Going west

I love this nail polish, Orly, Alabaster Verve, which says absolutely nothing.  I would name it Raspberry Sherbert, kind of frosty but more shimmery.

Tell me you care.

My daughter brought me some polish by butter of London, a more natural solution in the world of nail art.  I love it.  Foundation plus color plus protective clear coat and voila, nails grow long enough to make them worth coloring.

Do you care yet?

When you’re my age, trim means a lot more than it used to before the chin line got wavy and the waistline wandered.

Other than nails, the important stuff, I have to fix my cell phone.  (Nails to cell phones? Slow day)  For the longest time, I’ve been accusing callers of breaking up and having a poor signal and you sound like you’re in a well or a fish tank, you’re cutting out, you’re gargling.  It finally dawned on me that not all of them could have poor signals, but my phone could be receiving badly.

I was told by the guys at the Radio Shack next door to my company where I signed up for my Sprint phone a year ago that the only place to repair it under my repair contract is about 25 miles west.  “But I got it here.” (we’re sorry) “Did you buy the Radio Shack repair contract?” No. “Well, then….”(we’re sorry)….

New management.  I don’t like them.

Yesterday I yahooed Sprint stores.  Wow, there’s a Sprint store at the mall by me off 640.  I called the number, they had the ear piece for my phone, all I had to do was walk in and they could get the job done in 90 min.  So off to Knoxville Center.  “Honey, can you meet me at the mall? I can drop my phone off, we can eat Chinese food at the food court while they repair it.”

It’s a kiosk.  (we’re sorry) The store closed in January.  The only Sprint repair is at the one out near West Town mall, now 30 miles the other way. “I swear I talked to a human this morning at a phone number assigned to this location and he said….!”

I’ll take the chicken and the noodles.  Iced tea, un-sweet.” To those north of the Mason/Dixon line, you have to specify un-sweet or you get two minute type 2 diabetes.

I really love this nail color.

Montezuma has nothing on Chinese Revenge.  I suspect the leftover gunpowder not used in the fireworks from 14 road side tents made its way into the alleged chicken/dog/cat at the food court in East Knoxville.  Just call me Shots.  After the “dust” settled, I called Nancy.

“Just wanted to confirm you guys are coming over Saturday.”


“And I have to run an errand…”


“And I want to see if that pendant is still at the….”

“And I need to go to the party store for some wedding shower stuff.”

She’s a hard sell.

“I’ll pick you up Saturday morning sometime after 10. Or so.”  That means I have to tidy up before Saturday. Cleaning off the dining room table is the pits.  I suppose I could do the one armed sweep if I can find a box the right size.

Tomorrow is Thursday, my late day.  We’ve been reduced to 39 hours when there’s not extra work that warrants OT.  It’s early in the month and the work load is light.  I get to sleep in an extra hour this week although I may make the best of the extra time and see what I can find for my daughter-in-law’s birthday Friday!! She won’t get it on time again this year but isn’t it best when your birthday is stretched out? (no)

In other words, I have a June/July birthday block.  I was always caught short on my father-in-law, my brother-in-law, my sister-in-law — do I see an in-law pattern here? Once you identify a pattern, you can break it, right?  I promise I’ll be more efficient next year.

Saturday I will go west to fix my phone, check out a necklace pendant I mentioned for a birthday present, pick up party stuff and — oh, lunch! We have to do lunch!  And…oh! yarn!  And rhinestones at JoAnn Fabrics … !

Y’know, sometimes I shouldn’t be let out of the house.


bags and rabbit trails

We’ve transitioned from warm spring into mild summer, highs in the low 80’s.  A fan creates a tolerable comfort level and nobody is quite melting yet.  I went to the mall today on a bag trip.  I have a bag deficiency.  I admit it.  The conclusion is that there is no such thing as a perfect bag or perfect bag system.  The objective is a system to get me out to Seattle and back through the airport without checking a bag.  I found a leather, deep cut bag with an adjustable shoulder strap.  It was the sale tag that first caught my eye,  secondly the soft leather and it was the strap that closed the sale.

