Semi-Wordless Wednesday

You know that saying "Give 'em enough rope and they'll hang themselves"?  Well, I've got my own spin on it:

"Give 'em a Mojo Monkey and he'll work his 

monkey magic on them"

In other words, he's working. 

He's subtle. He's cool.  He's making folks do stuff they probably would do anyway, but it's more fun to credit the monkey.  

Now we just sit back and watch the show.....

And as for the previous owners:

Joe went to the eye doctor to pick up his spiffy new glasses the other day and the first thing they ask him is "How is the monkey? Is he working???!"  He says yes and proceeds to fill them in.  They laugh an evil laugh and tell him that things have never been better at the office.

Peggy Fleming on Hold

All that snow-shoe shopping this weekend got me thinking....I'm gonna be missing out on some fun this winter due to my buzzkill toe.  While I'll be done with surgery and pins by the time Christmas is over, I'm still gonna be in that silly surgical shoe for a month or two. Bummer. 

There goes my ice skating....and my sledding.....and my curling career--if I had one.  Dang. Who's idea was this anyway???!  Shoot, I forgot how much I love my winter sports.

Sigh. Now I'll just be left dreaming of my better days of Joe and I skating together:




Did you see where he nearly wiped out? Sheesh. I think Joe better practice a bit more while I'm recovering...

I'm not sure why we are greasy pieces of chicken

Yes, we did.

We wrapped up a week of Colin being home with a family trip to haul his butt back to school.  Instead of being sad and missing him and all that motherly stuff, we decided to make it an adventure.  So, we left early Sunday morning to make the 3 hour pilgrimage to Springfield--Home of Abe Lincoln.....and Colin.

It's never boring when you are with us, unless Joe is driving and he makes us listen to football on the radio, then we all pretty much grab our blankies and pass the miles snoring.  Joe is thrilled to pieces, but the rest of us stuff our headphones in our ears to block out the play-by-plays.  It's pretty much hell on earth.   But, we tolerate it for Joe--we just make him turn the speakers off in the rest of the car, the only one on is by him.  And he is happy. We....are sleeping.

When we finally made it to Springfield, we went out for lunch, took this snappy photo, and then hiked over to Scheels--the biggest sporting goods store EVER.  They have a ferris wheel in the center of the place--that is how large it is.

We aren't big sporting folks, but it is interesting to see what is available for every sport imaginable.  Honestly, after going there, I'm thinking of purchasing snow shoes--they had lavender ones.  I was in love the minute I saw those, but I'm thinking eskimos don't pick out their snow shoes because of the color.  And that is why I am not an eskimo.  But I would make a damn cute one if I was.

Anywho, we eeked outta Scheels with some purchases (no snow shoes, though--bummer) and headed over to the dorms to drop off Col.  I'm always sad when we do that, but I didn't cry--I think that just makes the whole saying "goodbye" stuff worse.  And then we headed for home---3 more hours of scenic Illinois ahead of us. Yea.

After 3 earlier hours of Joe's driving, I took the helm for the ride home.  And as I gunned it down the on-ramp, I directed Joe to find the Christmas tunes on the radio.  I figure if we are gonna be stuck in the car for 3 hours, it is gonna be fun, dammit. And fun it was--well, I think so anyway.

Nothing like belting out lame-o Christmas tunes for 3 non-stop hours.  Well, unless you count when we stopped for the potty break.  But then it continued--through road construction, holiday traffic and a 5-mile stop-and-go traffic jam.  Em and I sang songs we knew and the ones we didn't--Joe did not.  He sat there just enjoying the madness and trash-talking all the really bad Christmas songs like "Dominic the Donkey" and "The Red Shoes". 

And before we knew it, we were home.  The end.

You know, it really was buckets of fun.

Thanksmas

I've just spent the last 2 days decorating our house for Christmas---waaayyyy too early.  Color me cranky.

I'm not one of those people who love to decorate their house for Christmas. And I'm definitely not one of those people who routinely put up their tree and decorations on Thanksgiving weekend.  It's all a little too obnoxious for me and I don't like looking at this stuff for a month.

