This is proof that Blogging is not like riding a bicycle. I'm positive that if I didn't write
anything for another week, I actually would forget how.
It has been a while, I know, but I've been experiencing difficulty remaining inside the
house, tied to the computer for any length of time. The compulsion to get outside is too
strong to resist.
But, it's like I was trying to explain to The Man the other day. I'm NOT a domestic goddess.
I'm a dirt-lovin', bug-ridden, sweat-drippin', whis'lin-while-I-grunt, outdoorsy kind of a gal.
I do NOT want to dust and vacuum and clean the toilets. I want to be outside where all the
action is, among the twisting worms, the begging squirrels and the fightin' robins.
I always say "the fightin' robins" with a Scottish accent, with a heavy trill on the "R."
I forget why I do this, probably something The Man came up with. But, it suits them.
Anyway, I announced the other day (to The Man, mainly) that the inside of our house is
"going to go to hell" and I will apologize to no one! I have surrendered to the fact that
flittering around with a feather duster is not my cup of tea. Oh, sure, I'll still see that the
dishes are done...eventually...that the laundry is done, and that the meals are prepared,
but, BUT my daily labour shall be the perfection of my garden.
I'm not sure what drives me, but I am as a woman possessed. I go out first thing in the
morning and start puttering around, digging this, moving that, weeding, mulching, watering,
and before you know it, it's getting dark and The Man is starting to look peaked. I walk up
to him all filthy and sweaty, picture Ma Kettle after a tough day of butchering hogs, and I
holler "What's the matter with you, Pa? You look a little parched!
Poor guy. He's like one of the shrubs in the backyard. They just kinda sit there day after
day, and I pretty much ignore them until I realize they need to be pruned, fed and mulched.
I perform the task in a perfunctory manner and march on.
My little honeysuckle, my sweet elderberry, my eternal smoke bush, my darling dogwood
is attention deprived!
I'd better change my attitude, if I know what's good for me. Either that or my wild mountain
rose is going to sprout legs and skedaddle on outta here looking for more fertile ground.
"There he goes," I'll say, waving farewell with my sweaty bandana, watching him trudge off
into the sunset. "Au revoir, mon petit petunia!"
I wonder if I have heatstroke.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
No Smoting
AND ALIVE!
I love my oral surgeon!
When I write my great opus, I'm going to dedicate it to him.
When I climb Mt. Everest, I'm going to plant a flag with his picture on it.
When I am Queen, I'm going to have the Royal Horticulture Society name a rose after him.
When I'm President I'm going to make him my Oral Surgeon General.
This man, this wonderful man, took a scared, whimpering (emphasis on the "whimp"),
shaking, sad sack of a woman and in three seconds took away her headache and upset
stomach and turned her back into her happy, vivacious, glittery self.
It was like a biblical miracle in one of those Cecil B. DeMille movies, except Moses was
played by The Man and God was played by my oral surgeon. I played the part of a
quivering mass of raspberry jello.
I was doing an academy award winning job of quivering while Moses and God were
discussing whether or not to smote me. Whenever they uttered the word "smote,"
I moaned convincingly.
Anyway, Moses was saying that he thought the tooth was bothering me and that I
should be smoted real good. But, I meekly uttered, "No, the tooth doesn't really
bother me at all. I just thought I should come here and get smoted because my
regular dentist said I should."
Then God said, "Statistically speaking, you are a group that doesn't need smoting.
If you were under 40 I'd smote you right now, no question. But, once you're over
40 you don't need to be smoted unless there's a reason like pain or filthy, stinking decay.
My quivering began to cease.
Moses said, "But wait a minute, God. I mean, come on, she's here and the bib is
clipped on her and everything is in readiness. Why not just smote her and get it
over with. How long would it take?"
God said, "It'd take about twenty minutes. In fact, if we weren't having this discussion
she'd be good and smoted by now."
"But," he continued, "I don't see any reason to smote her right now. If it were Me,
I'd wait until it were necessary. Why get smoted if you don't have to?"
Moses said, "I vote for smoting."
I asked if it was going to make any difference if I got smoted when I'm really old, like
say 56. God said it wasn't going to make any difference at all because "a smote is a
smote is a smote, and in your case nothing is going to change. The tooth is just going
to sit there just like it is right now."
