.m. I called them. I was on hold for an awfully long time, but finally someone came on and said they'd be here this afternoon.

So we set about building a nice fire, which began to warm the living room (a little bit, it had to warm the firebox first) and put the electric heater on the other end of the room. We got up to a brisk 61 degrees in the living room, but it felt  much colder. The cold seemed to be coming off the walls and floor in waves.

Not more than half an hour later, the office called back and said they'd had a cancellation and would be here in a few minutes.

The fellow arrived about a half hour later, turned on the heat pump and a foul, burning smell filled the house. He went down stairs. Banging and thumping could be heard through the floors.

Eventually he came a'knocking at the door. "I found yore problem. But I don't know if ye want to see it er not."

"Is it a rat?" I asked. I had told Husband when the whole thing began it smelled like burnt meat. And I don't care how old the "little boy" is, I knew that gleam in his eye. He was about to show the girl something to squeal about. (no matter how old the girl is!)

The man grinned at me, and brought forth a very black, charred mouse corpse, it's tail suspended between the grip of a pair of pliers.

Now, I don't know why a mouse would decide to croak right on a heat strip of our heat pump, but he surely did.

The service tech had us back in business in no time, though the smell took a little while to go away.

We decided to keep the fireplace fire, the first of the winter.

I look forward to more fires, but I hope they are under more pleasant circumstances with less drama.

Speaking of drama, there was  more of that later on, but we'll chat about that next time, 'k?

FIRE!!

Yesterday, while still in jammies, just after coffee, we began to smell something burning in our house.

The smoke alarms were quiet, there was no smoke. The animals were calm.

I, on the other hand, was freaking out, at least on the inside.

Our house burned when I was seventeen, and once that happens, it changes you. I don't think about it much anymore, but boy, I was thinking about it yesterday morning.

Husband and I commenced to feel of walls, outlets, floors, ceilings and everything else that would stand still. Nothing felt hot. The switch box seemed fine. The attic space was cool and odor free.

I called the fire department and explained. A very nice guy said he'd send someone out.

A long time went by - maybe a half hour. Finally a guy (the same one I talked to on the phone, turns out) pulled up in a big red truck with a few lights around the hood.

He had this neat little sensor in his hand. It looked like a small TV on a stick. Anyway, it detects hot spots inside walls, or floors, or ceilings. He found none.

The smell was almost gone by now. He asked questions about the dryer (hadn't been on), the heat (yes, we'd used it numerous times already) and if all the lights worked. We went through the house and turned on every lamp, which is a big job in my house.

He said he was still worried, but couldn't do anything else. He also warned me, that if the smell came back to call 911, explain everything that had transpired. "We will decide if it's an emergency. If you had called 911 to start with, someone would have been here in a matter of minutes.  Instead, I had to round up a truck, and then wound up having to come myself. If you called 911, it's a first responder and everybody hops to it."

I meekly agreed to do this. We went about our day. Then last evening, it started getting chilly, so I went to the thermostat and turned the heat up. Guess what? The smell, oh, the smell.  It was worse; stronger than before.

I quickly turned the heat pump off altogether, and we aired out the downstairs a little. This morning the smell was still present, but faint.

So early today, before coffee, we (read Husband) hauled the portable heater downstairs and plugged it up. It got the temperature from 62 to 65 in the living room, which is quite acceptable.

We also have the fireplace if needed, so we'll be okay until Monday morning when a serviceman is supposed to call and come.

Thank God our house is still standing.

Thank God.

Busy Days

The past couple of days have been rather hectic. 

Day before yesterday I had lunch with a friend. She has retired, and we vowed we'd have lunch about once a month. Many months have passed, and although we have scheduled 101 times, this was the first time we actually, you know, ate together.

This doesn't sound like much to the average person - going out to lunch- but it's something I have to get over, which usually means bed for the rest of the day.

Whatever. It was worth it. 

Yesterday was the funeral day. Husband's friend was being put to rest. The funeral was out of town. It was an unusual funeral, for many reasons, and when it was over it could not have been raining any harder.

We were hungry; I had not had any food since breakfast. By the time I got in the restaurant, I was soaked. Yes, I had an umbrella. In fact I had a very  large umbrella. But my legs were soaked anyway. Through lined pants and leggings underneath that. Ugh.

We ate like pigs and drove home in a heavy rainfall.

Needless to say, it was another get-me-to-bed-quick kind of evenings. 

Tomorrow I'm having lunch with another friend then taking Mother to the doctor.

I think I'll just go ahead and get ready for bed now.

Dis and Dat

Looking back on most days, I don't understand why I am not downright svelte.