This year, I got everything up, sans the live tree (which goes up about a week or two before Christmas), because of my upcoming toe surgery.  I'm trying to get as much done as I can so that I can recover without stressing out about the holidays.  I want to lie on the couch and not feel guilty.  Is that possible during the holiday madness?  I guess I will find out.

So, we've got the lights up outside (NOT turned on, thank you), small tree in the living room up and ready for the cats to take the ornaments down, silver and gold crap and snowman tchotckes in every nook and cranny.  It's red plaid ribbons and angels smiling from bathroom shelves and from high above the TV.  The kids are excited, the cats are having a field day, and I've got a freaking tree in my bedroom. I love my small house except for when you have to make room for all of this crap.

It's gonna be a long month dusting Santas and reindeer.  Well, except for that week off in the middle when I can lie on the couch and use the pin in my toe as an excuse. 

And no, the train is NOT up yet.  Are you kidding?  The live tree would be kindling by the time December 24th rolls around.  The village? Stomped on by Hobbeszilla.  No way....I can only take so much crabby.

The Downside of Twinkie Casserole

...is when it is gone. Or you are polite and you leave the rest of it for your host to enjoy the next day--which is what I did.  Bummer. But not for them...

I trust you all had a nice Thanksgiving. We did.  Of course, I am a tad pooped and a wee bit disappointed I didn't place in the $100,000 Pyramid competition, but my partner was a little fuzzy from Vicadin for her hurty knee.  Or not--I don't think she took any at that point.  Ah, heck, it's our excuse and we're using it.  Either way, we sorta sucked at the Pyramid this year. Bummer. Cousin Kelly and her husband, Ivan, killed it--or she was gonna kill him if they didn't win.  Lucky for him--they did and he had a place to sleep last night.

Speaking of Ivan's--remember how we have two Ivan's in our family and I thought that odd?  Yeah, well add another one--Em is dating an Ivan.  Really??! THREE Ivan's in one family--is that weird or is it me?  I can see "Bill" or "Mike" or "Steve", but Ivan??? And we are not Russian.  Go figure.

So, after a few rounds of the Pyramid, we moved on to "Scene It - 80's edition", which was fun, except at that point Cousin Heather really did take her Vicadin and insisted on singing every single song mentioned in the game--which was a lot.  And it wasn't pretty.  Oh, she knew all the songs and the words--but the tune....well, it was sorta Vicadinish, if you know what I mean.

Either way--it was hilarious. And it was even more hilarious because she wouldn't answer the questions for her team, she would just sing the songs--which infuriated her team captain, Cousin Kelly.  (note: it was only funny because she wasn't on my team at that point, because I would not think it funny either)

I often say that Joe has a "beige" family and I have a "colorful" one--I think you know why.  We are loud. We are witty. We are funny.  And we are competitive.  Everyone is fair game--one misstep and you pay for it for the rest of the night.  But in a loving kinda way. 

So, I'm moving slowly today, coming down from all that food, competition, and fun.  The worst part is that I don't have any leftover Twinkie Casserole to help me recover.

Happy Turkey Day!

Happy Thanksgiving, pallies.  

I'm thankful for the wacky world of blogging, Twinkie Casserole,

cousins who drop the "f-bomb" at Thanksgiving, $100,000 Pyramid, Mojo Monkeys,

 the sheer ability to laugh at most things, and YOU, 

the pallies who join me in the fun.

I've got you cornered........

I live next door to THE dumbest dogs ever.  And I'm not even exaggerating.

For years, we've had to endure Yip Yap the Non-Stop Barking Dog.  He has been barking at us non-stop for, oh, I'd say every bit of 10 years. Yip Yap is so stupid, he doesn't recognize us as his neighbors.  I've talked nice to him (her?), given him treats, scolded him, and blasted him with a super-soaker when all else failed.  Nothing stops that insipid animal from his barking.  And yeah, I know it's the owners who suck, but I still hate that animal. It's his yapper I hear incessantly. 

