Sunday, December 18, 2011

I feel like I have been in NJ longer than a week!  Once I got out of jail for ferrying AMMUNITION (forget the guns) I have since:

Helped unpack, organize, shop, cook, clean, rake, brush dogs, do laundry, had cocktails in The CITY, been to Morristown Memorial Hospital, applied for jobs in Manhattan, enjoyed an overnighter (and played the drinking game Kings) with the female Davie’s and entourage, begged my way through two tolls (had no cash), been to Home Depot five times, liquor store six, and tonight we go ballroom dancing.

While visiting Morristown Memorial we learned the baby, Devyn Rose, is breech and likely will remain that way so a C-Section was scheduled for 12/28.  Sister not happy at all.  Big sister not helpful at all.

Back in October I mentioned to my sister that I thought moving at 8.5 months pregnant AND having her family to town for the holidays was a bit much.  I think she’s between the MU and the CH right now (still the folks come next week.)  And then she has me bugging her about what I can do for her, spending her $, organizing “differently” and generally getting in her way.  Note to self….and, nevertheless, onward.

Today I learned the difference between the PATH and NJ Transit and that they differ in price by $9, where to find parking for the train (most places you need a permit), that coconut bread is DIVINE, that route 21 South to I-78 West has NO tolls, and that the Philadelphia Eagles are the only NFL team with a jail in their stadium (Jets/Eagles today).  I can’t wait to see what I learn at dancing tonight.

Wednesday, December 07, 2011

Tomorrow is a big day!  Daddy has his three-hour appointment with the Low Vision Center.  We are anxious to see what is available to help him better see.  He can only see with his periphery vision and needs lots of light.  Last time we visited his eye doctor and he got his eyes dilated – he could actually see better!  I worried that dad would be buying black market eye dilator drops but it seems those may be available over the counter and there are better tools at the LVC.  As long as we can attach a helmet to his head as well, we’re good.

Tomorrow I also load up my car for the 2-3 day trek to New Jersey to be with my sister.  She and her husband are moving from Kenilworth to Berkeley Heights on Saturday.  And then any day they are expecting their baby daughter, Devyn Rose.  This is ONE great perk of my being basically unemployed.  I can go and stay for as long as they want me.

I’m hoping I get there safe.  Dad has gifted my brother-in-law a few of his guns.  They haven’t been able to get it together enough to get them shipped according to the Alcohol, Drug and Firearm folks so I get to ferry them!  I feel like a mule.  I’m pretty sure what I am doing is not exactly legal and fear one of my “vacation” sites will be the interior of a jail cell somewhere off I-80 East.

Friday, December 02, 2011

My folks are gone for the weekend.  I am not having a kegger.  I am not having a sleep over.  I am not sneaking boys over.  I feel damn old.

My mom came to me bawling the other day.  I mean, not making sense- rattled-confused and PISSED bawling over the computer, Internet, online banking and telephone customer no-service.  She felt small, insignificant, dumb and old.

PEOPLE:

My folks WANT to be internet/computer savvy – make it easy for them!

My folks are NOT STUPID – they can follow directions so please give them the CORRECT directions.

My folks are NAÏVE – please refrain from using jargon, acronyms and computer speak.

My folks are ADULTS– condescension is not appreciated.

My folks cannot HEAR – yelling may be required and do it with a nice tone.

Further, Children like me will be MY FOLKS one day.  WE will not stand for this shit.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Today I vacuumed out my folk’s freezer.

Dad asked me to try to sell his air boat propeller.

I’m having the dickens of a time trying to vacuum the navy blue carpet in the basement bathroom, I told my mom.  Yes, she replied, who in their right mind would lay down navy carpet? 

Dad has a certain set of work clothes that have years of car old and grease set into them.  Today, I added kitchen antibacterial, toilet bowl cleaner, some “as seen on TV” orange cleaner, bleach and an entire stain stick into the hot wash with them. 

Pretty typical Sunday.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Mom and I just got back from a visit to New Jersey.  My baby sister and her husband were guests of honor at a baby shower given by his folks.  *sigh*  The shower mom and I gave her was attended by 15 and we served fun cupcakes.  Her husband’s folks’ shower was attended by 60 and between the appetizer and dinner courses they served Pumpkin Martinis with caramel and graham cracker dipped rims.  My sister has married into a wonderful entertaining family and I love it. 

I finally got to see how excited my mom is to be a grandma.  She’s waited so long that when we found out about the baby, she’d already figured she was too old to be the grandma she’d envisioned.  The excitement started when she asked me what I was wearing to the shower.  This was, however, one month before we were to leave for the trip.

Now, before I go any further, you need to know that my mom is not old.  She’s mid 70s, wears spiked hair, has jazzy fingernails, accessorizes quite well and never wears an outfit more than once.  My mom does not look her age. So you will then understand my incomprehension when offered a “ride” to our gate, she happily accepted.  Wha?  My mom’s not old.  Oh yeah, bad back.  Long walks, no way.  I tried to be invisible.

At the anal probing station mom milked attention for all it was worth.  She was helped, patted, attended.  She asked if her hearing aids would set off an alarm.  What if her hip was artificial?   Can they really see her naked?  As she stopped all flow, I jumped around her to get our stuff and was yelled at for jumping ahead.  My mom pulled the old lady card. I so tried to be invisible.

Mom and I decided that we hate that airlines now charge for baggage.  As folks squirreled away their carry ons in the over head bins, the line to get to our seats moved slowly.  And we always seemed to be three people behind the one that lost the round of musical chairs and had to stow their bag below.  We are positive “wheels up” times are way off these days.  We don’t like it.  Old or not.

On our return trip, mom had it all figured out.  A cart or wheel chair all the way.  We borrowed tip dollars from my brother-in-law (I wonder why he had so many dollar bills in his wallet – another time) and snagged her first ride on the curb!  She was wheeled to the head of every line.  I apologized for myself the entire way.  Me?  Cutting in line??  We rolled and wheeled swiftly and got the gate in a jiffy.  Mom is beaming with her new discovery.  I still want to be invisible.  My mom is not old.

Monday, November 07, 2011

My dad can’t see.  It dawned on me today.  This man can hardly see.  I imagine most of us, if having to choose a sense to lose, vision would be one we would dearly hang on to.  I think my dad would agree.

Daddy has Macular Degeneration.  Don’t ask me what it is, I have been living in Atlanta, far removed, and haven’t bothered myself to learn what Macular Degeneration is.  Whatever it is, it was recently diagnosed in his other eye. 

If my uninterested mind recalls correctly, MD means one loses one’s central vision – peripheral vision is all that remains.  If this is correct, then on my computer screen I would not be able to recognize this Word document, but I “may” see the tool bar.  My computer would become useless to me.

Today I visited Verizon to see what they had in a SENIOR phone.  Their Haven didn’t quite cut it.  And just not for my dad – his vision needs are a bit different – but for Seniors in general I would think it poor. 

The Haven phone was not much bigger than your typical flip phone.  Nor were the number keys.  Nor was the screen…but I will say that the contrast between the XL words and background was much better than their typical phone.  Still it was not helpful for Dad.

I looked on line at the Jitterbug but until I actually see it, I can’t tell if it is just another Haven.  Plus, mom and dad get the most benefit from a pay-as-you-go plan and that didn’t seem available from Jitterbug.

Innovators who are reading – my mom and dad both would buy a flip phone the size of a deck of cards (unflipped) or bigger to be able to SEE the phone and its messages.

Dad today said to mom he thought his newspaper reading days were nearly over.  This coming from a man who hovers a 2X lighted magnifying glass over the top of a 4X glass to read the paper while wearing a head lamp.  I can’t bear this.

I Googled anything I could find and now have an email in to an optics company who sells head lamps combined with magnifying glasses.  Even if daddy needs one for reading the newspaper and another one for working on his cars, he may get something that helps much more and luckily he is already used to this fashion statement.    