I go in and out of rooms on a constant basis, because once I get there I can't remember why, then I have to go back and remember. Then, of course, when I finally do remember, I have to go back in - quickly, so I don't forget again - and do or get whatever it was I started out for in the first place.  This entails going up and down stairs, I want to add. Why ain't I skinny?

Yesterday I reached in my winter coat pocket,wearing it for the first time this year, and felt an envelope. On the outside of the envelope it said: 'Kathi Hill:  Contempt of Court, Friday'. My heart skipped a little beat and I thought, intelligently enough, "HUH?"

The old light bulb came on and I remembered we saw a play by that name last year; this was the envelope the tickets were in.

And finally, I have to have some new clothes, people. Most my dress clothes are from when I worked, which was fine for the first decade of retirement, but they are beginning to look a little - shall we say - dated. 

You can send your donations for this endeavor to my street address, or I'll meet ya in town anywhere you say.

Over n Out, fer now.

Ups and Downs

Our household has had an emotional roller coaster kind of day, all before noon.

This morning early, Husband's first cousin sent a message that the  Atlanta Christmas Musical being held the first weekend in December at the First Baptist Church of Woodstock, was a part of what he had been collaborating on, having helped write the music to it. He hoped that we would be able to attend.

We, of course, bought tickets on-line with eager anticipation, not to mention a smidgen of pride.

The phone rang a little later, and caller i.d. said it was this first cousin's older brother. Naturally, we figured it was big brother calling to brag on little brother and ask us to go to the concert.

Instead, he was bringing news of death. 

One of Husband's life long buddies had passed away this morning. Husband was stunned - still is - but even more so to learn his buddy had been quite ill for almost a year and no one had told him.

This was the 'wild one' of the bunch - unable to stay married due to a roving eye, never settling for this or that - always reaching for something else. The last Husband had heard, a few years ago, was that he was up north somewhere.

Little did Husband know the  man had been in an assisted living facility an hour away.

So, Husband is grieving on two counts - missing the chance to say good-bye and losing a friend to death.

And rejoicing on the other.

You  just never know, do you?

Lost and Found

Last night at Bible Study we looked at two of the lost and found parables that Jesus told when He was trying to get understanding through the thick headed, puffed up, know-it-all Pharisees. One was the lost sheep, the other the lost coin. You can find them in the Book of Luke, Chapter 15.

If you aren't familiar with the stores, the gist is, if you lose something, you leave what you know you have and seek out what it is you lost. Then when it's found, you rejoice and tell your friends.  (As the angels in Heaven rejoice when a lost soul is found.)

Oddly enough, I found something today I've been looking for, for at least three weeks.

Actually, Daughter found it by  mistake. She was looking for something else and stumbled over it.

For some reason, when I write a song, the lyrics and melody fall into my head at the same time.  But, as with anything that is new, if you don't record it some way, it's lost. I was on my way to lunch with friends and this song fell into my head. As soon as I parked, I sang it into my camera, recording it for later.

Well, that camera bit the dust last year. I still had the sims card, and assumed everything was still on it.

Not my song.

So Husband helped me look through every sims card we  have, and all his records of downloaded photos, etc. There were some videos, but not my song.

Daughter was looking for something we had, moments before recorded, and couldn't find it. We came to the conclusion that because the battery was low, the camera didn't really record. But while searching for the video, she went into windows media player and there it was!  

I did, indeed rejoice and tell Husband. 

I've worked on it all afternoon, and someday, if I can find someone to play a jazzy little tune on the piano for me, I might just sing it somewhere.

Any volunteers?

Givers

There have a been a few occasions in my life where I have been stunned by a giver.

It was not the monetary value of what they gave me.

It was the way they gave me a gift.

Three come to mind immediately.

One: At work one day, one of the women I supervised had on a shirt which was a pretty shade of peach. I loved the way the sleeves were made, too. I bragged on her, telling her how much I loved the top and how good it looked on her.

A few days later, she brought me the shirt, all clean and pressed, as a gift. She said the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that the top would look really good with  my complexion, and she wanted me to have it.  I still wear that shirt today.

Two: Years later, one of the women at work had on a pair of very unusual and beautiful earrings. I once again complimented a co-worker, and told her how beautiful I thought they were. The next day she brought them to me, saying she had thought about it, and since I didn't have pierced ears, and these were clip on, I'd get far more use out of them than she. I still wear those earrings to this day.

Three: A third co-worker visited my house briefly. She had gone shopping and showed me some of the things she had purchased, including an oval box that could hold a photograph inside the lid.
She used the bathroom just before she left. The next day at work, she gave me this beautiful box, saying she noticed that it would exactly match a tiny clock and picture frame I had setting on the console there. She felt compelled to give it to me. It holds a picture of my mother, age five or so in it, to this day, perfectly matching the things it sets among.