Pictured here is Yugi, Yip Yap's companion.  While Yugi rarely barks, he runs back and forth along the fence feeding Yip Yap's barking frenzy. Even when Yip Yap grows tired, Yugi's excitement keeps the barking momentum going and so it continues. Yugi's a nice little dog, but if you go to pet him over the fence, he bites you.  Yeah, he's sort of an idiot too.

The very night I was posting my Positive Polly Post (you know, the one about how we are supposed to maintain our sense of humor during the holidays), I heard a huge racket outside.  Yip Yap AND Yugi were barking up a storm.  But it didn't sound right, so I sent Em over to the window to find out why.  I was hoping they weren't going after the opossum or the skunks. 

"Yeah, it's them barking," Em says, "but you aren't gonna believe this" she adds.

I go over to the big window where Em and Grace are on the couch looking out the window...

And there he is--Yugi in our yard, standing with his paws up against our house, peering into our window and barking at US in OUR house. Yip Yap was barking from behind the fence--at his house.

Unbelievable. 

Yugi, the dumbest dog EVER runs away to our yard to bark at us...........INSIDE OUR HOUSE??!

Really? 

We just stood there and laughed. Grace, well, she was a tad freaked out, but I think she thought he was an idiot too.  Joe? Well, he swears he smelled skunk--which would be the biggest get even for these two idiot dogs and their owners.  I giggle at the thought of that.

I'm still wondering if that fool dog ever found his way home---next door.

I'm smiling now, but give me a few weeks....

Well, I guess it is official....the holiday season is upon us. Come Thursday, there is no turning back--it's madness at the mall. It's crazy people driving....well,....crazy. It's stress and forced fun. It's empty pocketbooks and overstimulated kids.  It's having to do too many things in too short a time span.

And it's not going away for well over a month. Sigh.

So, while you are freaking out trying to get this and that done, I want you remember to have fun during it all. Before you strangle your mother-in-law, I want you to take a moment and find something good in the day. Just when you are gonna snap at that dame cutting in line in front of you--I want you to embrace your inner Mojo Monkey, give her the stink eye, and then find something funny in the situation. We have to remember to laugh.

I emailed two blog pallies yesterday, both of which were fried--and it isn't even Thanksgiving yet.  Laugh, I said to both of them--we gotta laugh......or we are gonna cry.  And I meant it.  Each of us has our own troubles these days, but a little giggle in the day goes a long way, ya know?  I actually woke myself up the other night--from laughing.  That's a good thing--I wish I did that more often.

So, let us all remember how insane this holiday stuff is and how the expectations of some mass media holiday induced frenzy can get the best of us.  I'm gonna try hard to breathe deep, grant a little forgiveness on those I want to murder, and to remember to laugh.

And I'm gonna start on Thursday with our annual $100,000 Pyramid competition at my aunt's house.  Oh, it's tough. It's competitive. It's not really for $100,000--but you'd swear it was for the behavior of the adults playing.  But more than anything....we laugh.  And laugh hard.

I wish the same for you this holiday season, pallies.

It's always drama 'round here....

I have the most dramatic cat ever. Really. Here is Hobbes throwing a fit:



And while you think to yourself "Gees, that is not so bad, he's kinda cute" notice how his tail clues you in to how mad he is. That is a "mad" tail for those who don't have a kitty.

Typically we don't talk to him while he's laying there kicking the door, but Em and I were egging him on for the camera. And what he lacks in volume, he makes up for it in dramatics. He's like a two-year old, I swear.

Nobody knows the trouble I seen........

I'm not a big TV watcher anyway, but daytime TV sees even less of me.  Did you know there are still soaps on?  I didn't.  Who's watching this stuff anyway?   And why?

I got a wee taste of daytime TV when I popped in for a pedicure the other day.  Not typically home during the week, I stopped in to this jenky nail shop near my house after running an errand and plopped myself down near a couple of gals.  And while you are there getting your feet scrubbed with sea salt, there isn't much to do but watch the crap they've got on that big giant TV screen blaring in the corner.  Well.....and commiserate with the gals next to ya.