We have long ago given up on dad and fashion.  I have been doing his laundry for a few months and the highlight is what article of dad’s clothing has worn out and I can throw away?  His attire is jeans (ratty), sweat or T shirts (ratty) with or without a coverall (ratty, unless it is the red one he saves for special occasions).  Sometimes he wears a cap (ratty) or sweatband or both.  I USE BLEACH.  It doesn’t matter.  Like Pigpen of the old Peanuts Comic Strip, dad simply attracts a cloud of dirt.  And during Hay Fever Season like now, his face is just as attractive.

.

We needed to leave at 6:15pm to make it to our ladies club wine tasting – the one meeting a year where we can invite the husbands.  At 5:30 I asked mom how much time dad needed to get ready.  She said about a half an hour.  With 30 minutes to spare I went downstairs into daddy’s work room and said it was time to get ready to go.  Ten minutes later, dad walks into the kitchen – in his underwear (whitey tighties) – asking mom if “these slacks are blue or black?”

I noticed his face was still black and his hair, even though it was 6:00pm, was still in “bed” state.

“Dad?” I asked, “Have you felt the spray of water on your body recently?”  He and mom both cannot tell if the slacks are blue or black.  I get no reply.

“Dad? Are you going to shower?”

The slacks are black it is decided.

“I showered yesterday,” he says.  Annoyed.

Now the slacks are blue mom says.

Dad reappears in nice clothes, Khaki slacks, his face washed, hair dandified and engulfed in cloud of Nautica that mom just bought him.

Again, imagine Pigpen and his cloud….that is daddy tonight and his cologne.

I’m driving us to the party.  Something under my hood is burning…it smells like burning rubber.  I start to worry. 

“Dad?” I ask, “do you smell that burning rubber smell?”

“Lori,” he says, “all I can smell is myself.”

We all cracked up.

Monday, October 31, 2011

Dad is sitting at the kitchen table eating a late dinner.  He is totally ignoring the barking of dogs and ringing of the doorbell making mom walk twice as far as he would need to answer the door and dole out Halloween candy.  They’re both muttering at each other.   I find it interesting how they stubbornly live in two different worlds.

I just got back to town from my ex’s family wedding in Atlanta.  It was glorious and I was very happy to see my former in-laws.  Mom is just over 80 and Dad is closer to 90.  They are both wonderfully fit and active yet dad is being attacked by Parkinson’s.  We all try to ignore it but many times it is hard to ignore the tremendous shaking of his hands. 

He used a cane a couple of times to help with balance.  He also used it to bean a couple of unruly sons and grandsons.  Blamed it on his shaking hands.  He and mom were gifted the Bride’s bouquet for being the longest married couple at the wedding at 57 years.  So, you’ll find it humorous that he talked with his oldest grandson, the groom, about his little black book.

“Jason, he asked, “what have you been doing with your little black book of late?”

“Hey grandpa, not much.  As a matter of fact I haven’t looked at it in a few years,” replied the groom.

“Well, then,” said grandpa, “you’d better give it to me.”

I am a student of life and PMA – positive mental attitude.  I believe attitude is a choice.  My former father-in-law is choosing to make the best of his affliction.  He’s my kind of guy.

My father borrowed my car while I was in Georgia.  Something about gas mileage and an antique auto auction.  I am happy to oblige my dad about anything. 

Late for a meeting the morning after I got home, I jumped into my car and it crunched. I was going to ignore THAT but then I noticed there was dark dried liquid splattered all over the inside of my car.  The inside of my car was a light tan.  I smelled chocolate.  *sigh.*  Crunching between the gas and brake pedals, I proceeded to my destination.

“Oh, daaaad,” I sung upon my arrival back home.  “Have anything you want to share with me about your trip?”

He replied, “Yes, your car got nearly 27 miles to the gallon.”

“Is that good?” I asked.

“Yes, dear, it is.  And I filled it with gas and you have your brother to thank for the oil change.”

And now I feel crappy about calling him out about my car.   BUT, my dead dog Lucille’s Monarch Butterfly totem I keep in my open ash tray is missing.  I cried when I saw it missing.  That feather butterfly is my daily remembrance of my “Ushee”.  I am still emotionally fragile from all my life changes……..

“Dad?  What snack food comes to mind when I say ‘Bandito’?”

“Fritos.”

“Dad?  What kind of weather did you experience on your trip?”

“Oh, it was crisp,” he said.  “Good hot chocolate weather.”

I’m getting somewhere.

“Dad?  Did you have to stop short or swerve from a deer or anything like that while on your trip?”

“Nope,” he said.  “But I am having a terrible time with my Hay Fever this season.”

My dad sneezes in threes.

While I vacuumed up nearly an entire jumbo size bag of Fritos and wiped down sticky hot chocolate from the inside of my car, I found my feather butterfly underneath the seat and placed it back into the ash tray.  “So, Lucille, was it good to road trip with grandpa?”

Saturday, October 15, 2011

My sister and her husband came for a visit.  She is seven months pregnant and does not appreciate that I call her “Joey-bag-of-donuts.” 

My dad is on some sort of medication that makes blood blisters rise to the under surface of his skin.  Appears to just happen on his arms and hands.  Sometimes the dogs will jump and scratch his arm and it’ll bleed.  Or he’ll bang his arm or hand on something and it will bleed.  My sister noticed dad had some of these blood blisters on his head.

“Dad, did you bang your head?” asked my Nurse Practitioner sister

"‘Bout knocked myself out is what I did.” he mumbled.

Mom and I do the snap, neck/head swivel and all three of us bug-eye glare at him.

“WHAAAT?” we three shriek!

He relays a story about him bending down and under something to work on a car part and then standing up…when his head met the piece of equipment over him, it knocked him to his knees and he blacked out.

“WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL US?” we three scream like he is hard of hearing.

He had no space to reply as we pelted him with “You could have died out there and we wouldn’t have known!” and “What if you are hemorrhaging inside your head?,” and “Were you drinking?” ended with the very familiar refrain of “Men!”

Dad should have initially said, “No, I didn’t bang my head.  What makes you ask?”

Because now, before he goes to the garage to work on anything, he is required to wear safety glasses, knee and elbow pads, and ……..a helmet.

We were all in dad’s Suburban meeting up with my brother for dinner.  I was driving, mom had shotgun and dad, sis and bro-in-law were in the back.  We passed a large cemetery when I commented that was where “we used to tumble head stones” to no reply, response.  WT?  Seems my family is not shocked by anything that comes out of my mouth these days. 

My sister, however, says she wants no stone or plaque commemorating her life and asked mom and dad of their memorial wishes.  Mom piped up and said that yes, even though she will be cremated, she would like a material, permanent symbol of her life, somewhere public. 

I asked why?  I said, “you will not be anywhere except in our memories.”  Mom replied, matter of factly, “I guess that’s enough to piss you off, isn’t it?”

Sis wanted a pedicure because she can’t reach her toes (too many donuts).  I wanted one, so did mom…so did dad? And, so did my bro-in-law, not wanting to be left out, yet never having the experience.  Picture this.  The five of us, in a row of pedicure chairs:

Me: deep into People Magazine..(I do not believe Demi and Ashton are over.)

Sis: pushing every button on the massage chair trying to get comfortable, moving the fans closer to her because she’s “HOT.”

Mom: enjoying a conversation with her technician, “Why the Hell would you move from warm Vietnam to Omaha???”

BIL:  experiencing a physical self-care he’s never allowed himself, eyes closed, grinning ear-to-ear (let’s see, I slept late, had a great breakfast, went bird hunting, now THIS and out to dinner after??  Omaha is not so bad….)

Dad:  (need to preface that his 60 lb female technician is wearing a mask, safety glasses, a helmet, and is wielding a chainsaw)  Dad notices that mom’s technician is the only male technician and addresses him:

“So, does your wife work here, too?”

The male technician says no, explains why he feels it is not good for a wife and husband to work together and then sites a few examples.