I smiled.
Just then the angel music started, a heavenly choir sang forth as the credits started
to roll.
I walked out unsmoted and free, free, free. For six months I've been anxiously
anticipating this day's smoting, but now...I suddenly felt giddy and the world
before me shimmered in a golden glow.
Moses trudged out behind me a little disappointed, but cheered up when I
suggested we go over to Bob Evan's to celebrate my ability to eat smote-free
food, which is where I ate a breakfast burrito that I wouldn't have been able
to eat had I been smoted as planned.
Sharing My Pain
I'm having my wisdom tooth removed today.At least I think I'm having it removed.
My dentist attempted it in 2007. He failed.
Now, I'm going back for more. This time
to an oral surgeon who is supposed to be
someone who does this kinda thing for a
living and who should be able to get the
job done without having a conniption fit
because he sees some bright orange thing
that he says he doesn't think is a tumor, which is what happened
with my regular dentist two years ago and which doesn't probably make any sense
to anyone reading this, but it does to me and that's why I'm so nervous.
I have diarrhea and a headache. I was moaning and standing motionless in the middle
of the room then I sat down with my head in my hands.
The Man told me to relax, to read something, so I just finished reading all the horror
cases of wisdom tooth extractions on the internet.
That's probably not what he had in mind.
In exactly one hour I'll be in the chair having some overly cheerful girl clipping a bib on me.
I'll post again...as soon as I'm able...if I'm able...to let you know how it all went.
I wonder. Will they let me take my tooth home to put under my pillow?
I'm so scared.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Director of First and Last Impressions
I took a look at the want ads in the
Lime Plant City Register a few days ago.
I was not looking for employment. Rather, I
was curious to see how the current economic
crisis was affecting the job market in the area.
I figured that the crisis would be reflected in
the number and type of jobs available.
Then, I saw this:
Company Location: The Land of O
Job Description: Director Of First And Last ImpressionsOffice/Clerical, Bustling companion and agricultural animal medical establishment is seeking director of first and last impressions. Fast paced, dynamic and vibrant atmosphere requires person with enthusiasm, motivation and professionalism. Multi-task, manage heavy phone call volume and command of computer, organizational and people skills.Training provided. Forward letter of introduction and resume to info@animalhosp.com by April 30th
I have no idea what they're talking about. I mean, just exactly what is a "bustling
companion?" And when I read "agricultural animal medical establishment," I picture
Mr. Ed wearing a nurses cap with a stethoscope hanging around his neck. I'm stumped.
But, that's nothing compared to the job title itself: Director of First and Last Impressions.
Uh, I don't care what anyone says, THAT is a groovy job title. I would be honored to
shake the hand of the person who came up with that one! I mean, imagine the look on
the face of the person you're standing next to at some cocktail party after they ask you,
"And what do you do for a living?" to which you reply, "Oh, I'm the Director of First and Last
Impressions. Here's my card."
I WANT THIS JOB!!!
I am so utterly qualified and experienced. In fact, if they hire me, I'm certain that within
two weeks they'll have to promote me. Soon they'll be painting on my door:
Director of First and Last Impressions In Five Words Or Less!
Great tie, Bill!
You stink!
Best coffee I've ever had!
Stupidest report ever submitted!
Here comes trouble!
There goes our last hope!
Looking good, Phil!
He's on his last legs.
You're a whiz kid!
That guy's nuts!
What a beaut!
What a wreck!
You're fat, Dave!
Donuts are good!
I could go on and on. I'm a natural at this.
In fact, the next time The Man tells me "You are so opinionated!" I'm gonna say,
"No, I am simply innately accurate at issuing forth first and last impressions,
you sniveling, shortsighted, simpleton!"
Well...maybe I'll leave that last part out.
Too bad, though.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Go Jump Off A Cliff Notes
Where was I...
Oh yeah. Coming to conclusions.
And here are the results:
I have come to the conclusion that learning another language is more difficult than becoming
a doctor or passing the bar exam. It's even more difficult than graduating with a degree in
Theatre Arts.
The process involves intense concentration, endless frustration and frequent kicks in the
cojones, which I don't think exist in the feminine tense but, since there is no feminine tense
in the English language, cojones it is!