So, there we sat, stuck watching this show called "Nate".  I have no idea who "Nate" is, but the black gal next to me said he was one of Oprah's gang. Oh. 

I'm gonna start this by stating the already known--I am not an Oprah fan. I don't watch her, never did, and I have no clue who her gang of thieves are.  The only thing I got from this guy is that he is an interior decorator--I think. Either way, he rode his "fame" from Oprah and transferred it into a daytime TV show. Lucky him. I still have no idea who he is.

Yesterday's show featured this woman who was in near tears because she came to Nate to help her brother and his new wife.  You see, (she's very emotional) they just got married and returned home from a fabulous honeymoon. (add sniffs) And as they moved into their brand new giant home, they decided they wanted to host their very first Thanksgiving for the entire family.  BUT.....(here's the very emotional plea to Nate) they have no dining room furniture.  (and this woman is shaking from emotion. Seriously.)

Gasp.

Seriously. This is this woman's heartfelt plea?? That these two very well-to-do people have no dining room furniture?? And she was making a plea to this Nate guy??? On national TV?? 

Wow. 

So, the gal on the left of me says "Hell, we just sit on folding chairs and eat at card tables. Who the hell cares about furniture when you've got food to eat?".  And me and the other gal nod our heads in agreement.

And we stare in disbelief as Nate unveils an exact replica of this couple's huge dining room  in his studio, fully decorated, while the three idiots (the goofy sister, the newly married brother and his sobbing new bride) stand there crying and hugging--over furniture.  Nice furniture.  Furniture that would probably take us 25 years of marriage, 3 kids done with college, and years of saving to afford. 

"I don't even have a dining room." I say.

"No kidding. Maybe we can nominate you to get a dining room on Nate's show." laughs Gal #1. And we all snicker at the absurdity of this show.  I mean, there are people out there who are lucky to have food on Thanksgiving, and here are these fools crying over fancy furniture.  Criminy.

I love Girlfriend #2's response as we sat there discussing how disgusting this display was....

"And it's some ugly-ass furniture too..."

Yeah, it's ugly alright.  On lots of levels. 

Wanna touch my monkey?

Most people get eyeglasses when they go to the eye doctor. Me--I get a monkey.  That pretty much wraps up my life, doesn't it?

Joe went to the eye doctor the other day and asked me to pop in when it came time to pick out new frames.  Being that a) I love our eye doctor (he is hilarious), b) I don't trust Joe to pick out his frames alone (the man owned saddle shoes when I met him--'nuff said) and c) it is literally right around the corner from our house, I went over to chime in on the frame selection.  Funny how nobody there thought this was odd that a man has to have his wife over to help him pick out his frames--apparently this must happen a lot.

Anywho, while we were sitting there making fun of all the silly frames Joe was trying on, we got to chatting about our jobs and all the wacky stuff that goes on.  After unloading about a few idiots I work with and the ridiculous stuff they do to avoid work, I learned that non-workers at work is apparently a very common thing--they were telling me horror stories of their new hires of the last year as well.  Wow--who knew turnover was so high at the eye doctor's office? 

And as we were laughing over work stories, I commented on the wee monkey that was laying on the top of their computer screen.  "Oh, him?" she said, "We hate that monkey!"  She went on to explain that ever since they got that silly monkey, nothing but bad things had been happening to the girl who brought him in--kinda like the Hawaiian idol that the Brady Bunch found on their vacation.

They listed car accidents, 3 employees quitting, computers breaking, forgetting car payments, and I don't remember what else--but they were convinced that this one-inch monkey was to blame.  They said he had "bad mojo" or something.  I didn't think he looked all that evil--but who knows what bad mojo looks like anyway.

And that's when they decided that I needed that monkey. They untaped his monkey belleh from the computer screen and handed him to me to pass on all that bad monkey mojo to the people I work with.  They  had enough of his evil grin and they offered his monkey self to me--to which I willingly grabbed him.