I happen to agree with him as I have once worked with a spouse.  Not a good idea. Good reply I think to myself and then dad asks,

“Does your girlfriend work here?”

The family snorts with the long, mouth open “I can’t believe you asked that!” look.

The other technicians (all female) bow their heads and snicker.

The male technician can’t find his voice.

We LOVE dad.

Friday, October 07, 2011

I NOW know a bit about having teenagers.  I don’t have children of my own. I had been married to a man who hadn’t grown up so that experience alone is proof to me that I got “teened” by my mom today.  She borrowed my car last night. She’s still laughing about the role reversal.  Me?  Not so much.

I was running late for a meeting this morning and jumped into my car.  It reeked of fast food grease.  I looked to my right and saw a crumpled Burger King Whopper wrapper.  I looked to the floor of the passenger side and observed a large drink cup on its side next to the large white burger king delivery package.  Which was also home to a large fries because my mom and I both prefer BK fries…I know they were in there….yet not even ONE crunchy, over-cooked, but not burnt ,wonderful nub of fry was present in my car anywhere as an offering to me. 

I start the car and the Open Hood light comes on.  My hood was open……for who knows how long of drive.  I envisioned my mom, driving home at 9PM from her PEO dessert meeting, picking at cheesecake intended for my dad out of a Tupperware container , when the hood gets air, springs open, she can’t see……I don’t want to think about…..what would have happened to my car.

I get out and shut the hood, get back in the car and look up into my rearview mirror to back out of the drive.  I see my breasts.  Lovely as they are, I was thinking I’d see through my back window.  Said hi to the girls, adjusted my rearview window and backed out of the drive.

Driving at a bit of a fast clip to make up for lost time, I see I have no gas. @#$*!!.  The Gasorama is up ahead, I look into my rearview mirror to consider changing lanes and I see the pavement. @#$*!!. I look over my shoulder for an all clear, change lanes and pull off to get gas.  I am not happy.  Not only am I going to a very important meeting smelling like a French Fry, I will also be wafting a few gasohol fumes.  Delightful. 

I want to throttle my mother for “borrowing my car.”  Which, in her defense, was parked behind hers so she drove mine instead.  Not a problem really.  Happy to help.  However:!

Gassed up, I bee-lined to my appointment. Arrived on time and had a wonderful conversation with some lovely and oh-so-smart young women. Being “teened” by my mom had no more hold on me.  And in my car, after I left the meeting, I discovered not one but TWO crunchy French fry nubs I had been sitting on.  Sa-weet!  Thanks mom! (although I’m sure there were grease stains on the back of my skirt!!)

Monday, October 03, 2011

I am obsessed with nose hair.  MY nose hair.

It all started with my dad’s eyebrows.  I was giving him a haircut and like a good barber trimmed his Andy Roonie eyebrows.  I couldn’t help but notice all the hair growing from his ears and not just from the inside; around the edges, too (kind of like Yoda or a Gremlin for fear of dating myself).  I tidied those up as well. Then I noticed a long, over an inch, white hair growing beside his nose.  Pluck.  Then I saw what appeared to be the legs of six black spiders sticking out of daddy’s nose, curling outside his nostrils as if it were the footing for their escape.  Good grief!

“Dad,” I asked, “Are you using the nose hair trimmer we gave you for Christmas?  Never mind, you have plenty of evidence that you are not.”

To which he replied, “I trim them when I see them.”

And that’s all it took.

I had great eyesight until 40.  Since then I have worn cheaters and due to my modesty will not reveal how many graduations of magnification I have experienced.  Nevertheless, I am farsighted without them.  Now I worry that a nose hair has sprouted into the daylight and I can’t see it.  Every morning before I apply my makeup I practically stretch open each nostril looking for potential embarrassment before it strikes.

The other day at my BFFs, her little girl told me it was impolite to pick my nose.  I told her I was plucking nose hairs and when she was my age she would have permission to pick at her nose, too.  My BFF gave me the stink eye.

I secretly use daddy’s nose hair trimmer. I carry little scissors in my purse in case I am attacked while I am out.  I scrutinize people’s faces and laugh to myself if their nose is not properly groomed, while I quickly test mine for protruders.  I’ve turned into a nose hair snob.  I can’t help myself.

I considered laser treatments.  I have acquaintances who have described the sting of a laser with the snap of a rubber band.  The first time I pulled out a nose hair I had a slight stroke, went blind in one eye and drooled.  I don’t think I can manage nostril laser hair removal….I suppose it could be an alternative for water boarding, though.

Now I’m thinking Nair.  Just in the thinking stage though.  The directions and cautions on the back of the label are too small for me to read and I can’t find my glasses. 

Thursday, September 29, 2011

We still have fleas.  I’m not sure who is scratching more, us or the dogs.  We have performed a couple of tests to see if the house is infested and so far we have no evidence.  We put the white napkin on the carpet and waited for the fleas to jump on.  No jumping.  We tried the pie tin of water with the votive candle in the middle.  No heat seeking swimmers.  And while I was told to use Lemon Joy, I tried Dawn dish washing liquid with a bit of lime juice in a saucer…still no fleas.  So, other than washing dad’s bedding everyday because he insists he is infested, we have found no evidence of the insects whooping it up in the house.  Unless, of course, you examine the dogs.

These poor things are covered.  Flea dipped and medicated, still covered.  Yesterday mom and I gave them our version of a flea bath and, what was it mom said? Oh yeah, “the fleas are jumping off Daisy like rats fleeing a sinking ship.”  No, mom was not on the Titanic.  Along those lines however, I think a good freeze is the only thing that is going to help us around here.

Mom, dad and I happened to be in one room, watching a TV show all at the same time.  Dancing with the Stars.  Chaz and Lacy stepped on stage and began dancing away.

Asked dad, “Who’s the Chaz fella?”

Uh oh.

“That’s Sonny and Cher’s son, dad,” I said

“I thought they had a girl?” he quizzed.

“Yes, dad, that’s her but now she’s a he,” I informed him.

“What?”

“Yes dad, Chastity Bono was born a girl yet her whole life she felt as if she was supposed to be a boy so she had a sex change operation.”

“Explain that to me!” my father squawked.

“Dad, look it up on Google.” He stared at me.

“I’m not sure what all happens but I do know she takes males hormones to develop facial hair and they also make her breasts go away.  A surgical procedure creates and attaches a penis to her.”

He asks, “Testicles, too?”

“No dad.”

At this point I was stymied by the whole conversation.  My Father can’t grasp homosexuality and here I was trying to explain transgender to him.  His remaining questions incurred one reply, “Google it, Dad.”  Mom is still shaking her head....

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Got me a foam finger today at the Omaha Night Hawks game.  Daddy and I went to the home opener at TD Ameritrade Stadium.  There is something about football fans.  I was watching guys and gals yelling, baring their chests, and high fiving each other while spilling beer all over.  I’ve seen this behavior before at office Xmas parties.  I just can't make the correlation.

At dinner before the game daddy told me his Fantasy Baseball team – the one he had ME draft while he was out of town – the team that totally SUCKED the first half of the season – The team HE GAVE ME THE STINK EYE over - is now in the playoffs.

I finally decided my parents are only allowed to sleep in their beds.  The other day I discovered my mother asleep in the bathtub.  It was morning.  Scared me to death until I noticed the rise and fall of the book on her naked chest.  Similar experience later in the afternoon.  Dad was home – which is unusual.  We typically don’t see him until cocktail hour.  He was in his chair, watching TV just fine.  A bit later when I walked by his head was slouched to the side, his mouth was a tad ajar and one eye was open.  Sweet Jesus!  That “lean back in your chair and then start to fall backwards” shock TWICE in one day.  No more.  Got me a bullhorn.  Yes, I did.

just a few minutes after the post....

P.S. A BFF quickly commented that her hubby is a freak about pillows since Oprah told us about “the bugs” yet she has won out with the mattress…just getting  right….and their entire bedroom set came from someone who was dead before they were even married!!  Reminded me that ex husband and I slept in a bed made by his father in which all of his siblings, he included, were conceived.  Now you KNOW I insisted on a new mattress…….