For some reason I still think it has to be an Ambulance Bag.  Paper cut?  I have the Neosporin and bandaid.  Shiny nose? Here’s the Mineral Veil and brush. Hangnail? Clippers.  Tic-tacs, hand lotion, hair spray, lipstick, gum, kleenex, blue tooth, tooth brush, flare gun — on and on.  I am ill.  I am deranged.  As I was making this list Honey was lying on the deck with the binoculars looking at the sky divers.  I think he was having more fun. Damn the male system of one wallet, one pocket.  They need something and expect the woman to have it at her fingertips in a bag dragging her shoulder lower than the other just for his needs.  Weebles wobble, but they don’t fall down.  That’s what my sister said about Mom when she was having her mini strokes and she finally sat down and didn’t get up much after that.  Rabbit trail.  Where was I?

So I started packing the new bag. It’s been years since I’ve just dumped stuff in.  Instead I’ve been using those clear zipper pouches loaded by category — hair, skin, face, nails, first aid, pharmacy, etc.  Now I have a big fat bag that weighs 7 pounds.  Back to the drawing board.  Maybe fewer bagettes in the bag.  Or maybe I can take out the umbrella that came with it.  Yeah, that’s the ticket.

Phone, phone, where’s the phone?  Then I thought how much fun it would be to have Daughter show me how her I-phone works even though I have another year on my Sprint contract.  Technology.  My parents’ lives spanned the horse and buggy to putting a man on the moon to a man in the highest office in the land getting some under the desk and being admired for lying about it–not possible in their world, which has nothing to do with technology.  Rabbit trail.

I remember when our telephone had no dial and was on a party line.  Twenty years later I had two children in school and we were still tethered to the wall.  Our town’s equipment wasn’t up to date to offer as much as call waiting.  Cordless was an upgrade when I was hitting 40.  Man, we were hip.  BTW, “hip” is a derivative of the 40’s word “hep” as in “hep cat.”  Sorry. Another trail within a trail. Suffice to say the telecommunications we were stuck with then was a far cry from what we carry in our pockets now.  And bags.

Back to the bag.  The best system is to have everything I think I might possibly need in a car bag and a desk bag, duplicate contents.  The carry around one can be a Mood Bag, whatever strikes my fancy, with only those things I know I use throughout the day and away from either car or desk.  I’ll be dragging out the previous master bag tomorrow morning and reload the duplicate tomorrow night.

There could be worse afflictions than being a hopeless bag lady.

Tomorrow is our 36th anniversary.  Honey introduces me as his first wife and I refer to him as my current husband.  I will let you know how Diana & Tim’s wedding went Sunday.  Since the two dates are so close, and Honey wore a tux for our wedding and Diana’s and at no time for all 36 years in between, and there’s a dance involved, their wedding and our anniversary share a blog.

‘Tis been a week

My Monday through Fridays are usually a crashing bore, nothing to write about that people would want to read.  This week is no exception.  I get up, I go to work, you know the routine.  I listen to radio in my ear bud, I read books on breaks.

Since the transition, re-grouping, whatever they’re calling how we were to do our jobs differently but are still doing them the same, I have had my breaks arranged for me.  Part of our new duties include phones with headsets (yuk) but not all of us are on the phones at the same time.  Prior to the change that hasn’t changed, I would be satisfied to sit through my 15 minute breaks so I didn’t miss Rush or Boortz.  Now I am shooed away from my cubie cocoon.  Since that mandate, I am actually getting some serious reading done.

I hope to revive my blog on books soon rather than add another type of ramble to this already scatter brained hodge podge blog.

Coming up in the near future— the next two days are Diana’s.  She is one of my best friends who has since we’ve known her, given birth, separated and been divorced from her husband, shown herself to be a rock to her kids, a faithful Jesus Follower, has met a great guy and this weekend is marrying him.  So tomorrow and Sunday are hers.  Honey is her honey’s best man, and I am making everybody sign the guest book or else.

Monday is a great big nothing and that’s the way we like it.

The weekend of June 6th, Honey will be at a trade show in Portland and I will be joining him and the Seattle Kids Saturday night.  We will be annoying them for a full week.

After that, it’s go to work, pay the bills, weed the garden-ette on the deck. Oh, and maybe I’ll paint the living room with the paint that is still being stored in the can, currently being used as a door stop to the screened porch.