"Aha!", I'm thinking, this is the best evil plan EVER.  I'm gonna tape his butt on the back of any offending party's computer to pass some bad work mojo on them.  And they'll never see it coming. 

And so, I left the eye doctor's office with one Mojo Monkey and an evil plan to hatch havoc on unsuspecting idiot co-workers.  Hey, we got new eyeglasses AND a Mojo Monkey!  Who else can say that from a routine eye examine?

Maybe I shouldn't think so early in the morning

I was driving to work yesterday morning when I noticed some stickers on the back window on the car in front of me. And my wee brain got to workin' just a little early.

Do you know those stickers that people stick on their mini-vans and SUV's that represent their family?  There is a dad, a mom, a couple of kids and sometimes a dog or a cat?  You know those stickers, right? (If you don't, just nod your head and go along with me, okay?)  For some reason, some people like to tell the whole world how many people are in there family--I am not one of them.

Anywho--so the lady in front of me has no people stickers, but she has 4 cat stickers....all in a row.  So, I'm giggling, thinking that I've got me a crazy cat lady driving in front of me.  I thought that was funny for some reason. Crazy Cat Lady driving to work....to go earn some money for crazy cat food or crazy cat toys. Hee. Hee.

But then, I go around her (because she was a pokey crazy cat lady) and I notice that the whole front end of her car was all smooshed.

And then it really got me thinking.  What if she wasn't a crazy cat lady at all and she was just like one of those fighter airplanes from the war--you know, with the airplanes painted on the side representing all the planes they shot down.  Maybe those kitties on the back were.....

Hmmmm......maybe she was a crazy cat KILLER lady???!  EEEK!

I think of weird stuff on my way to work.

Can we all not be ridiculous here?

Chuck was writing about how his cat, Midnight, drinks from the faucet at his house.  Sure, there is something refreshing about that fresh-from-the-tap H2O, but isn't it a pain to have to get up, turn the water on, wait for his Royal Highness to finish slurping and then have to shut off the water again?  I think so. But we all do it anyway.  It's crazy how we cater to these guys.

And while you think I'm all judgmental about that--I'm not. I spent years telling the cat that I wished she had thumbs to turn the water off herself.  We even got to the point of turning the light on in the bathroom--not for her to see, but for us to remember to turn the darn water off!  I'm just grateful that she hasn't taken up using the toilet instead of the litter box--imagine my water bill.

So, while normal cats drink from fancy fountain water dishes (yep, we have one) and from the tap, my two knuckleheads love the tubs of water from the pond plants.  It's ridiculous.  Apparently they are connoisseurs of drinking water, as they will only drink out of these tubs the entire winter--until the plants go back out into the pond for the summer.

If you are wondering what these tubs are--they are temporary housing for the few plants that we have submerged in the pond all summer. They are good for fighting algae and aeration of the pond--plus the frogs love to sit in those pots.  But they have to come in the house for the winter, so in some pots they go--along with gallons of water to keep them alive.

So, the cats drink and drink all that yummy plant water and Poor Joe has to keep refilling the darn tubs each day.  It's just silly.  Why they can't just drink out of a bowl or out of the toilet like dogs do....my goofs insist this plant water is delicious.  

And the pond plants are just the appetizer---Christmas tree water is right around the corner. 

Oh--pop on over to wish our pally Marilynne good luck and a Get Well Soon--she is having a pacemaker implanted today.  I told her that it's gonna be like a built-in metronome for all that square dancing that she does.

And the answer to Find the Kitty:

Find the Kitty, Found the Frog, Lose the Heron

So, if you think finding the frog was tough yesterday, try to find the kitty in the photo below. And yes, you will have to enlarge it. Good luck--it's a tough one. And don't blame me for this one--I got it in an email from my friend Jan. She embarrassed her cat by admitting she couldn't find it.