And, it is for these reasons that I think EVERYONE should study a foreign language.
I read that people are now working on Sudoku puzzles to exercise their brains. They
think that by working on some little baby puzzle they'll avoid Alzheimer's, or something.
Well, I'm here to tell you that Sudoku puzzles are the ultimate time wasting activity; and
that if you're inclined to getting Alzheimer's, you're going to get it no matter what, so
instead of spending whatever time you have left sitting around staring at a puzzle book,
get out there and look around you, look up at the sky in wonder, crab about the traffic
and, for Godsakes, talk to other people and, especially, talk to people who speak English
as a second language. Help them out, help yourself out.
I think everyone in the southern United States should speak English AND Spanish. It
should be required. And, everyone in the north should have to speak French.
And, I think that if you can't pass your driver's test in your newly learned second language,
then YOU DON'T GET TO DRIVE! Boy, would that ever eliminate the traffic congestion
problem.
Anyway, alls I'm sayin' is, it's really hard, language learning is. And, I'm here in the thick
of it, too, immersed in this can of chunky beef Italian stew, trying to keep my head up,
living, breathing, eating, drinking, sleeping and bumping into Italian everywhere I go,
thinking that one day it's all just going to come together and that on that special day,
the clouds will part, the angels will sing, a single ray of light will shine down on my little
punkin head, and I'll miraculously start rapping away, not just in Italian, but in the
Romano dialect, which is so insane it makes me laugh.
I think it makes me ornery, too.
Oh yeah. Coming to conclusions.
And here are the results:
I have come to the conclusion that learning another language is more difficult than becoming
a doctor or passing the bar exam. It's even more difficult than graduating with a degree in
Theatre Arts.
The process involves intense concentration, endless frustration and frequent kicks in the
cojones, which I don't think exist in the feminine tense but, since there is no feminine tense
in the English language, cojones it is!
And, it is for these reasons that I think EVERYONE should study a foreign language.
I read that people are now working on Sudoku puzzles to exercise their brains. They
think that by working on some little baby puzzle they'll avoid Alzheimer's, or something.
Well, I'm here to tell you that Sudoku puzzles are the ultimate time wasting activity; and
that if you're inclined to getting Alzheimer's, you're going to get it no matter what, so
instead of spending whatever time you have left sitting around staring at a puzzle book,
get out there and look around you, look up at the sky in wonder, crab about the traffic
and, for Godsakes, talk to other people and, especially, talk to people who speak English
as a second language. Help them out, help yourself out.
I think everyone in the southern United States should speak English AND Spanish. It
should be required. And, everyone in the north should have to speak French.
And, I think that if you can't pass your driver's test in your newly learned second language,
then YOU DON'T GET TO DRIVE! Boy, would that ever eliminate the traffic congestion
problem.
Anyway, alls I'm sayin' is, it's really hard, language learning is. And, I'm here in the thick
of it, too, immersed in this can of chunky beef Italian stew, trying to keep my head up,
living, breathing, eating, drinking, sleeping and bumping into Italian everywhere I go,
thinking that one day it's all just going to come together and that on that special day,
the clouds will part, the angels will sing, a single ray of light will shine down on my little
punkin head, and I'll miraculously start rapping away, not just in Italian, but in the
Romano dialect, which is so insane it makes me laugh.
I think it makes me ornery, too.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Birthday Girl
the man met mein the hall and led
me into the room
filled floor to ceiling
with brightly wrapped
packages, telling me to
watch out for all the
burning candles.
we trod on mounds
of tissue paper, curly
ribbons caught in our hair.
finally we sat down to
admire the glittering
when suddenly the gifts
tumbled down around me
and i was buried in laughter
and dreams and sighs of love.
Image by Maggie Taylor, 2000, http://www.johnclearygallery.com/artists/taylor/taylor.html
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Train of thoughts
My sister came here for a week's neurosis...I mean visit...I mean MY neurosis...I mean,
I don't know what I mean, so I haven't written for awhile.
Two nights before she left, Italy had an earthquake in L'Aguila. We've been there several
times. Beautiful part of Italy, Abruzzo. It's all very sad, very tragic. I'm familiar with
earthquakes. They hit you hard, with no warning, sometimes catastrophically as in L'Aguila,
then they're gone and you're left with the shock and grief and disbelief.