Our lives are so riveting.

I still have a date with Cardio Man on the 17th.  Hope he’s cute.

That went fast

Thursday morning the men went out of town to a trade show.  The wimmin were on their own.


Donna:  How are you feeling? Are you okay alone? Do you want me to come down the mountain?

Me:  I figure I’ll have enough time to call 911 if I think I need to but you’re welcome.

Donna:  Why don’t we plan on something anyway.

Me:  You want to sleep over?

Donna:  Let me think about it.

Thursday I called back to set up something.  We decided we didn’t need to bother with an overnight but dinner on Saturday sounded like a plan.

Saturday morning….

Donna:  Are you okay?

Me:  Playing on the computer.  All is well.  If I can gin up the ambition, I’m going to Lowe’s for some garden stuff.  Buying dirt is always high on my list.  Back in Illinois, dirt is black and tillable with a hand plow, not orange concrete like it is here, tillable only with a jack hammer..

Donna:  What time do you want me there?

Me:  Might as well come with me as a landscape adviser.

Donna:  I’ll be there within the hour.

Donna and I have yakked and yukked it up for about 9 years now and still don’t run out of stories.  She’s 20 years my senior, retired from nursing and earned a Phd in something, I forget — I’ll have to ask her next time.  I never fail to learn something from her.  This time she brought a book to help me deck garden.  It looks thick.  I’ll have to think about it.

We pilgrimiged to Lowe’s for, you guessed it, dirt, but special dirt in a bag that said Miracle Gro on it, three bags, count them — three — it looks like dirt. Next, I’ll buy water at several dollars a gallon.  Anyway, I found two cherry tomato plants for hanging upside down (yes, I’m going to try that again), two sweet peppers plants, a packet of leaf lettuce seeds, a bundle of onion bulbs for which I may need (to buy) more dirt and one or two more containers, and a 32 gallon plastic trash barrel for rainwater which was filled to overflowing overnight.  Have we had enough rain yet?  According to Donna, no.  The water table is low enough to create sink holes here and there and not high enough to get her enough pressure on her mountain to do more than one load of laundry at a time.

So I’ll get another rain barrel and two extensions to the eave gutter.  That ought to ensure the rain stops for months.

While we were headed to Puleo’s Grill toward Knoxville, I was telling her about the new New Orleans restaurant behind the old Lee Greenwood Theater on the bluff overlooking the river.  “So, why don’t we go there?  Are we going the wrong direction?”  Not if I turn left right up here.

She had the Shrimp Creole and I had the Chicken Pontchartrain.  We both enjoyed the view, more chit chat, and headed back to the ranch for the movie d’jour, Donna’s choice.  She chose Wit, starring Emma Thompson.  “I haven’t seen Emma Thompson in anything bad and this director is great with comedy.”

Emma played a college professor of 17th century poetry who is diagnosed with 4th stage ovarian cancer.  As she said, there is no 5th stage.  Not your standard party entertainment, but I am glad we watched it.  Very moving, very thought provoking, an effective conversation starter for a retired nurse and my incurable curiosity.

She went home to the dog, Bruce.  I decided at the last minute to not sleep in on Sunday, stopped at (the) Food City on the way home, watched Elizabeth with Cate Blanchet, napped, watched the real Ocean’s 11 (the one with the rat pack made in 1960), hung the second tomato plant and planted the lettuce seeds, roasted a chicken and voila, the men are back in town to make the wimmin happy again.

My man is crashed in bed after a long working weekend.  Poor baby, he’s exhausted.

Talk to y’all later.  Have a pleasant Monday, Tuesday, etc.

Celebration of life

Today we celebrated Life After Chemo, a friend’s transition from illness to health, restoration of energy, and a normal expectation of a future.  At the onset of her chemo ordeal, the women from today’s group met at the same table, at that time a new table and chair set, so new, the owner hadn’t yet taken off the manufacturer’s tags.

All those months ago, Karen’s expression was sturdy, she was solid in her faith, resolved in strength to face whatever, and encouraged by our solidarity beside and behind her.  We wrapped her in extreme giggling, mutual ribbing, and unexpected hysterically funny stories about Jackie’s own breast cancer diagnosis experience in Germany now ten years ago.  She remains cancer free.

