The Unseen Enemy

There are three unexplainable events that go on continuously in our home:

1. We have enough dirty laundry for at least six people. All the time. Even though I am chained to the washer and dryer daily.

2. We have enough trash in EVERY available waste basket, trash can, etc., all the time. At least enough trash for a family of nine.

3. We have enough dirty dishes to fill both dishwashers, both sinks, and possibly every available counter top in the kitchen every day. I do not own this many dishes. And I usually go to bed with a clean kitchen, left sparkling and pristine.

Who loathes me enough to do this?

What have I done to call down upon my head this misery of on-going torture?

What monster has the power of such onslaught, day after day after day?

Is our house haunted by a ghostly slob who revels in his (and it has to be a he, a female wouldn't be caught dead, pardon the pun, exhibiting such slovenly behavior) ability to rain havoc upon my cleanliness?

I am not even mentioning the way the bathrooms can sometimes look, or the thick layer of grime covering my furniture.

Where do I go for help? Who am I gonna call?

Ghost Dusters?

Good-Bye Garden, Hello Fall

Two days ago I picked the last tomato from our garden. We planted late so that we could have some tomatoes as late as possible. I think we made the right decision.

Yesterday, Husband grubbed taters, and we have enough for a big serving. He planted too much stuff in our raised bed, and this kept us from having a lot, but these will still be good for dinner.

I walked by earlier today, and there was one lone onion sticking up from the ground. I pulled it up, brought it in and cleaned it up to eat.

There is nothing left that I can see.

All to do now is to clean the site up, pulling up the dead vines and putting away the tomato cages.

I love the fall of the year, I really do.

But this - this just sorta makes me sad.

Sooner or Later, It Had to Happen

I've been in the know for years, but most have not.

Vegans feel that they are so above us meat munchin crew because we eat dead stuff. Like animals, and chickens and fishies for that matter.

Well, now the truth is out. According to this really cool blog BY A SCIENTIST!!!, the sweet smell of freshly mown grass is really a cry for help from the grass itself. It is in response to the "physical wounding the grass has received from the lawn mower".

Ouch.

The way I found out about the plants feeling pain (think of romping in the grass now, why don't cha?)was from watching "The Twilight Zone".

When I was a growing girl, your education was not rounded out unless you watched "The Twilight Zone" every week at ten p.m., then were so frozen in fear to the couch you couldn't get to your bed and everyone else in the house was sound asleep.

One episode dealt with this poor man, who for some reason, had suddenly developed the ability to hear plant life.

The thing that horrified me and shook me to the core, was when a tree was being cut down and we, the audience, were permitted to hear the groaning and screaming coming from the mighty oak as it was felled.

I was a tree hugger before the show...and after the show? Well.

So,back to my question: What are vegans going to do?

Meat, fish and fowl are out.
Dairy products are out.
Now, all plant life is out.

What's left?

Water (unless they develop guilt regarding all the live stuff swimming around in the water that I presume they kill when they drink it...) Well, unless it kills them first, of course.

Ramen noodles and margarine ( I hear they are both really plastic)

And surely rice cakes, as they do not taste like food, but cardboard.

Oh, wait. Cardboard comes from trees.

Ya'll vegans are in a world of hurt.

Just like the grass.

The Way to Pass a Happy Little Afternoon

For some self-deprecating, depressing, underlying sadistic reason, I counted up  how long I'd been out of high school.

I feel like, about, oh, say, twenty years.

It's been like, about, oh, say, a lot more.

We'll leave it at that.

Then I went on to cheer myself and count how many of my graduation class are deceased.

Eleven have passed away since graduation, all but two of them male. Two males also died before we ever even got out of high school.

Some of us folks who are remaining are in pretty bad shape, a few, I know have terminal illnesses.

A friend called me not long ago, and told me that one of our classmates has been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's Disease.

Looking at all the deaths, you  have to take a moment and wonder about the male population. The two females who have died both had health issues from birth. At least they  had an excuse. Males have died from: gunshot (2), heart attack due to alcoholism, lightning strike, diabetes due to alcoholism, a fast acting bacterial infection, a car wreck, a heart attack (genetic/hereditary) and one lost at sea.

Husband says he is surprised any males make it past the age of twenty-five, due to their risk taking behaviors ("Hey, ya'll watch this!")

I guess this may prove him right.

I am now trying to figure out what I could do to further cheer up my evening.

I think I'll go take my blood pressure.

It's always a little high.

I, myself, have been on television today. Granted, it's the local station and two guys from an insurance company talked (on and on) about - guess what? - insurance, before it was my turn. At least by then all my nervousness was gone, replaced by a state of stupor, which occurs anytime anyone talks about insurance.

It was fun, though. I got to read an excerpt from "Out on a Limb of the Family Tree", and talk about my new, upcoming book, "The Year of Nine: Where the Rain Begins". Hopefully I behaved  myself and will be invited back in November when my new book is released.