Wednesday, September 07, 2011

You know the whole nature vs. nurture discussion?  We learn some behaviors organically (nurture) and some we are hard wired for (nature).  For example, my dad’s sister, Aunt Donna, picks at her fingers, mostly her cuticles as I recall.  Aunt Donna escaped Nebraska early on and has lived in California for I think longer than I have been alive.  Yet, I pick at my cuticles just like she does.  My sister, 14 years my junior, also picks at her cuticles and now that I think about it – and he may not admit it – my brother does too.  It’s a nature thing.

My immediate family has even more in common, but I am confused because I think is a nature thing….not a nurture thing….but…: We all love to sleep with dead pillows.

I washed bed linens today and while we all have the regulation two pillows (or more if you’re getting fashionable MOM) per bed, ONE IS OURS and then there is the other one.  The ONE THAT IS OURS is a flat pancake.  Mom, dad and I – all flat. 

Mom’s is an old Pan-Am airline pillow.  It was small to begin, but now it is pancake flat and she covers it with a “those cotton boxers are so thin you can see through them” white cotton pillowcase.  Dad’s, and I get verklempt here (I’ll tell you later), is a feather pillow.  I believe it was originally Goose down, king sized and now it is chick fuzz, baby bear bed size. My pillow is an inherited, poly fill that has been folded incessantly from my new bedroom, new life restless sleep patterns.  It’s getting to be just right.

I now texted my sister to see if she’s still up.  If she is, I’m asking about her pillow preference.  I’d text my brother, too, but he is a typical brother and does not normally respond in the same decade.

While we wait, I will tell you the story of my emotional abuse at the hands of my ex husband.  In the late ‘80s when we moved to Atlanta, we lived in an apartment complex that backed up to a stream and forest.  For those of you who do not know, Atlanta is in the middle of a national forest, so this geographic location of our apartment is not unusual.  My husband gave me grief about my pillow.  Always did.  Especially when I brought it on our honeymoon.

Similar to daddy’s today, it was a king sized, Goose down pillow that had been reduced in size from my snuggle love.  I cherished that pillow.  Maybe it was jealousy, I’m still not sure.  When we moved from that apartment into our first home together, my husband (former baseball catcher) threw my pillow into the stream in the forest.  In front of my eyes.  And he laughed.  It still hurts.

Have not yet heard from my sis, she must be in bed because it is 10pm here, 11pm there and she is a pregnant working nurse practitioner.  However, my brother just called!!!!  I’m running to the phone now….

“What is your sleeping pillow of preference?” I asked.

“What” he reacted?

“What is your sleeping pillow of preference?” you know what I said, I thought.

Thinking to himself my sister is in the drink again, he politely replied, “I try to sleep on my back.  When I sleep on my back I do not use a pillow for I find it uncomfortable.”  For I find it uncomfortable, this is verbatim.  My brother speaks like I would imagine a person of royalty would speak.

“However,” he continued, “when I sleep on my side, as I oft do, I prefer my flattened pillow, folded in half.”

“Ah ha!”  I exclaimed! “It is NATURE!” and I explained my theory.  He told me to get off the wine and go to bed.  As I shall but not before I make this point:

We were not told, showed, forced, or else ways introduced to the love of and preference for a flat pillow.  Yet, the five of us that comprise our nuclear family all prefer dead pillows!  Yes, my sister did not reply, but I believe she is enjoying the recuperative sleep only a gestating mother can enjoy….on a flat pillow.

Tuesday, September 06, 2011

There is someone new in my life.  Last night I was serenaded and wooed into to the wee hours of the morning and at about 8:00am I had had enough and wanted to kill that damn cricket.  I can’t tell exactly where it is...somewhere between my laundry basket and my dry cleaning pile.  I don’t recall being as annoyed when camping, yet I doubt there was a cricket chirping two feet from my head either.

Now the glass half full side of me is feeling pretty good about herself.  My basement companionship is growing.  I now share my space with two spiders, a mouse and a cricket!  Oh and, maybe fleas….

A couple days ago I noticed mom’s male Miniature Schnauzer, Duke, scratching at his belly.  It wasn’t non-stop but it was regular enough that I told mom to take a look at him.  She didn’t see anything.  Next day Duke was downstairs, outside my bedroom door and I could hear the thump, thump, thump of him scratching so I got up to look at him.  Fleas scurrying everywhere.  Good grief.

I announce to mother that he is infested and showed her.  This time she could see them.  Now what to do?  Mom said she would put more Frontline on him.  I wasn’t sure how that was going to help him now, yet mom assured me that once the medicine soaked into his skin, the fleas would die if they bit him.  Ok, whatever.

Next day, Dukie still scratching, under further review, still infested.  I arm myself with trusty Google and search out homeopathic rid flea methods.  Seems lemon juice has something in it fleas don’t like.  The recipe called for a pot of boiling water, a slice or two of lemons and an overnight steep.  Screw that, we all have the skin crawlies, are scratching everywhere and need relief fast.

I sacrificed the last inch of 409 and rinsed out the spray bottle.  I filled it ½ with bottled lemon juice and added a bit of water.  Mom held Duke and I blasted his belly.  He wasn’t too happy and I guess it was cold.  The black specs fled.

I later read that fleas will scurry to the head area, that we should have put a ring of juice around his neck first to impede their migration.  It’s a day later and Duke won’t let mom or me near him.  We have no idea if it worked, he won’t get close enough to us for us to know if he’s still scratching or not.  I, on the other hand, am itching all over, still.  Dad came home from fishing and after hearing the story asked if perhaps that is why he's been itching for the last few weeks.  I scratched my head, my arm, my face and reached for the wine bottle.

Saturday, September 03, 2011

Mom and I went to a movie and out to eat yesterday.  Dad’s gone fishing for the Labor Day weekend so mom and I decided we would jam in as many movies as we can over the weekend.  Seems movie promoters don’t think Labor Day weekend is a good time to premier new movies.  The only premier this weekend is The Debt.  Our movie wish list is about ten long and NONE of them are starting this weekend.

Retailers think it is a grand time for a sale however.  Mom decided she wanted a fall/winter purse so we tacked purse shopping on the front of dinner and a movie.  This summer I have carried a butter yellow bag, as I interpret it as a “splash of color” from Stacie on What Not to Wear.  Yellow is not a normal color for me and therefore, it complements my wardrobe as a “splash of color.”  Mom wants a splash of color, too.

We went to Charming Charlie’s at Shadow Lake.  Gals, if you haven’t been it is a must.  Total eye candy color palettes of purses, scarves, jewelry and a few togs and shoes.  Divine.  Mom and I ambled in and around all the displays and what we determined to be mom’s splash of color didn’t seem to come in the right hue at Charlie’s.  Or maybe it did but we didn’t like the style.  Very disappointing.  Mother and I are easy shopping marks, yet there was no score at Charlie’s.

That wore us both out – mom from her bad back and walking; me from not being able to even force a purchase…I needed a glass of wine.  We proceeded to the restaurant early to wait for our dates, Joyce and her friend Mary Jo.

Joyce is my mom’s best friend from college.  Mom fixed Joyce up on a date with my dad’s best friend Ted.  Joyce and Ted married, had four girls and we had the best time growing up together – the parents and the kids. If they would have had a boy, I’m pretty sure he would have been my first husband.

Joycey (aka Juice or Juicely) sat next to me in the booth and Mary Jo next to mom.  The best thing about a girl’s night out is that there is no behaving.  We all ordered whatever we wanted off the menu…with dessert to go.  Our conversation was lively…catching up on everything and everyone…while I noticed Joyce’s freshly coiffed hair had a twig or something stuck in it.  I carefully, without wanting to be noticed, tried to pull the twig from her hair.  I didn’t want to embarrass Joyce. 