If I think much longer, I know I will think of others who have done this for me - like my second grade teacher who let me pick out a book off her book shelf because she was retiring. It meant so much to a seven year old to get a big book from a beloved teacher.

 Or my friend presenting me with an apron she'd seen and just knew it had Blue Willow dishes printed all over it - it didn't - but if you think I was disappointed for one minute, you would be wrong. There are many  more....

I thought of this because Daughter found some candy we have been looking for for two years. I'm sure she did the happy dance in the aisle at Target, and I surely did in the kitchen when she presented the bag with a flourish.

I will share a few with the friend of the earrings gift, but only a few because she's gone and got herself the diabetes. But it is one of her favorite flavors, and I can't resist giving her a few.

These three woman in my past in the stories, as well as others, make me want to be a better person, and I thank them: Myrna, Myra and Connie, Mrs. Hudson, Janice.

From the bottom of my heart.

Pillow Fight

As ya'll know, I am a dang cripple. Some days worse than others, some days worse than that.

Anyway, at night, or even when I have to rest during the day, I have a thing with pillows. Husband calls it my nest, I call it just tryin' to get fixed.

There is the pillow under the covers at the foot of the bed that I can press my feet against to stop pain in the soles. There is a heated thingie on top of said pillow, and a pillow on top of that on top of the covers to help hold the heat in.

There is the pillow that I put between my legs that must be long enough to allow my to feet rest on it, and go past my knee  joints, so that my hips are properly aligned.

Then, of course, there is the pillow under my punkin head.

By the time I get situated with all this, I am panting. Who knew lying down at night could be so hard?
And, then, I have to turn over.

Sigh.

It's a wonder there is any room left for Husband. Not to mention Frost, Eli and Mimi, which comes to about fifty two pounds of feline.

But we manage.

However; if you are thinkin' on askin' for a spend-the-night party at my house, be sure you bring a sleeping bag. 

It's that or the couch.

And, by the way; for some strange reason, we have no spare pillows, so you'll have to bring your own.

Whoosh!

I remember sitting in class in seventh grade (back when dinosaurs roamed the earth). The windows were cranked open, and I sat close enough to them that I could feel the breeze. We were in history class. For some reason that day, the teacher was talking about, not the past, but the future.

She wanted us to calculate how old we would be when the year 2000 rolled around.

We set to work. It would happen the month before my 46th birthday.

A lifetime away. I was impressed by how very far away that time was from my springtime, seventh grade classroom. And how very old I would be when that time arrived.

Woe is me.

It is an interesting thing to me how small moments like this stand out throughout one's lifetime. Little things, mostly.

I don't even know why I was thinking about that today.

So much has happened in my life since the year 2000 rolled in. Some good, some not so good.

Makes me see fleeting time as  nothing at all.

We are truly like dust in the wind.

If You're Happy and You Know It

I don't care if Daughter is happy.

Well, that's not exactly true. Of course, when she is unhappy I feel that way a tad myself.

What I mean to say, is, I'd rather her be at peace and know where she's headed in this world, even if it means being unhappy at times.

And, being a Christian, I want her to be in God's will; which is the only permanent happiness there will be anyway.

I'm not sure God really cares if we are happy, either. Happiness is a fickle emotion that comes and goes, usually due to circumstances. 

He's more concerned with our joy; certainly a different thing than  happiness. I think we forget that most the time. Or confuse the two.

There are times when I am most unhappy. But I still have the peace and the joy that I received from The Lord God; and that will not be taken from me, even if sometimes it is a tiny little ember than can barely be felt.

Do I want Daughter to be happy?

Eh.

Do I want her to have joy?

You bet I do.

My New Sous Chef

Daughter has a job. I hate Daughter's job. Not the job exactly, the fact that she even has a job. I am used to her being here to help me when she wasn't in class.

Now, I have hired a housekeeper. 

Now, I have to have someone else help me in the kitchen.

Enter Husband.

Sigh.

He is my new Sous Chef, I explained. He said, "Huh?"

I said, okay, you are my  new helper. He said, "Oh." None too enthusiastically, I might add.

So, today was spaghetti and salad day. Now, I have to concentrate when I am making my sauce. So I assigned Sous Chef to making a salad.

The first time he's ever made a salad, he tells me.

The man is sixty-six years old.

But I believe him: ("Do I peel the radishes?")

At any rate, he made his first salad, I got the sauce to taste reasonably well and we ate.

The aftermath, the clean up, was difficult.

It looked like two rabbits had been in a vicious fight in the middle of the vegetable garden on the island. And the stove looked like mass murder had occurred where the sauce had popped here and there while it simmered.

But we got it cleaned up, just in time to be hungry again.

I'm too old for this.