Karen is single, lives alone, couldn’t work, and couldn’t always make it to where she wanted to go, like church, like outings.  She did not complain.  As individuals we would check in by phone, and include her in prayer.  As groups, the one that met with her on day one and the Sunday small group, prayed.  We had her over for Thanksgiving, she attended Diana’s Christmas Eve party, but for the most part, she stayed at home.  Germs is the main reason when one’s immune system is virtually wiped out with chemo treatments.

Knowing that the pet scan in October showed a few dots of cancer, that the doctor wanted to administer at least two more treatments, we were concerned, as was Karen.  What do you do?  You’re a moron to suggest that you’re tired of it and want to quit, so two more treatments were administered and another pet scan run.  The all clear came through just about ten days ago.  Happy New Year, Karen.

Today, she was a new girl — still jovial, still secure in her expression, but oh, the relaxation in her voice, her posture, and smile.  She still wore the hat but now and then she will unconsciously stroke the short fuzzy hair peeking out under the brim.

Today, we sat around the table celebrating Karen’s new lease on life.  We discussed the new politburo and prophecy, TVangelists,  listened to Jackie’s experiences in Poland and Russia as a missionary, Rebecca’s survival of earthquakes and journey from Venezuela after Hugo’s takeover, and accepted Diana’s invitation to be her personal attendants this May when she marries one of the nicest guys I’ve seen in a blue moon or two.

All this joy, not to mention the food,  around the same table and chair set with the manufacturer’s tags still attached.

No Resolutions

I prefer a comprehensive ToDo list.  I reserve the right to add, rearrange, and/or cross off.  Flexibility, opportunity, and inspiration will rule.  On the list is a new program for muscle toning.  I’m tired of the lose weight phrase.  Hopefully with gradual habit building regularity, the energy level will increase allowing for additional efforts in better weather.  The continued heel pain–to be addressed this month–currently prohibits cardio on the NordicTrack.

10:05 am.  So far I’ve slept past 8:00, put on a bathrobe, eaten breakfast, opened a couple of organic recipe books looking for cleansing cream and lotion recipes.  More about that later.  I cleaned up the blog side bar a bit, adding 3 or so links, deleting as many, and hiding a few.  A nice start. I was reviewing the blog links and liked what I saw on (oh, I forget which–go fish).  “I resolve in 2009 to procrastinate more.  I’ll start tomorrow.”

Next is taking down the rest of the tree — the top section was blocking the dining room clock I use when I’m fixing face and hair so I decapped it leaving the angel, already on a string from the ceiling, looking like she’s been rescued by a helicopter.

Last week I started the new dining room color in the corner next to the kitchen.  The sample indicated a more tan khaki but on the wall it turns to a more greenish tan khaki.  This is actually a good adjustment as it cooperates nicely with the kitchen olive green and gives the stuck-on-for-life border a new look.  The paint project will continue on an inspiration basis until completed.  Deal.

Today, or this weekend, I want to prioritize the cream and lotion project. Standing on the sore heel governs the time spent at the stove.   I bought the ingredients to use when the kids were here so they could take some home.  Now I have to hustle to include it in the shipment.  I also bought them a bottle of multi-purpose essential oils for massage, moisturizing, whatever  feels good. I may just have to buy myself one of my own, or keep theirs since I didn’t tell them about it.  Let me think.

Two organic links are introduced.  EWG is for Environmental Working Group.  I linked directly to the skin page.  You can enter a product and they will rate it green for least harmful to red for don’t smear this carcinogen on you or your kids.  Avon and Oil of Olay get the most red circles.  Aveeno gets the most green.  The danger and damage is in direct relation to the quantity of mineral oil and other petroleum derived ingredients.  When in doubt, and you can’t get to a computer in the middle of the store, remember “if it’s off the shelf, and you’re not in an organics store, it has petro-chemicals in some quantity.”

Petroleum ingredients perpetuate the condition the product claims to cure by clogging pores which produces irritation requiring the need for more product.  Vaseline is the waste product of petroleum.  It’s safe to say if the name has the word Vaseline in it, don’t buy it for any contact with your skin.  It may be ok for your tires, but not you.  Link to the other new site I found for further explanation.