It seemed to be a bit stuck…maybe by hairspray.  So I tried again from the other end of the twig to see if it would loosen.  Joyce swatted at her hair as if a fly was bothering her yet continued listening to Mary Jo talking about the Bells musical group they both play in at church.  Now being nearly my second mom, I could have just mentioned it to Joyce but still did not want to embarrass her so tried one more time with a swift and quick yank.

“OUCH!” she yelled turning to me wondering what the heck I was doing to her.

With my down-turned mouth and raised eyebrows I meekly stated that she had a twig in her hair.

“That twig, Lori Jo, happens to be a hair fashion feather.  I actually have two of them and they have been anchored in my hair by a bead since June.”

“Oh!  Really?  I’m so sorry……now that you’ve explained, I see it.  Nice, hip fashion statement Joycey!”

“Thank you, I copied it from Stephen Tyler.”

American Idol, if you don’t know this already, you are also influencing fashion for the age 70+ group.

When we got home mom decided she wanted to shop on line for her splash of color purse.  For those who do not know my mother, she has a different outfit for every day complete with jewelry and shoes.  She is a multicolored fashion statement who, like me, trends to blues, greens, and purples because we still believe in the Seasonal color palettes of old.  We are both Winters.  She decided her splash of color should be red.  Well she shopped on line for a while before yelling for me to come and see what she had chosen.  Is was a navy purse, with a big flower in the front and little dashes of colors all over it.

“Mom?  I thought you wanted red?”

“There’s a bit of red on it.”

“Well, it’s not really a splash of color, this purse is more like an entirely new conversation.”

She’s still looking….

Thursday, September 1, 2011

It is sooo not cheese.  Daddy hosted me to the Storm Chaser’s Baseball Game the other night.  They are the farm team for the Kansas City Royals. 

When I left Omaha they were called the Omaha Royals and they played in historic Rosenblatt Stadium.  Now they are the Storm Chasers and play in a new ball park called Werner Park.  Rosenblatt was also the home of the College World Series of Baseball.  I spent a week there every summer as long as I can remember.  Heck!  I chose to attend ASU for college because their baseball team was good and really cute!  Now, the CWS is held in the new TD Ameritrade Stadium.  The Storm Chaser’s don’t play there but I think Creighton University plays there.  I have no idea where the girls’ softball teams play nor the other small ball teams and am unsure why we all can’t play together but who am I to question? All I know is Omaha has two new fabulous ball parks, and I hear historic Rosenblatt will be demolished with the land given to THE neighboring ZOO.  Now, the Omaha Henry Doorly Zoo rivals the best in the US, but I digress from my story….

This new ballpark I had been to…daddy had not.  When we arrived we got a cocktail and strolled around the perimeter so I could show daddy all the cool kid things, the variety of food and drink available, the different places to sit if you didn’t want to sit in your seat, etc.  Of course, we ultimately decided to get hot dogs for dinner.  Daddy the Omaha dog, me the Chicago dog and to share, chili cheese fries.

“What the hell is this?” daddy asked, looking down on his Omaha dog. 

“It’s cheese, daddy.”

“It doesn’t taste like cheese.”

“I know, and it is all over our fries, too.”

“What the hell IS this?”

“Daddy, remember when we were little and you and mommy hosted Bridge card games at the house?”

“Yes.”

“Remember those little, pretty crackers mommy would make with the cheese, the pimento and the teensy sprig of herb?”

“Yes, I loved those.”

“Well, that was spray cheese in a can.  This is canned cheese that can be sprayed.  In this fast-paced ballpark food environment, speed of service is important.  Speed of food = happy customers = we don’t care if we give them shredded toilet paper, if it can be palatable and is quick.”

We both ordered double Jim Beam and Coke’s from our cocktail waitress.

Dad is a man of few words.  Lord.  Get him on the phone and it is painful.  You’re not sure if he’s died while on line or not…he thinks so much before he speaks.  And, when he does it is in……..short……….two word…….spurts…….of information……as you lean into the phone  in frustration……..waiting to hear what he next says.  Typically, when we kids call, we ask for mom, talk with her and hang up. Mom translates to dad.  We don’t have to deal with it.

Imagine then, me and dad at the game together for five hours.  The above conversation was completely abridged.  I think we truly exchanged 50 words.

“Perfect night for a ball game.”

“That was a solid hit – you hear that crack?”

“That one’s over the fence.”

And the rest, at least from what I could tell, was me muttering to myself about plays, hits, stats, whatever.  Dad is a man of few words.  If I am not a gal of many words, I grunt and mutter.

We left at the 7^th inning, the game was neck and neck but not too exciting.  Good night to daddy, I was down stairs to brush my teeth and go to bed.  Needed a new roll of toilet paper.  The Mouse is back. One of my two remaining rolls was shredded.

*sigh*  I do not want to kill this rodent.  I just want it to stay out of my bathroom cabinet.  Mom suggested I put toxic dryer sheets in there.  Dad suggested an old fashioned trap.  I decided cheese, in a no-kill trap AND went with all three suggestions.  We were out of cheese so I scraped some of the baseball park cheese from the leftover chili cheese fries into my no kill trap.

 I’m still not sure what is working.  All I know is I have lost bathroom storage space for the three “repellents” and my bathroom smells like downy soft, fake cheese.  I’m ready to invite my mouse back.

I’m still not sure what is working.  All I know is I have lost bathroom storage space for the three “repellents” and my bathroom smells like downy soft, fake cheese. 

Saturday, August 27, 2011

Folks of a certain age will remember jelly jar glasses.  I think they had the Flintstones or some other cartoon character on them.  They were kiddy size and perfect for juice or a few sips of something.  How many of you still have them in your cupboard?  How many of you still use them?  How about plastic cups with advertising on them?  Or give away coffee cups?

I ask, because I want to know if it is a phenomenon here, that we have every single glass or cup ever bought or received…..and I am only referring to the above mentioned.  We also have every glass or cup purchased on purpose, as part of a gift set, high school fund raiser or as part of tableware set.

Dad drinks his milk from the plastic SWAG cup from my last wedding.  Mom uses a large, tall Husker cup for her tea (at least I think is it a Husker cup, it IS red and the logo is half faded off.  We all use the Ducks Unlimited, Yorky or Model T Club coffee cups and I have a penchant for my “So many men, so few can afford me” wine glass.  Why is this?

The second to last time I moved, I got rid of all cups and glasses that weren’t a part of my every day set or special cocktail glasses.  When I put away my dishes in my new place, I arranged my cupboards al la a magazine – all lined up, sparking - so when I opened the cupboards it was a treat!  I felt like a grown up, albeit a tad anal. 

So, here I am living with mom and dad with all the jelly glasses, Big Gulp cups, “I’m not fat, I’m fluffy” coffee cups and I want to know why we use them instead of the “nice” stuff.  I asked mom.  Her reply, “Because over time the good stuff has been pushed to the back of the cupboard where we can’t reach them.”

Throwing more crap away!!

Thursday, August 25, 2011

I compose this as I burn off a little time before I am attending the Thursday Show of Omaha Fashion Week. And no, Omaha Fashion week is not an oxymoron although I do have my suspicions.  If you are a regular follower of my blog, you may recall how unimpressed I am with the dress in Omaha.  T-shirts and athletic shorts or jammy pants and sweatshirts - oh, and an occasional hoodie - are all I see as I shop for my box of wine at Wal-Mart, shop at Hy-Vee, go to the mall, etc.  However I do say Omaha Fashion Week is not an oxymoron for a couple of reasons.

The first reason is that I actually attended a Fashion Show when I first got to town.  It was at a cool venue in Benson, was a fund raiser for kids I think, they served alcohol (thank god) and the show was wonderful!!!  What talent we saw. My gal pals and I fell in love with one designer in particular and we actually got to meet her when we were all in the bathroom at the same time!!  Take that New York!