By the time the show was over, the adrenalin was pumping, and I was starving. Daughter and I went out to eat and had a great meal.

The waitress brought our bill, I put my card in the jacket, she whisked it away, but came back a few minutes later.

"I don't think this is the card you wanted to give me."

I thought, 'Why wouldn't I want to give you my card?', then looked at it. Took a second or so until I realized I was staring at my library card.

Daughter and I burst into laughter, as did the waitress. She confessed to not even looking at it and trying to run it through the machine with no success.

I've always heard you never could tell what bizarre, erratic behavior us TV stars are liable to exhibit.

I guess they are right.

Six Little Words

"Momma, I've been in a wreck." Trembling voice, shallow breathing.

Somewhere in my mind, I know the good news is it is Daughter's voice and not a policeman at my door.

"How bad? Are you hurt?"  My whole body feels lit up.

"I'm not hurt, except where the airbag deployed. I hit a truck."

"Where are you?"
She was almost home. Three miles away.

"I"ll get dressed. I"ll be right there. Your daddy is on the road headed your way in the truck. I can't reach him, so he'll just show up any minute. Let him see you first thing."

"Okay."

"I'll be right there."

I put on a half way decent shirt and pants, grabbed my purse, turned on my phone, got my keys out of the door, praying, praying.

My car had been having a bit of a hesitancy before starting for a few days, and I had called about a battery this morning. They urged me to take it to the garage first, to make sure it wasn't something besides the battery, as my battery is only a few years old.

The hesitancy was much worse, but it started and I kept telling myself to not drive like a maniac. NO tears!  I said. I heard myself whimper once.

I pulled in, and there she was. In one piece. Her car was in the middle of the road, bashed in. Water and antifreeze was all over the road. The truck's front tire was hanging limply from the truck, but otherwise didn't look hurt.

She came to me. I held her for a minute. She showed me her arm that was burned from the airbag. I asked the boy who was driving the truck if he was okay. He said he was.

The ambulance came screaming up the road. I was so thankful I was there and had seen Daughter before I heard that. They talked to both of them and seemed satisfied that there was no real injury to either of them.

The deputy pulled up. He was as kind as he could be. He asked Daughter three times if she had been wearing her seat belt. She kept telling him she had.

She was preparing to make a left turn and glanced at the little ones playing in the yard on the right side of the road, and as she looked again, she also started moving. The truck was on her before she could do anymore that collide.

Of course, it is her fault. She has a summons to appear in court, but the state patrolman told her to call in the morning, she probably wouldn't really have to go to court.

They towed away both vehicles and we were told we were all free to leave.

She talked to our insurance company for fifteen minutes.

Boyfriend, who showed up before the mess was over,  followed us to the garage. The battery in my car is dead, but they promised to have it ready to go first thing in the morning.

Then we all left in Boyfriend's car.

Daughter and I held hands all the way home.

Shaming the Family

I spent a good deal of my day in Canton today, first at a doctor's office, then lunch (I call it lunch instead of dinner cause it was out to eat and it was not The Cracker Barrel), and then Daughter pleaded to go into Target and look at a jacket she had seen upon her last visit several weeks ago and had been coveting ever since.

She now had some money in her pocket and was set on buying that jacket. I warned her I couldn't stay in there very long, because I had to be in fairly good shape (low pain) to make any sense when I got to my publisher's.

Somewhere on the way toward the coveted jacket, I would have made my granny ashamed of me. I didn't know it at the time, at least give me that.

You see, I've been in dire need of some new drawers. I guess all mine are wearing out at the same time because they were all purchased at the same time. Anyway, I saw a shelf as we passed by, and on the way back out I purchased a pack of three.

They are good drawers. They actually come up to my waist and circle my legs snugly, instead of looping way up toward my appendix. I've never liked low slung drawers, at least not since I've weighed more than a house cat. I see a lot of women (and girls, too) who could benefit from wearing some "granny panties". They wear a sleek dress and you can see every hump and bump. If they would wear drawers up to their waist, it would smooth a lot of that mess out.

Anyway, after my publisher's meeting, we went on home, where I tried to die, as I felt like I was going to anyway. But an hour of bed rest helped some, so here I am, not dead.

I decided to open the pack of panties and read washing instructions, etc.

They are guaranteed to stay in great shape, wash after wash, which is good. It says no problem to put them in the dryer, either.

But then it said: Do NOT iron.

Oh, lord.

Granny always ironed her drawers.

I'm going back to bed and cover my head up with the quilt. Perhaps, since she's in Heaven, she'll forgive me.

I promise to read the instructions before purchasing next time - but I still ain't gonna iron them suckers, and that's not the point. The point, at least in Granny's eyes, was that everyone would at least assume your drawers was ironed.

Ah, Granny. I don't even iron my shirts. I think they have been on to me for a long, long time.

But  you still love me, don't you, Granny?

Granny?