Finding my foot cream recipe, also wonderful on dry legs, elbows, and knees, and creating a lighter weight cream for hands and neck (should I scent it with jasmine or ylang-ylang?)  is definitely on the top of the ToDo list next to taking down the Christmas decorations.

Another ToDo is get back to the omega-3 for overall blood heath, glucosamine-chrondroitin for joints, grape juice for antioxidants, one aspirin, my Prilosec, and that’s a lot to swallow.  Maybe add some zinc for cold and flu resistance.  Zinc is the main ingredient in Zicam, by the way.

I also want to increase the alone time with God.  It’s a bad habit to catch that last 10pm crime scene program after Honey crashes an hour earlier than I do.  As long as I’m awake ….

World events can wear you out.  But……… we are in the world even though we are admonished to not be of it.  Bottom line is that what’s going on eventually affects wherever you are.  Staying in touch allows me to be aware, prepare, not scare.  My ToDo is to pay attention to current events and compare to my other hobby of prophecy.  Amazing matches so far.  We are close to the second coming. I’ve compared dispensationalism to covenant theory and, like a light bulb, “Oh, yeah! I’m the D one!”

What else?  I’ve listed better health awareness from the inside out and the outside in, home improvement, faith development, Bible study, and the softening of deadlines to reduce stress. Oh, yeah. The doctor.  (bleck)

Goal number one nearly accomplished:  I am still sitting at the computer, still in my bathrobe, and Honey has cleaned out the fireplace and packed away all but the now detopped tree.  He wants to know if I want to go see The Day the Earth Stood Still today with my free tickets from work.  Today or Sunday, I haven’t decided, exercising my new ToDo feature of flexibility.  We’ve already had the discussion that this movie is nowhere near the beloved original of which we have a copy, beyond “an alien comes to earth to warn them” and the title.  There the similarities end.  Enjoy it as a new movie like we enjoyed the recent Ocean’s 11 as a new movie in which only the lead characters’ name and location remained the same.  We have the new release and the original and I still miss Sammy Davis, Jr. and Peter Lawford.

There you have it so far.  Maybe I’ll update on the progression of various ToDo points.   If the lotion/cream project is a success, I will share.

Genealogy–when in the mood. I want to renew my Ancestry membership after the tax man cometh and goeth.  Books–I could sell them by the pound and make good money.  I hope to keep the bookmark warm between the lines according to mood.

Have a great New Year’s Day.  And if you have tomorrow off too, good for you.  We have to work, but hey, I’m glad for you.  We’ll talk soon.

Would you like a jar of Tennessee Hot?

The air is now about the thickness required to dish it up with a spatula.  Just send me shipping and handling and I’ll send you a Quart of Southern Summer that you can save for a cold night in January.

These are the dog days of summer.  Symptoms include:

  • Leaving the car windows down, unconcerned over theft.  The horn buttons are gone, the fabric by the back window is torn, there’s an empty cheetos bag on the floor and crumpled kleenexes with lipstick prints in the center caddy.  Go ahead, make my day.
  • Bare legs.  Mine redefine white woman.
  • Non-stop fans with the AC.  The ceiling fan blades are dizzily spinning as fast as they can.  Pray we don’t find them stuck in the walls in the middle of the night.
  • Starting the car wearing gloves and going back in the house — the mirror image of warming the car in January.
  • Cold food, no appetite, where’s the ice?
  • Clicking on the weather section of every internet news site every ten minutes just in case the weather actually is changing because I don’t like it.
  • Thumbing through fall clothes catalogs, again, just in case this ends during my lifetime.

I’m told it will cool down to the low 90’s — maybe — by Saturday or Sunday.  I’m waiting.  Like, man, where am I going? Maybe I’ll just fly to oh, say, Seattle.

So, just as my pity party is gaining strength, I am reminded that in Fallujah, Iraq, it’s 121, not many trees, and the people who are risking their lives covering our backs are wearing helmets and flack jackets and carrying sun-warmed hardware.  I appreciate and respect you guys. Thanks.

The heat wave just got a little more bearable.