The second reason I say Omaha Fashion Week is not an oxymoron is because I am meeting some of the younger up-and-comers in Omaha through my networking.  These kids are really starting to get into fashion.  Last night I was at a little soiree at the newly refurbished Deco Hotel down town.  Tons of the young guns and a good handful of them looking smashing.  They all introduced themselves to me…evidently fashion attracts fashion.   

There is a Best-Dressed list in Omaha and the event/ accolades are coming up. (Of course I am not on the list – I’m new in town.)  A couple of the beautiful people on that list, representing both sexes, commented to me on how they think next year or the next, this list will be about fashion and not popularity.  So, things are really looking up for Omaha!!!!

Oh dear, mom just read to me today’s newspaper article about Omaha Fashion Week.  The article stated that the fashions on the runway were fabulous; the fashions on the spectators left a lot to be desired.  I hope I stand out - I am wearing DESIGNER jammy pants and a hoodie from my Benson designer!  Look out Omaha Best Dressed list!!

Sunday, August 21, 2011

So, mom swallowed a needle. Wha?  Yes, she swallowed a needle.  WT?  Exactly.  I was sitting in my office (the dining room) working on the computer (probably FaceBooking) and she jumped up off the couch and looked at me with great surprise. 

“I just swallowed a needle!” she exclaimed.

“You did what?” I blurted

“I just swallowed a needle!” she replied a tad panicky.

“Well how’d you do that?” queried I.

My mom is an avid cross stitcher.  “Well, I had the needle in my mouth as I was changing thread colors and I, well, I….I don’t know!  All I know was it was at the back of my mouth and I couldn’t grasp it and then I swallowed it!”

Knowing a bit about hand needle work, I found this scenario quite plausible.  “You’ll be fine, mom,”  I said, “it’ll go down, through and out just fine. And, just in case I’ll Google it.”

“What are you going to Google?  Stupid human tricks?” she asked. 

“Not directly,” said I.

All I could find were stories about dogs, cats and toddlers – not a 74-year-old woman with a bad stomach already.  I did see one story that caught my eye.  If was from the New York Times in 1900 about a youngster who swallowed a needle and many months later it made its way out through his skin, right beneath his rib cage.  I didn’t share that story with mom.

Just so happened that at that time my sister called with news of Devyn Rose Sparrer.  Yep, this family is having a little girl.  We are thrilled.  Mom got all the details and at the end of the conversation asked my Nurse Practitioner sister what do to about the needle.  She said the same thing I did.  It’ll pass in 24 to 48 hours, not to worry.

We are all waiting on pins and needles (couldn’t help myself) to see what happens.  Forty-eight hours is nearly now.  Yesterday at the movies, as the screen actors drank a shot of tequila, mom asked if maybe that would disintegrate her needle.  I snorted and said no but if the urban legend is true, a good cold Coca Cola should do the trick.  Tonight mom's enjoying a large Coca Cola, we are keeping her away from magnetic devices, and we wait.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Mom and I were cursing men yesterday...I was trying to turn on the gas to the grill to cook some chicken and the dang handle was screwed so tightly closed that I couldn’t get it open.  I tried a rubber kitchen gripper thing and then a towel…still couldn’t get it to budge.  “Are you sure you are turning it the right way,” mom asked? 

“Really?” I thought to myself.  “I own my own grill thank-you-very-much.  Uncle Ted taught me ‘righty tighty, lefty Lucy’ by God….I know what I am doing.”

“Your dad sometimes uses a hammer to hit the handle loose, want to try it?”  Clang! Clang! – The loudness was due to my mounting frustration because I hate chicken baked in the oven and this was looking like an oven baked chicken night.  Crap.  “Damn, men,” I muttered.  Mom nodded in agreement.  Why do guys have to come behind us gals and check our work?  Tighten things?  Treat us like little girls?

Today a left a sticky note for daddy to please unloosen the gas handle and off I went on some errands.  Upon my arrival home daddy informed me the reason why the gas tank handle was so tight was because it was OPEN all the way, it couldn’t open any further.  *grinandbearit*  Thanks Daddy.

Anchovies do not resemble leeches I have learned.  Dad likes anchovies and what he brought home and put in the fridge and I proceeded to put on his salad were not anchovies.

I spent 24 years in Atlanta, GA.  It wasn’t until I came to Omaha did I see a TV show called Toddlers and Tiaras.  With disdain, I watched an episode (or two.)  What the heck are these folks thinking spending all that money #1?  On promoting superficiality with beauty to children #2?  And I don’t know what else but I was disturbed #3.  I have sneak watched a few more episodes since then…again with disdain.  This week a Georgia neighbor of mine posted both of her daughters’ pageant photos on FaceBook..  Dang it!  Now I have to come out of the disdain closet.  EVERYTHING aside, it is fun to watch and the outfits are pretty.  I can’t be a hater.  If there were such a thing for dogs, my Lucille (May she rest in peace) would have been Best in Show.

Saturday, August 13, 2011

The potentially shattered table and chairs are still in the back of the truck in now soggy boxes.  Drat rain.  I have enticed my brother with a Thai food extravaganza to come over tomorrow and help me put this patio furniture together.  I now see the complete value in the $70 delivery and set-up fee.  This small lesson I have decided is my one more step closer to getting old.

See, my folks have gotten a bit illogical with money in my opinion.  Dad will spend good money on refurbishing the deck yet gives mom a very small (nearly unrealistic) budget for the patio table.  You should see all the gerry-rigged items in this house.  Re-wired lamps, formerly broken and now cobbled together old chairs…the dishwasher one must kick to close and start….and yet my folks are spending crazy money to go to Florida for four months next year.  The grocery and prescription bills scare mom yet you can be sure she has all the latest fashions, hard cover books and so on.  I don’t know, maybe I’m missing something here…and I probably am.  And that is why I did not pay $70 for free delivery and set up of the patio furniture and am spending double that in time, energy and a Thai food extravaganza.

I share a bathroom with a foul-mouthed mouse.  The other day I got into the cabinet underneath my sink.  I have a couple stackable plastic drawers in there, a travel makeup bag, cleaning supplies and such.  I also have a little basket where I keep little soaps and shampoos from my travels.  This is where I discovered a little packaged soap with half the corner nibbled off – paper, soap and all.  Not terribly freaked out, I wished to myself he’d eat my bathroom spiders rather than my nice soaps.  Then it dawned on me that I keep my toothbrush uncovered ON TOP of the stackable drawers.  With my luck he brushed his teeth when he was done dining on my soap.  That’s when I freaked.

Saturday, August 06, 2011

Do squirrels laugh?  I commissioned the new deck the other day.  Dragged out an old card table and chair and worked outside for a bit.  Evidently I was disturbing a squirrel’s concentration on raiding the hanging bird feeder.  He’d be hanging upside down from the roof edge, trying to grab hold of the feeder and, I don’t know why but, I’d look up at him.  So then he’d scamper back up onto the roof and scurry over my way and laugh at me!  Then he forgot all about the feeder and from a variety of roof top vantage points, he continued to laugh.  I decided he was laughing at the card table and chair.

Called mom up and told her they need some patio furniture.  Located a heck of a deal at Sears and would save $70 by picking it up myself.  I emailed mom a photo of the set and she approved the purchase of a patio table and six chairs.

Dad has one of those little tiny trucks.  It’s a stick and fun to drive.  It is also beat to hell, dirty, grimy and gross with a finicky starter and a sticky emergency brake.  It was parked in front of garage door #4 in the backyard so I fired her up and off to Sears we went.  She has a bit of an electrical problem as the radio came and went along with the emergency brake and check engine lights. 

I was hoping the patio set would fit but wasn’t quite sure it would.  It is a tiny little truck.  The Sears guys assured me there was enough room and they rearranged the spare tire, mobile jack, fishing waders, thermos and other miscellany to make room.  Guess I should have thought to clean out the back of the truck, huh?  In my defense, I was wearing heels, white shorts and a very nice top.  I didn’t want to get dirty.  I thanked the guys and as I was getting ready to fire her up, they said to be careful taking left turns.