The quake woke us up here in Rome, fifty miles away from the epicenter. We were lucky
our 500 year old apartment held up. The petrified wood in the ceiling and walls was really
creaking, though. It went on for about 40 seconds...that's about nine years in earthquake time.
In case you're wondering if we had any premonitions that this quake was coming...well, I did
have a strange headache that morning, and I usually never get headaches. Also, I think I may
have had a lascivious thought or two about The Man that afternoon. Other than that, I don't
think we experienced any other paranormal activity.
A friend of ours sent this video to us and I wanted to pass it along. Maybe everyone has
already seen it. But, I happen to be an old Sound of Music fan and if there's one thing I know,
it's EVERY song in that musical. I also ALWAYS wanted to be Julie Andrews, especially when
she was Mary Poppins, but that was before she was a nun and cut her hair.
I like this because it makes me happy feeling inside. It makes me glad that my species can
do something like this just for the fun of it. It's like sometimes if you watch a big bird flying,
a seagull or whatever, you can sometimes see that bird fly some loop-de-loop just for the fun
of it. I swear.
Anyway, I guess what this blog is about is that there's tragedy and joy, and it's all intertwined.
It's all part of the big package and there's nothing you can do about it.
I don't know what I mean, so I haven't written for awhile.
Two nights before she left, Italy had an earthquake in L'Aguila. We've been there several
times. Beautiful part of Italy, Abruzzo. It's all very sad, very tragic. I'm familiar with
earthquakes. They hit you hard, with no warning, sometimes catastrophically as in L'Aguila,
then they're gone and you're left with the shock and grief and disbelief.
The quake woke us up here in Rome, fifty miles away from the epicenter. We were lucky
our 500 year old apartment held up. The petrified wood in the ceiling and walls was really
creaking, though. It went on for about 40 seconds...that's about nine years in earthquake time.
In case you're wondering if we had any premonitions that this quake was coming...well, I did
have a strange headache that morning, and I usually never get headaches. Also, I think I may
have had a lascivious thought or two about The Man that afternoon. Other than that, I don't
think we experienced any other paranormal activity.
A friend of ours sent this video to us and I wanted to pass it along. Maybe everyone has
already seen it. But, I happen to be an old Sound of Music fan and if there's one thing I know,
it's EVERY song in that musical. I also ALWAYS wanted to be Julie Andrews, especially when
she was Mary Poppins, but that was before she was a nun and cut her hair.
I like this because it makes me happy feeling inside. It makes me glad that my species can
do something like this just for the fun of it. It's like sometimes if you watch a big bird flying,
a seagull or whatever, you can sometimes see that bird fly some loop-de-loop just for the fun
of it. I swear.
Anyway, I guess what this blog is about is that there's tragedy and joy, and it's all intertwined.
It's all part of the big package and there's nothing you can do about it.
Monday, March 30, 2009
How Much Is A Billion
I read something really good today.
It was an article about the government
bailouts of companies like AIG, GM,
CitiGroup, etc. etc. ad naseum.
Over 100 billion dollars to AIG alone.
100 billion.
I mean, if I have a hundred dollars in my pocket I'm a nervous wreck because I'm worrying
constantly that somebody might steal it, or it might fall out of my pocket, or I might forget
it's there and throw it in the wash and never be able to prove that it was once U.S. currency,
or that the guy at the register won't be able to make change for it? Ahhhhhh!
But, a billion?! The thought gives me the vapors.
I can't wrap my brain around "billion."
What does a billion look like? Is there a One Billion Dollar bill? Has anyone out there
ever seen one? Better yet, has anyone ever USED one? I mean was it all wrinkled and
dirty when it got handed over? And what was it used to buy? A thousand pairs of one
million dollar shoes?
Okay, wait a minute. Let's start with something simple, like a measly Million dollars.
If somebody gave you a ONE DOLLAR bill every second how long would it take before
you had One Million Dollars?
12 days.
How long would it take before you had One BILLION Dollars?
32 years!
That's one dollar every second...for the next 32 years!!!
That's how incredibly much a billion is.
I'm so humbled.
Somehow, I feel so insignificant and tiny and small and little and wee-wee.
