No Rest For The Weary

So, I've been feeling a little sickly the past two days and it's interfering with my sleep.  If you know me at all, you know that sleep is essential to my way of life and my witty, vibrant demeanor.  

Two days ago, my throat was on fire and I couldn't breathe very well, so against my better judgement I took one of those four hour Sudafed.  I did it again twice more that day even though this is unheard of behavior for me.  Sudafed just isn't my friend.  It makes me crazy and no matter what time I take it, I know that it will keep me from sleeping. It's a known, proven fact and of course, that's exactly what happened.  I was up all night and miserable, just like I told myself I would be each and every time I swallowed one of those little red magical pills.  So yesterday, I chose to go without medicine completely.  I intended to sleep that night without fail, even if I had to sniff and hack my way through the day in order to achieve it.  By the end of my work day, a coworker stopped by my office, stuck his head in and said "Aren't you dead yet?", which led me to believe that my hacking and sniffling might possibly have been bothering him.  I decided not to worry about it because I would indeed be sleeping tonight and just the thought of that made everything better.

  

I did fall asleep last night and I stayed asleep all the way up to 1:30 AM.  In case you don't know, that is NOT an entire night.  1:30 AM was when my body woke me up violently and told me that it needed to cough so much that I would NOT be returning to sleep.  Because I am a benevolent and kind spouse, I chose to grab my pillow and make my way to the den in order to lounge on the couch for the duration of my episode.  It was dark in there.  When I got up close to the couch I realized the thing that I didn't realize on the other side of the room in the dark.  My sweet, sweet husband had folded loads and loads of laundry and these folded clothes were touching every single inch of that couch.  I couldn't just shove them off and lay down and I wasn't about to carefully move them anywhere.  I certainly wasn't going to put them up or anything. Just like that fox in Aesop's fable, I decided I didn't really want to lay on that couch anyhow.  It would probably be even better for me to sit in that chair over there.  It was fluffy and big and just fine enough for me die in.  Unfortunately, upon close inspection, the chair was also full of things, all belonging to Paige.  A tripod for photography, a giant shiny black bag full of who knows what, her school  backpack, etc.  Again, it seemed futile, especially when I was so tired and miserable.  But where?  Where could I lay my weary head and get on with this night?  AH!  The spare bedroom/library has a couch!  A very tiny love seat kind of couch, but a couch nonetheless.  That would do.

I made my way down the dark hall, clutching my pillow and dragging along behind me a red Ole Miss throw blanket that I picked up along the way.  I'm happy to report that the couch was clean and happy and ready for me to fall on.  I was pretty happy even though I didn't exactly fit there and my legs kind of went numb from hanging off the arm rests.  It was a victory.

This morning, when Larry woke and asked me how I slept, I began to tell him this tale and right after the part about going down the dark hall, he tried to complete my story by interjecting "and you went into Patrick's room and slept on the bed."  ....  Here's how the emotions played out.  Firstly, dumbfounded and silent as that sank in.  Secondly, amazed that I didn't think of that myself.  Thirdly, mad as an old wet hen (which as I understand it is very angry).  All I could do was look at him and say, "No.  No, that's not what I did, but I certainly should have.  That would have been a smashing idea."

Laundry Legalities

So...when doing laundry where quarters are involved, is there any rule of etiquette? I mean, if you arrive and somebody has left their underwear in the dryer and it's all finished drying, are you allowed to remove it from the machine? Is it really proper to be touching other folk's underwear? If you get brave enough to take it out, should you fold it? How about folding it neatly and leaving it on the clean spot on the folding table? You know that spot. The spot that's free of laundry detergent in any form, powder or liquid. Well, ok, what if you CLEANED a spot on the table and put the neatly folded underwear there? I think if it was a spot close enough to the dryer in question, they would easily recognize it once they come back from whatever extremely long errand they've been on.

I'm not touching it.

The Dangers of Confined Spaces

During my days at the sewer (which I am missing terribly by the way) I learned about the dangers of confined spaces. Terrible things can happen to a person who doesn't take proper precautions before entering a place that is so small that it might contain toxic fumes or is oxygen deficient. Friday, I entered a confined space and I'm here to tell you that there is more danger than just lack of oxygen. There is a possibility that you might hurt yourself or the other three people that are living in the confined space with you. You could hurt them because you can't get from the couch to the kitchen (2 steps) without stepping on them. You could hurt yourself by tripping over the shoes they left in the 2 inches of floor space available or falling over the mountain of blankets and pillows that are laying around because two of them are sleeping on the couches. You could hurt them mentally by yelling at them for all of the above and just because you are in a fantastically bad mood. Litkia is especially unhappy about the lack of snack food available, but I don't think she realizes that this can't be blamed on the tiny apartment. However, there is a distinct possibility that leaving this place in order to replenish the stash might lessen the danger here.