I think you have to really think like a kitty to find him.  Joe said "he's on the road" and Em and I just yelled at him.  If he was on the road, he'd be smooshed. Sheesh. That Joe--he doesn't even try half the time.

And here is yesterday's solution for Veronica Lee. She couldn't find the frog, so I think she's in BIG trouble on the cat one.

There he is!!

Oh, and one thing I am NOT having a hard time seeing lately is the giant pterodactyl who insists on visiting my pond....STILL.  Ugh.  I hate that guy.  I walked out yesterday morning to find that beastly 6 foot wingspan flapping on the neighbor's fence--dang near took it down.

Tell me this thing doesn't look like a pterodactyl

Poor Hobbes was outside for his morning yard fix and nearly wet his orange stripey pants at the sight of that big guy.  His tail pouffed up like a raccoon and he ran for the kitty door.  Heck, even I was scared to see that thing. 

I wonder if there is a Happy Heron Village nearby?

You Can't See Me

.....the frog is thinking. But, yes, yes I can see you, silly frog. Can you spot him?

The frogs aren't the lovely  iridescent green of summer right now--they turn sorta black when the days shorten and the air turns cool.  They look almost like miniature alligators with just their eyes and noses breaking the surface of the water.  And every now and then, if the sun is warm, they'll come out and sit on the rocks--but those days are fading fast.

It's almost hibernation time and I've got 4 frogs going into winter.  Let's hope there are 4 come spring. Winter is harsh and I hold my breath that they all make it. 

Leafy Quandry

What is it about leaves that when they decide to fall, they a) do it all at once it seems and b) they all have to congregate in my yard?

I don't have trees on the Back Forty (feet), so why do I have piles and piles of them on my lawn this morning?  And it isn't like there are a few clumps--nope, we've got piles.  Like I-have-to-go-out-and-rake sorta piles.  And it would take me all day and lots of garbage bags. Ugh.

And why is it the dude who never cuts his lawn or fertilizes AND owns these damn leaves doesn't have one stinking leaf on his property?  What gives?

The bigger question?  Would it be rude for me to rake his leaves and return them to his lawn?

Today's word: murmuration

After sorting, counting and distributing over 1000 frozen coffecakes and cookie dough yesterday, my brain and body is fried. I have nothing left to offer but this cool video. Thanks to our pally, Rebbeca, who posted it on Facebook and her blog yesterday.



Gosh, I love that. This good green earth is amazing, isn't it?

I love Hobbes Thursday - Cliff Diving Duck and Wheel Style

Well, it's sorta like cliff diving, 'cept the waterfall isn't all that high......and he never jumps.  But he'll sit there like he's going to. 

As sad as I am about shutting off the water for the winter, Hobbes thinks it's the greatest thing since fish-flavored cat treats.  Apparently there are some benefits to winter.

Wordless Wednesday: Simply Grace

As much as you hear the stories of Hobbes, it is Grace whom I love most dearly. It's hard to watch her grow old and I see her body start to fail her ever so slowly. 

After another accident the other day, we chatted a bit about "peeing appropriately" and then I bent down, gave her a kiss on the top of her head and whispered in her ear my promise of continued understanding and forgiveness.

Love does that, you know?

Prescribing Real Life

Okay, so they find that goofy doctor guilty of giving Michael Jackson a lethal dose of some drug to make him sleep--does anyone else find that strange?  The needing drugs to sleep part--not the goofy doctor.  There are lots of goofy doctors out there who will do anything for money, but I'm not going all Andy Rooney on that topic. Nope, instead, I've got to wonder how you can't fall asleep and you've got staff to see to it that you do. That's just weird.

I've got this theory that these wacky stars don't need rehab or community service time, they just need a dose of real life to get their crap together.  And if Ol' Mikey can't fall asleep at night, then he's living the wrong kinda life.  If Michael Jackson wasn't dead, I'd be saying this to him: "Pack up your stuff, Mike, you're coming to stay at the Duck and Wheel house to get yourself a dose of real life.  There ain't no insomnia here."