I hate those guys at AIG for bringing the fact that I'm a wee-wee to my attention.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Scrambled Eggs
Today we saw the King and Queen.
It all started when we woke up and, without showering, dressed in our raggedy clothes
and went up to the train station to a place that makes an "american" style
breakfast. The Man often wakes up with a hankering for bacon, eggs and conversation
with Rocco, the owner of the cafe. This morning, the first words out of his mouth
were, "Do you want to go with me to Rocco's for breakfast?" To which I replied, "NO!"
Fifteen minutes later we were on our way.
The ladies in the back were very happy to see their favorite customer. They made
him a special plate this morning. The scrambled eggs were especially yellow, and
the bacon was especially plentiful. I only had coffee. But, I had two of them.
Afterward, we walked over to the Esquilino market for produce, pistachios and, across
the street, at the Chinese market, I bought five bags of edemame beans. We stuffed
all our purchases into my shopping bag and we caught the bus for home.
Midway on our ride I noticed a big commotion at the Quirinale Hotel. There were
cars with blue lights on top and special looking black shiny motorcycles, complete
with beautifully uniformed police riders. Then I noticed that there were a lot of
police in dress uniforms directing traffic. As we made one turn in the road I caught
a glimpse of the monument at Piazza Venezia, The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.
It was full of soldiers.
When we got closer, some plainclothes officer told our bus driver to "move, move!"
He was getting all the traffic out of the way, getting ready for something.
Our bus went across an empty intersection and made an unscheduled stop. I told
The Man to "move, move!" I wanted to get out and see what was going on.
That's how it is around here. Things just happen and you have to watch the spectacles
unfold.
We walked up near the monument and joined about fifty others standing on a little hill
waiting. All traffic had stopped, which was really something because Piazza Venezia
is the center of the center of Rome and is an extremely busy intersection.
There were hundreds of brightly dressed soldiers in formation, standing at attention
wearing various, colorful, shiny, be-feathered, be-metaled costumes. The military band
was there, too, instruments gleaming in the sun.
A motorcade arrived and a black limousine pulled up. A woman security officer ran
alongside and was there to open the door when the car came to a complete stop, just
ahead of the motorcycle police escort.
First, a woman got out of the car wearing the biggest black hat I've ever seen. It was
divine! It was a dream hat, dignified, grand, imposing. And, this lady stepped out of
that car and didn't even bang her hat on the way out. It was smooth, let me tell you.
She'd obviously had some practice. A grey-headed man got out of the other side, but
he was boringly hatless. The woman was escorted to the steps leading up to the Tomb
of the Unknown Soldier. She turned and faced the soldiers below. The band played an
anthem I didn't recognize. Afterward, the woman bowed her beautifully hatted head in
acknowledgment. The band played the Italian national anthem and the grey-headed
man and an Italian minister walked along the line, inspecting the troops.
After the inspection, the grey-headed man and The Woman of The Hat followed two
incredibly tall soldiers, impeccably dressed in beautiful red and blue jackets, white
stretch pants tucked into shiny, knee high, black boots, silver breast plates and
matching silver helmets with huge black feathers. These honor soldiers carried a
large wreath up the marble steps to the lay at the foot of the Tomb.
Afterward we asked some others who these people were. They were the King and
Queen of Sweden, King Carl XVI Gustaff and Queen Silvia.
When I was in the fifth grade I had to write a report on Sweden. I also had a best
friend at that same time who was Swedish and who taught me how to sing "Baa Baa
Black Sheep" in Swedish. I can still sing it and will at any time upon request.
So, I was feeling my Swedish roots as I stood there watching the King and Queen
of the Hat.
Wow. What a life. The whole thing spent traveling around with uniformed soldiers,
security people who run alongside ready to open the doors, bands playing, people
waving, free lunches with foreign dignitaries, and, best of all, a different hat for every
occasion.
"The Queen of Sweden NEVER has to carry a shopping bag full of frozen edemane
beans," I thought. "She NEVER has to stand around on the street waiting for a
stinking bus. She NEVER has to go out with dirty hair in an old brown jacket."
She can just sit around all day listening to ABBA records and watching Ingmar Bergman
films, whilst her maids polish her hats.