Well, of course she wouldn’t start.  Electrical fine, turn over – no.  Tried a couple more times and then called my brother the mechanic.  He didn’t answer so as I dialed dad, I tried it again and she started.  So, I hung up before reaching dad.  Then I went to release the emergency brake and that damned thing wouldn’t budge.  Good grief!  I tried my brother again. Same result.  Dialed dad again.  Same result and off we went!

I decided to not jump on I-680 and drove the regular roads instead.  Didn’t want to lose a box.  I really enjoy driving a stick and was wondering how I did it way back when I smoked and perpetually drank Diet Coke.  I didn’t have enough hands!  Can you imagine that and talking on a cell phone today?  Yikes.  Although I was deep in thought I did hear the thump as I turned left onto Maple from 90^th street.  I pulled in to the parking lot of the old Cheap Skate roller rink and there was the patio table – right in the middle of the intersection.  Lord.

As I made my way on foot (in heels mind you!) to the intersection I was hoping some gentleman would notice how well I was dressed and jump out to help me.  Not a chance.  I waited for yellow traffic lights and then dashed into the intersection to grab the table.  The GLASS table was wrapped and boxed at about 6’ x 3’ size.  I hefted up a short end, turned around and dragged it behind me to the curb.  Not too bad.  Then I continued to drag it that way, through the parking lot to the truck.  About half way to the truck, the dragging caused the end to open and the table started coming out.  I flipped it around and dragged the good end to the truck.  With a good alley-oop that table was back in the truck.  Please refer back to paragraph #5.

The truck and its load are back in front of garage door #4 in the back yard.  It is not getting unpacked tonight.  Tomorrow I’ll find out if the glass table is in one piece.  Right now I need a drink.  And not for the reason you are thinking.  I am celebrating that throughout this entire ordeal, my white shorts are still clean!!

Friday, August 05, 2011

Mom and dad are out of town for a WEEK!  I feel 16 and want to have a party!!  Now here’s where I’m not so 16.  There is no patio furniture on the deck, the house is a mess and I would be embarrassed to have anyone over.  Then, should I offer just beer or beer and wine?  Shall I cook some fun finger foods or will chips, dips and veggies be adequate?  Mom and dad do not have a stereo, or an IPod. Shall I create an e-vite or just blast it on FB?  For me, an impromptu party is nothing like it was in high school where letting it slip that your parents’ are gone the party “just” happens.

Before my folks left, we needed to haul out the trash.  Mom pulled the cans out of the garage.  I pulled them to the curb.  The wrong curb evidently.  Dad said they were supposed to go on the other side of the driveway.  Where I placed the cans was where the lawn debris was to go.  I thought to myself, “Certainly the trash collectors can see which is trash and which is lawn debris” so I said to dad I thought it wouldn’t matter.

As I barefoot walked into the garage to go back inside the house I stepped on…….white, wiggling rice. OMG!  Seems it is fly season and they found something comfy near the trash can on which to lay some eggs. GROSS!!!  Well, I screamed like my head was being cut off.  My gag reflex engaged.  Dad came running out with a spray bottle of spot remover and single streamed a few wigglers at a time, consequently pushing them into a larger area. Mom came out with a broom and swatted them as if to put out a fire.  Once I regained my composure and we all calmed a bit, we handled the situation superbly with brooms, a shovel, raid and bleach.  And I set out a mouse trap for added intimidation.

I have officially declared myself as a sole proprietor and am no longer seeking gainful employment where I am not my own boss.  Yes, it took six months and two serious job opportunities for me to decide, but I decided.  And now I am scared to death!  No regular income, only a couple of clients, living with my folks much longer than anticipated….no big clothing allowance!!!!

I am working with the Nebraska Business Development Council to receive cutting edge business advice (they are part of the University of Nebraska) and guidance.  Additionally, I am getting certified as a small, woman-owned, disadvantaged business through their Procurement Training Assistant Center so I may be eligible for government contract work.  Nebraska business ranks 43 out of 50 in earning government contracts…our government even gives contracts to other states.  More of us need to get registered I say!  Keep the work at home.  I am ignorantly counting on becoming a large government contractor overnight. J

Today the trash collectors came.  I washed down all the cans with bleach, spot remover and raid.  And later realized they were on the other side of the drive from where I had first placed them.

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Today I lost my employee discount at the upscale women’s clothing boutique where I worked part-time.  Last week, I experienced a bit of a time crunch between my $50+ Hr “business” and my $8.50 Hr part time gig.  I asked to be put on “On Call” status which means they only call me to work last minute when someone is out sick or when someone needs last minute time off…and I still get the fab employee discount.  That idea didn’t fly I guess.  Today I was relieved of all duty to make way for gals who could put in a more serious effort. 

So……I unexpectedly had an entire day free!  I got busy on the downstairs closet.  Mom and dad’s wedding album….had to look through that.  There went an hour.  I have takers for mom’s vintage 1955 Mouton Coat and her 1958 Aksarben Princess Gown.  I love people who love vintage, especially when it is one of my BFFs and her ultra cool kids.  Dad decided we would have his dad’s Letter Sweater (circa early 20’s) dry cleaned and preserved. 

Grandpa’s Beaver Coat, however, was virtually destroyed due to inattention; it recaptured a road kill scent and look and still managed to evade the trash bag.  Did I tell you I think my dad is one of those hoarders from TV?  There were a handful of old short sleeved shirts in the closet, prime for the Good Will.  Daddy held up each one, studied it for a while and laid it in either the "keep" or "toss" pile.  I secretly snagged one from the “keep” pile just so he would have one contribution to those less fortunate.  I hope I don’t unexpectedly run into the Beaver Coat in some dark, dank, basement area for I may react in a survival sort of manner.

My mother is a well dressed woman and always has been.  I will always remember waiting to see what mommy would wear each day…always a delight.  Today she donated a number of wonderful outfits, formal wear, shoes and purses that many lucky ladies will love.  There are two things that can make or break a gal’s day – bad hair and a bad outfit.  Momma is making the day 50% better for a lot of gals.

As adult kids, we want to help our folks downsize or at least de-clutter…throw crap away and get organized.  I am experiencing the desire to not be so hasty…to take time and not push because this is very emotional.  Mom’s formal wear – what memories.  Her Aksarben gown???  I would have died and gone to heaven to be an Aksarben Princess.  She was.  Her dress is stunning today.  Dad’s old trumpet that is in poor condition today because we KIDS uncaringly got to it.  Still memories for him (and one day potential TGIF ceiling decoration because he nor I could toss it).

And for me, too.  I tossed my old roller skates and my cheerleader outfits and coat!!!  Guess what lane I hung out in for a few moments?  Memory!  I tried out for cheerleading every single year I was eligible and finally made it my senior year.  Don’t tell me I didn’t learn persistence and practice from that little piece of life gold.

Lastly for this post, I proclaim the kegger is back on!  When I moved in with my folks in March I discovered their outdoor decking was hanging by a nail.  If someone were to go out for a smoke or a private smooch, their lives would be in danger.  I cancelled my home coming kegger.  Well, daddy and his buddies have built a new one and enlarged it as well!!!  Once it cools a bit outdoors, the kegger is back on my friends!

July 23, 2011

I really do not like the smell of Citronella.  I got a strong whiff of it and discovered it was emanating from my suitcase.  WT?  I started digging around to locate the source.  Seems my last minute travel idea to pack a small, boxed votive candle wasn’t the brightest.  It melted.  On to my $$ padded, deep plunge, SOMA bra.  Crap.  I was planning to wear this super cute sun dress to dinner with my ex and our neighbor friends.  I needed this bra.  So I yanked out the hotel provided ironing board and iron, stuffed the hard wax shell of the right bra cup with a towel and with about a half a roll of toilet paper began heat blotting.  This particular brand of candle is popular because the scents are very strong.  I really do not like the smell of Citronella.  A while later, the cup had cooled and was no longer firm with wax.  It still stank of Citronella yet was wearable.  I figured maybe my friends would think it my perfume so I was off to dinner.  We enjoyed a lovely dinner al fresco, completely mosquito free.