Here are some real life solutions to insomnia--Duck and Wheel style:

• Get in the car, we are going for a road trip through boring 'ol central Illinois. After about an hour and a half of Joe flipping channels on the radio as we drive through the flattest dang land you ever did see, those Jackson eyelids will be heavy. I guarantee it. I'm a goner after about 45 minutes.
• Chores. We got a LOT of those around here.  And if sweeping out the garage, cleaning the attic,  scooping out kitty litter boxes, cleaning bathrooms, and doing about 4000 loads of laundry don't exhaust you, I can find a cabillion other things that need to be done around here.  Go ahead, tell me you're "bored". Dare me.
• Be forced to listen to Emma's recap of her day at school--including every ridiculous girl-drama story she encountered in her day.  This tests the most resilient eyelids.
• Hang with the kitties.  Masters of all things relaxy and sleepy--a half hour on the couch with either of these two will make you want to join the club.  Naps are contagious when you own a cat.
• Discuss sports with Joe.  This makes my head want to explode, but Joe can go on and on about college football, golf scores, his old baseball days, or what somebody said about something about sports. Blah, blah, blah, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.  See? It works. 
• Pay the bills.  Nothing makes you want to escape it all with a nap more than balancing (or not) the checkbook and paying the bills at my house.  After an hour of checking off those debit card receipts, you'll somehow find yourself yawning and thinking of your pillow. 
• Go for a swim with the Seniors.  All that dodging of the weird ones makes you pooped, let me tell you.
• Watch golf on TV with Joe.  All that whispering and lack of action and I can't keep my eyes open.
• Family photos.  Oh, can you imagine me dragging out all those photo albums?  And I would tell Mike every story with every photo.  And if that didn't put him over the edge, we have videos. Loads and loads of videos--including old dance recital tapes.  Kill me now.
• Go lay in the mulch on a warm sunny day.  Hobbes swears by it--he can't stay awake.

See?  Just reading that list makes you drowsy, doesn't it?

Poor 'ol Michael Jackson.  See what he was missing in his life? All that money, fame, staff, people who he paid to see that he had this or that.  The one thing he needed, he didn't have--reality.  Life is boring for us non-celebs and we sleep good.

It's a shame I didn't get to him sooner.  I think he'd fit right in Weirdville.

If obituaries were fun

I love obituaries.

Well, I don't really love them per se--I just love finding cool stuff in there when I'm perusing all the dead folk's names.  There is just something important about listing in that wee space something about you that makes you stand out from the crowd.  I mean, we all go to work, have accomplishments, and have brothers and sisters and other endless relatives to list--but I think you have to list the quirky stuff that makes you YOU. Does that make sense?

Take my new hero, Mary Bonfield Corbett--

She sounds like a nice enough lady, one that was accomplished and successful in her job.  It is the second part of that sentence that wins me:  She "became a passionate bagpiper". I love that.  Who the heck can say that about their life?  Not many, that's for sure.  And it's so off -the-wall, it made me smile.  And crack up. Damn! I want to learn the bagpipes so someone can say that about ME! It's just so hilarious.

And it made me turn to Joe and Em and make them promise that when they go to write my obituary, they will  put something cool in there. I want them to write something that makes all those wacky obituary-reading folks out there stop and laugh.  And make them wonder about ME and what kinda nut I was.  I think that is how you should go out--all fun-like and not all sad and crying and stuff.

Those darn obituaries are a buggar--you only have so much space in which your loved ones get to write about who you were and what you did with the short time that you were on this good green earth.   Why waste it on the boring?  I say, let's put in the wacky stuff like "she could pinch with her toes" or "he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket".  Those are the things we remember about our loved ones anyway, right?  Well, I certainly hope so because that is what makes me ME and not some other boring corpse.

Mary Bonfield Corbett not only rocked the bagpipes, but she rocked the obituaries as well.


 

Opossum thanks

You know winter is coming when there is a heavy frost.....on the opossum poop.