I wanna be the Queen of Sweden. "Ja, ja. Take a chance on me".
It all started when we woke up and, without showering, dressed in our raggedy clothes
and went up to the train station to a place that makes an "american" style
breakfast. The Man often wakes up with a hankering for bacon, eggs and conversation
with Rocco, the owner of the cafe. This morning, the first words out of his mouth
were, "Do you want to go with me to Rocco's for breakfast?" To which I replied, "NO!"
Fifteen minutes later we were on our way.
The ladies in the back were very happy to see their favorite customer. They made
him a special plate this morning. The scrambled eggs were especially yellow, and
the bacon was especially plentiful. I only had coffee. But, I had two of them.
Afterward, we walked over to the Esquilino market for produce, pistachios and, across
the street, at the Chinese market, I bought five bags of edemame beans. We stuffed
all our purchases into my shopping bag and we caught the bus for home.
Midway on our ride I noticed a big commotion at the Quirinale Hotel. There were
cars with blue lights on top and special looking black shiny motorcycles, complete
with beautifully uniformed police riders. Then I noticed that there were a lot of
police in dress uniforms directing traffic. As we made one turn in the road I caught
a glimpse of the monument at Piazza Venezia, The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.
It was full of soldiers.
When we got closer, some plainclothes officer told our bus driver to "move, move!"
He was getting all the traffic out of the way, getting ready for something.
Our bus went across an empty intersection and made an unscheduled stop. I told
The Man to "move, move!" I wanted to get out and see what was going on.
That's how it is around here. Things just happen and you have to watch the spectacles
unfold.
We walked up near the monument and joined about fifty others standing on a little hill
waiting. All traffic had stopped, which was really something because Piazza Venezia
is the center of the center of Rome and is an extremely busy intersection.
There were hundreds of brightly dressed soldiers in formation, standing at attention
wearing various, colorful, shiny, be-feathered, be-metaled costumes. The military band
was there, too, instruments gleaming in the sun.
A motorcade arrived and a black limousine pulled up. A woman security officer ran
alongside and was there to open the door when the car came to a complete stop, just
ahead of the motorcycle police escort.
First, a woman got out of the car wearing the biggest black hat I've ever seen. It was
divine! It was a dream hat, dignified, grand, imposing. And, this lady stepped out of
that car and didn't even bang her hat on the way out. It was smooth, let me tell you.
She'd obviously had some practice. A grey-headed man got out of the other side, but
he was boringly hatless. The woman was escorted to the steps leading up to the Tomb
of the Unknown Soldier. She turned and faced the soldiers below. The band played an
anthem I didn't recognize. Afterward, the woman bowed her beautifully hatted head in
acknowledgment. The band played the Italian national anthem and the grey-headed
man and an Italian minister walked along the line, inspecting the troops.
After the inspection, the grey-headed man and The Woman of The Hat followed two
incredibly tall soldiers, impeccably dressed in beautiful red and blue jackets, white
stretch pants tucked into shiny, knee high, black boots, silver breast plates and
matching silver helmets with huge black feathers. These honor soldiers carried a
large wreath up the marble steps to the lay at the foot of the Tomb.
Afterward we asked some others who these people were. They were the King and
Queen of Sweden, King Carl XVI Gustaff and Queen Silvia.
When I was in the fifth grade I had to write a report on Sweden. I also had a best
friend at that same time who was Swedish and who taught me how to sing "Baa Baa
Black Sheep" in Swedish. I can still sing it and will at any time upon request.
So, I was feeling my Swedish roots as I stood there watching the King and Queen
of the Hat.
Wow. What a life. The whole thing spent traveling around with uniformed soldiers,
security people who run alongside ready to open the doors, bands playing, people
waving, free lunches with foreign dignitaries, and, best of all, a different hat for every
occasion.
"The Queen of Sweden NEVER has to carry a shopping bag full of frozen edemane
beans," I thought. "She NEVER has to stand around on the street waiting for a
stinking bus. She NEVER has to go out with dirty hair in an old brown jacket."
She can just sit around all day listening to ABBA records and watching Ingmar Bergman
films, whilst her maids polish her hats.
I wanna be the Queen of Sweden. "Ja, ja. Take a chance on me".
Thursday, March 19, 2009
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