My Atlanta visit was divine.  And surprisingly, while bittersweet, no tears shed or strong urge to move back.  I got to see my dog Desi and realized my decision to leave her was truly the best.  She is very happy and healthy. Throughout the whole time in Atlanta, I stayed in the moment and enjoyed my wonderful friends. 

Back at mom’s I discovered I could barely get my bedroom door open.  With a line backer shove I completed the break of my collapsed garment rack.  *sigh* If you are a reader of this blog from way back, you know the trials I have experienced with these blooming garment racks. * SIGH* I am now determined to clear out the basement closet and make room for my clothes.  My cursory closet content review identified mom’s Xmas sweaters, shoes, 25 ugly purses, the multicolored bow ties and cummerbunds from my 1987 wedding, dad’s broken trumpet, a fish aquarium, me and sis’s cheerleading outfits (I will not see if it still fits) mom’s college Mouton coat, her late 50’s Aksarben Princess ball gown, a dead mouse and a piece of old toast.  I decided to clear a bit at a time over this coming week.  Anyone want a vintage Mouton coat or ball gown?

Last night was the wedding of my girl-gang’s first child.  We are not old and proved it on the reception dance floor and much later at the 2:00am cannon ball contest at a friend’s pool.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

I love the SOUTH!!  A friend mentioned that while I was born and raised in the Midwest, I developed my adulthood in the South.  I have idyllic memories of the Midwest; I became conscious in the South. 

I love the southern language – especially the word ya’ll.  Or the words “fixin to,” “git me some” or southern sayings like “dumber than a bucket of hair.”  The southern dialect is very colorful to my ear.  As well as the accent.  It tickles me when I hear small children speaking one syllable words with two syllables.  Ray – ed, Bay – ed.   When I first arrived in the South in 1989 I could not make out half the words of Southern Twang, as I call it, and now it all charms me.

Last Friday I landed in Hendersonville, TN, a northern lake suburb of Nashvegas (Nashville.)  There I am known as a BFF and Crazy Aunt Lori.  I typically behave consistent with the latter. (Last time I visited I dared the then 15-yr-old twins that I would allow their Jack Russell Terrier, Scooter, to eat chewed up food out of my mouth.  They took the dare.  Grossed us all out.)  This time I think I blended the two and behaved as the crazy BFF.

I know the family was stocked with milk – I had just supervised the purchase of groceries and three gallons of skim milk was a portion of it.  I rose for the next day; jammified and bed headed I slogged downstairs for coffee and my morning email in the dining room, where I had set up my computer and mini work station.  

My coffee takes real sugar and 2% milk, so at the first sip I figured it was just the skim milk taste that I wasn’t used to.  After reading one Thought for the Day and one Social Living Coupon offer, my next coffee sip still tasted funny.  Maybe I needed to add more milk since it was skim after all and not 2%?  I  took another sip without adding more milk because I was excited about an email of a new job opportunity and then needed to respond to an email client inquiry.  I took another sip…what is not right with this coffee? I thought.  I became engrossed with a few opportunities to procure my clients some real subject matter press, when my GORGEOUS-16-yr-old niece sat down next to me with a bowl of cereal.  Next thing I know, she spews barely chewed cinnamon toast crunch cereal with the force of a fire hose….she gagged-garbled something about sour milk.

I was born 11 days before my Nashvegas BFF therefore I am OLDER (I am 9 days junior to my Omaha BFF so she is OLDEST)  Me'n Nash BFF traditionally spend time together in July to commemorate our Bdays. This time she created a party for us – gals only – at a beach bar down the street.  Fifteen of her gal pals showed up.  It was a Tuesday night, the stars had aligned, estrogen was at an all time high and even the last minute invites were accepted.  All I will share is that I had to jump an elderly man to prevent him from winning the beer round in trivia (he still won), whiskey shots now come in cinnamon flavor, and I not only now know all the words to “Stop! In the Name of Love,” I can adequately dance back-up when Ms. Treesa sings it.  Oh, and, I am officially invited to the next Henderson Lutheran Church Women’s Sunday school girl’s trip.

From Hendersonville in a rented Toyota Prius, I travelled southwest of “Nashvull” to a suburb named Franklin for my bi-annual Center for Leadership Design Retreat.  I rather enjoyed the Prius as soon as I got used to a push button start, quiet engine (doesn’t even sound like it is running while parked) and its different gear-shift thingy where you push yet another button to park the car. 

The Leadership retreat was very therapeutic for me as I have been feeling a bit lost in my new home town.  I’ve gotten to know, bared my soul, eaten and cried and have even gotten tipsy (no!) with a few of these folks since 2003.  No different from our last gathering, we solved yet another world problem and became the better for it – in only three days! Oh, and I also premiered in my first public karaoke trio – “I’m a Believer” and my first duet with “Love Shack.” And! I have three more marketing consultations and an invitation to explore a Marketing/PR business partnership in Naples, FL.  Sweet!

Today I find myself in a motel in the backyard of my former residence in Roswell, GA.  I am taking five days to see friends, reconnect, and soak up what I think it is I am missing in Omaha.   I’m excited and scared at the same time.  As human beings, we automatically seek comfort and security.  I haven’t felt those since March.  Driving to this area, I rolled down the windows and took it all in.  Familiarity!!  These next few days I will feel comfort and security with it all....it will be an interesting time..bittersweet for sure.  And while I know I am building something great in Omaha, I worry I could take a short term gain for comfort and decide on-a-dime to move back.

All ya’ll, please send me clarity of heart and mind….

July 4, 2011

I received my tenth real job rejection last week – this time by phone!  Finally!  A company with the balls to call.  Letters are fine, too, but the no-contact-or-call-make-your-own-deduction-Sherlock-you-didn’t –get-the-job folks bother me.  I mean, Human Resources is the department that in addition to employment coordination also handles employee morale, behavior, office etiquette, training, and so forth.  And not even a rejection letter?  Oh, to be a slacker and have a job.

I did start my new part time job last week.  Four hours of looking hot, great clothes, gossiping with women and having a good time (Much like my former job with the construction company). I was even encouraged to try clothes on myself – so I would know what to tell clients about how the pieces fit.  Did I tell you these clothes are on the sexy side of casual/business casual?  I tried on this smokin’ turquoise dress and understood the reason behind the Spanx body suit.  As soon as I get my check for the $34 dollars I earned, I intend to spend it.

It’s movie weekend for me and mom.  Today we will be seeing our second together.  The first one was the new Tom Hanks and Julia Roberts’ movie.  It was cute as you’d expect.  Typically I drop mom off at the front of the theater and she goes in to buy the tickets while I park the car.  This time we parked so close we could walk in together.  Mom requested of the lady at the ticket counter, “Two senior tickets please.”

“MOM,” I commanded, “I’m not that old yet!!!”  She scowled and paid for one senior and one adult (actually, I argue I could have been a child priced ticket since I am her daughter but anyway…)

“Lori Jo, I always buy you a senior ticket, you’re just parking the car and don’t realize it.  They don’t know it’s for you and it saves money.”  Good grief.   I can see it now, mother and daughter enjoy chick flick and then join the cast of “Women Behind Bars.”  We’re seeing Bad Teacher today.  Pray for me.

I am so excited we have a new subscription to one of the paparazzi/fashion magazines.  It is a guilty pleasure for mom and me and we have dad to thank for it.  He did something that earned him a bunch of free magazine subscriptions.  He couldn’t choose enough to meet his limit so I chose this one and one other….Southern Living I think.  These new subscriptions are just now starting to trickle in.  Just yesterday the mail carrier delivered Spin and Jet.  I had to scratch my head on those…until it dawned on me that Dad is a motor head.  He likely thought those magazines were motor related.  I loooove good fodder for the blog!