Apparently our yard is a big hang-out for the opossum crowd--if the sheer amount of opossum poop is any indication. They have the worst pooping etiquette as I find their droppings everywhere--on the mulch, in the middle of the yard, by the bird feeder, and on top of perennials that have been cut back for winter. It's like our yard is their personal toilet.

It's sad when you have to go out and pick up poop before you mow the lawn--and we don't even own a dog. It's all the opossum poop--we're loaded in that stuff.

Now, don't get me wrong, I like the opossum. They don't cause any harm and they merely pop in for a little snack under the bird feeder, a sip of cool water from the pond, and.....well.....a little stop at the......uh......."opossum" room. It's kinda like the ladies room, except it's for opossum only. And its a big room--pretty much our entire yard. Sheesh.

That's the thanks I get for freeing all the opossum that got in the raccoon traps last year. Sigh.

Friday's Bright Side

Every Friday, on my way home from work, I listen to a feature on the local talk radio station called "The Bright Side". This is when they have listeners call in and tell us a good thing that happened during the week. And as sappy as it sounds, it's kinda nice and it always cracks me up.......or at least makes me smile.

So, I'm gonna try a Bright Side feature here this week--leave me your Bright Side in the comments today.

It doesn't have to be huge like "I won the Powerball" or "I'm leaving for an exotic vacation today", it can just be simple like "My cold finally went away" or "The sun finally came out". C'mon, there is always some good in the week--even in the lousiest of weeks.

And what better music to accompany the post:



Here, I will start you off:

* After a long summer of taking on extra responsibilities for a co-worker on maternity leave, I was acknowledged with a promotion and a raise.

See? It's all good.

What do YOU have?

I love Hobbes Thursday

Poor Hobbes--left with no patio furniture to lounge on, he's forced to sit on the grill when he goes out in the yard.  So, there he sits, basking in the sunshine.....on the uncomfortable barbecue grill.  His life is awful, just awful. Poor kitty.

And to add insult to injury, he was terrified by a banana on Halloween. Yep, a banana.  While he can barely  handle cowboys, fairy princesses, ninjas, and Scooby Doos, it was a banana that sent him scrambling to the safety of the house.  Scary things, those bananas.

Semi-Wordless Wednesday - 1 1/2 minutes of pond

Pull up a chair, grab a cup of coffee and enjoy a whole minute and a half of pond bliss:



The pond is right out my back door and I spend a lot of time out there in the summer. It's shut down now, for the winter, and it makes me sad. The frogs are still popping up, but they will quickly settle in for their winter snooze. And then I spend the entire winter worrying about them. 

I used to bring them in--we had frog tanks everywhere in this house.  It was a lot of work cleaning them and feeding them all winter, and they were never happy--I swear they were frowning at me.  I did some research and found that they need to hibernate to live a longer, healthier life, so out they went.  Now, I just let them be--no names, no store-bought crickets, no "Good morning, frogs!", no knowing they are safe under my care.

It's a hard thing letting Mother Nature do her thing.

The Lucille Jordan Award 1964

I have absolutely no idea who Lucille Jordan is or was, but girlfriend has a trophy AND a scholarship named after her.  And the only reason I know that is because it was hand-written on the bottom of the band trophy we found at Goodwill last week. 

Isn't it lovely? Who would ever think they would find such loveliness at the Goodwill?? Me, apparently, as that's where we headed when we found out we needed a "white elephant" for the end-o-the-year band parent party.  We found it waaaaay up at the top of the shelves where we were digging around for an hour or so--I swear Lucille heard our prayers to find something good.

So, off it went and was delivered to a well deserving, unsuspecting Sue, who had a death grip on that bad-boy all night.  And when another parent tried to snag it, he got the evil death stare--and needless to say he went for the lame-o box of perfume instead.  Yeah, the trophy is that good.

We honored Lucille Jordan by declaring it the new MVP Band Parent Traveling Trophy.  Each year, it must be passed down to the outstanding band parent of the marching season.  Tough to win? Certainly.

But even tougher to pry out of Sue's grip.