Box Fan

The fan in the hallway struggles to bring some relief from the heat and lack of A/C in the building. The drone of the motor sends me back to a house that I once lived in. I'm not sure if it was in Wagarville or in McComb because I get those two houses mixed up in my memories. It was on an extremely early morning that my five or six year old mind could not compare with any other morning in my short life. I'm not sure I had ever really experienced that time of the morning before. There was so much darkness at the windows, and it was a weird darkness. It wasn't the same shade of darkness that happens when you go to bed or wake up in the night. Why do I think the air felt damp? Do I remember hearing crickets? Maybe not, we were inside the house. I was so sleepy. There was packing and hushed movements and this noise that I didn't recognize. There it was. In the hallway. Something different. It was a very large box fan, as tall as me and much wider. It was loud and it was so big that when I passed by it I dare not get too close for fear that my arm would be sucked in and chopped to pieces. It was obviously a real fear because mama held my hand tighter when we passed by it. Or maybe it was me that was doing the extra squeezing. I don't know where we were going or why my parents had the fan in the hall, but I cannot hear a box fan without thinking of that morning.

Not right and Fruity too

My supervisor type person was at my desk today and while he was standing there, he reached for my pencil cup full of magic markers. One by one, he picked them up, removed the top and took a whiff. Mostly he made faces afterward, but it reminded me of my childhood, sitting in training union at church and getting excited when that very cool box of scented magic markers was pulled from the cabinet. The yellow one smelled like lemons, the orange one smelled like oranges and the purple one smelled like grapes (my personal favorite). Some of the fruity scents were more realistic than others, but to resist smelling each and every one was futile. So anyway, I was watching my fearless leader smelling these markers, looking for one with a scent when he suddenly stuck one out for me to smell with a smile on his face. Once it got close to my nose, I realized that searching for a childhood memory wasn’t what he was doing at all. He was trying to get high.

That ain’t right.

My Mama Would Say You Were Wrong

My Mama always told me that if you’re about to make a negative comment about something a person couldn’t do anything about, you should just keep your trap shut. For example, if your friend has spinach in their teeth or toilet paper hanging off their shoe, by all means, let them know politely. Although the initial sharing of the information might be a little embarrassing, the end result is positive. If, however, a person has a scar on their cheek in the shape of a lightning bolt, you should hold your tongue. Nothing can be done about that. Since my unfortunate run-in with a deer, resulting in the destruction of my Barbie Jeep, I don’t have a lot of love for woodland creatures, but even Thumper’s mama told him that if he couldn’t say something nice, he shouldn’t say anything at all. Having said all that, when I tell you I’m moving and you ask me where I’m going, my answer will be Beaumont, Texas. The correct response to this information should not include you scrunching up your nose like you smell something bad, or interjections of “ugh” or “oh man, that’s too bad”.

I might be able to understand the reaction more, if I thought you really believed that Saraland, Alabama is the land flowing with milk and honey, but the truth is, I don’t think you believe that at all. I think you’re just mean.

One out of One Hundred Twenty Five

The other day at my new job, I was handed a three-ring binder that contained 125 pages. I was told to read it. It was for my own good. I know it’s important because it looks very official and the title is “MAWSS Safety Rules Handbook”. I have to admit that it doesn’t seem much like a HANDBOOK. To me, a handbook speaks of a much smaller thing. You know? Something a little less bulky. Something you might be able to carry in your pocket or stuff into your purse. At any rate, I opened the tome and began reading the letter in the front that told me that I was important enough that they wanted to keep me safe. Just like a mama might do. Then on the 2nd page, also like a mama, there was a little lecture about there being no such thing as fate and that accidents were avoidable. There were some general safety rules on pages 3 through 7, but after that I got pretty confused. I trudged on though, since it was my very safety at stake! I’m happy to say that I’m sure I’ll be safe if I ever find myself welding, using an axe, a hatchet or a concrete mixer. I now know the standard hand signals for overhead, crawler, locomotive and truck boom cranes. The only thing I can’t figure out is what any of those things are. But, no fear! If I can figure out which is which, I can signal them properly and avoid danger!

When I got to page 114, the title made me smile. “Office Safety” is what it said. Now, THAT was something that seemed familiar. And I must say that number 7 made me shake my head in agreement. “Do not lick envelopes; their edges may cut your tongue.”

I knooooow, right?

We HATES them

I try pretty hard to be a nice person. Well, at least I try pretty hard NOT to be a mean person. But right now I'm am thinking along the lines of murder. Let me explain.

I planted a pretend garden this year, all in pots. I started with tomatoes and have since added some squash and zucchini and even some beans! It's fun. I'm feeling my green thumbs and I like it. I love going out every morning and seeing the progress. I get so excited to see my tomatoes getting bigger and a few days ago, to see the first one getting a little pink. I could easily imagine the day I would be able to pick it and make a tomato sandwich with my first home grown tomato. I could almost taste it.

BUT...and you KNEW there was going to be a BUT in here, I went out yesterday to check on my precious tomato's progress and guess where it was? In the mouth of my dog, being chewed in a very irreverent manner. After squirting him with the water hose and telling him off, nearly through tears, I inspected the plants and found a slightly chewed green tomato still hanging on the plant, intact with teeth marks. Squirrels. It's squirrels. There are droves of them here and I feel very outnumbered. The dog was probably not the one who swiped it, but he sure took pleasure in finishing off the job begun by the giant rats with bushy tails. We hates them.

And today, we hates them even more. Two more tomatoes GONE. I'm so sad. I'm so injured. They have robbed me of the joy of the harvest and I will have to kill them all. I don't really want them to suffer, but I do want them dead. And, after their demise I plan to hang them up along the fence by their evil fuzzy tails, one after the other, as a warning to their neighbors and friends that this is not the yard they want to hang around. And what about this "dog" of mine? What kind of dog allows such behavior right under his nose in his very own backyard? My dog. That's who. I realize that he's getting old, but I just can't feel like making excuses for him. I will allow him to live, but buddy, he has been TOLD. He better step up the guard dog duties and quit taking bribes or I'm sending him to a place where they won't let him sleep inside in a cool laundry room at night.

We hates them.

This is the dog I have. A dog of leisure.



The is the dog I need. Squirrel killer extraordinaire.

Bats in the Belfry

I was flipping through a Plow and Hearth catalogue and came across a Bat House. This catalogue is just chock-full of interesting and mostly useless information. According to them, a single bat consumes up to 3,000 insects every night. Now in LA (Lower Alabama) I’ve seen mosquitoes grow to be 5” long and weigh up to half a pound. I’m sure you don’t believe that, but I know it to be true. I'm also pretty sure that my backyard is the playground for at least 3,000 of these monsters and probably more. Anyway, this bat house will hold approximately 20 bats, so for $39.95 plus shipping and handling, I feel sure my back yard mosquito problem could be solved. The only draw back is that I just don't love bats. There doesn't seem to be anything even remotely appealing about them. They are leathery, toothy, hairy and scary. I’m terrified of a bat flying too close to my head because when I was about 8 or so, my friend told me that I better watch out, because she heard they had been known to swoop down pretty low and could accidentally get caught in a person's hair. Unfortunately, she told me this on the night we were standing outside at dusk, watching a group of bats catching their dinner and even more unfortunately, I had a lot of long hair. I was afraid. I wasn’t paralyzed with fear however, because I took immediate action by zigzagging my way back to the house with my head bent down and my arms covering my hair. Everybody knows a moving target is harder to hit. My target was the front door. I imagined sitting at the kitchen table while my Mom used the "good hair cutting scissors" to extricate this writhing bat from my long hair as it dug its claws into my scalp. Maybe I’ll just stick with the Citronella candles.


p.s. Please don't ask me why I have a Plow and Hearth catalogue because I have no idea. Also, it is of interest that I found out that chock-full is a hyphenated word and that the word "catalogue" can also be spelled "catalog", but apparently only within the confines of the borders of the USA. You learn something new every day.

Cows are not my friend

So, my long lost friend at the magic website posted a picture of a cow today (*shudder*). It reminded me of a fishing trip long, long ago, when my Daddy took me to a catfish pond at feeding time, handed me a cane pole and let me throw in my line. Immediate success is what happened, and it happened over and over again. That ruined me for fishing from that day forward. Any time I had to sit and wait more than a minute or so for the little cork to get pulled under, I was underwhelmed. It wasn't fun sitting in the hot sun, getting nibbled by bugs, if you couldn't pull in a fish every minute or so. Although this picture is not me, but my daughter, it is a dadgum close duplicate of that day including Daddy in the background.

Anyway, the cow. The cow picture reminded me of how much I dislike cows. On my way through the pasture, going to that pond, I had to watch my step. What I witnessed that day was simply horrific. I figured that those huge piles of manure could only come from a monstrous sized beast and sure enough when I got close enough to one, all I could think about was getting away from it. I'm not sure what I thought it might do to me. Bite me? Step on me? Fall on me? I had heard the words "cow tipping" at some point in my young life. Could they actually tip over and FALL on you? They were HUGE. You would surely perish. Cows were obviously a menace.


Although I do love a steak or a really good hamburger, I simply haven't liked the live-type cows since that day. If we are driving and pass a pasture full of cows, I just try not to look. My friend at the magic website assures me that cows are friendly and she even feeds them by hand. I think that's ludicrous. I told her I was pretty sure that cows eat people. She denied it. I'm personally not getting close enough to find out.