I just sat down to pay my summer property taxes. The amount rang a bell, but I couldn't place it. Then it hit me - it's close to my pension check. I grabbed the calculator and discovered that my summer taxes are $4.11 more than my monthy income.
Maybe I should get more serious about moving out of Tara.
Recently I mentioned a friend from when we were just 5 years old. I have another friend I went to school with. This one is Cindy, and she was in the grade behind me. I didn't know her then. She hired in as a social worker six months after I did. She walked up to me, asked me if I went to her high school, and we have been fast friends ever since.
Well, there was one brief time we didn't talk much after driving together to Florida in my Jeep and camping out for a week in 1979, but we got over it, learning more about tolerating different behaviors in people and different styles of music. I liked Elvis Costello; she liked Pablo Cruse. We have argued over nothing since. We have been through a divorce each, a child each, and she has a second husband. She has moved about an hour away. This is hard, since she used to ride her bike over to see me. We used to shop together, eat out, walk my dogs, visit each other and generally have a good time.
She had a meeting about two miles from my house early on Tuesday morning, so she asked to spend the night. That happened last when she had Lasik surgery last summer. I am closer to her doctor, so I was able to also take her back in the morning for the first checkup. So I bought beer, and cleared a path through part of the house. I washed all the bedding again in the guest room. I made some stir-fry that she could eat that was low carb, and bought munchies just in case, but didn't put them out. I told the dogs to behave. They just smiled at me. Cindy is not a dog person, but for some reason she likes my unruly beagles.
She finally arrived about sundown, happy, ready for a jammie party. The dogs were dancing with joy, and running up and down the stairs with her as she put things in "her" room. We started on the beer, then took the dogs for a flashlight walk for about two miles. Cindy is a Nature Girl and loves to walk with me when we get the chance. She also swims like a fish. I don't.
When we got back, the dogs conked out and we returned to the beer, getting silly pretty fast. She brought out one pitiful looking cigarette, and I handed her an ashtray and sent her outside to sit on the wooden bench on the front porch in the dark. Then she pulled out a little joint, assuming for some reason that I would want it, but I assured her she could take that outside, too.
We got out more beer, Cindy found all the high-carb munchies and ate them, the dogs tried to sneak some, the cat begged for attention, and we got sillier. We talked about high school days, social work days, sexual escapades, her husband, her son, my daughter, and my current romantic interest. We talked about computers, since Cindy is the low tech person who took my peeled face picture and cannot set the date on her camera. She cannot handle using a pedometer. I showed her how to use a headpiece on her cell phone, but I am not sure she ever figured it out on her land line phone. The journals interested her, and she read a few entries I directed her to.
More beer, we got sillier yet, Cindy was trying to hide the munchies on herself and marveling that I didn't want any, and we put our jammies on and I tried to take a picture. My digital camera was acting up, and once I found the manual and realized that the new batteries had died, I got it all ready, we thought about it, laughed, and decided to pass.
After a few hours of sleep I sent her off to her meeting after making her some low carb bacon and eggs and coffee. Friendships like this are priceless.
Driving almost 200 miles in one day counts as a road trip, doesn't it? I was on roads and I had a destination and I returned, so I consider it a trip.
This was a trip, all right. I went to see Lotzamoe, aka Ty. I also went to see George, the financial man. I had no problem dealing with both of them. I wish to state up front that I did not see any goats to be humped or any Pakistanis with their testicles being held up on soupspoons. For that, I am grateful. After all, I didn't take a camera with me.
I did see the Toxic Creek, and he is right. It is a dead thing. It is only about 6 inches deep, but the bottom is not visible. It may be possible that Ty throws his leftover coffee out there, since that is about the color of the creek. Otherwise, it is beautiful. The trees are almost still alive, and there are peaceful looking rocks. One must overlook the fact that there is no guardrail. I pulled my car into the parking spot and realized that if it were icy, I would drop about 20 feet or so into the creek. I asked Ty if that were ever a problem; he said "nah."
Before I got to the parking lot, however, I had to be alternately directed. I do have trouble with directions. I followed his, which were good, but he didn't realize the road was closed, so he had to come and get me and I followed him to his office. I tried not to feel stupid.
I had lunch with Ty. We talked about our childhoods, his time in the service, insomnia, alcohol (I got very tipsy on one strangely orange colored beer), foreign foods (if the meat floats, it's cat), and a myriad of topics other than finance, although we did brush on it now and then. We also discussed corn silos, Winnipeg, and road trips, plus our children, his wife, and my current love interest.
After lunch, we went back to his office and I talked over financial matters with George. This is a very intelligent and knowledgeable man, although we already knew this, didn't we? He has more financial information packed into his head than I could ever understand, and I have an advanced business degree. I told him that I know enough to know that I don't know enough. That appeared to make sense to him.
Our business was conducted, and we said goodbye. We discussed a few other journalers briefly. It was fun to meet someone from J-Land. I asked for, and received, directions home using highways because I didn't want to deal with the expressway going home at rush hour. It looked easy enough, and I was on my way. The highway closed at one point, I had to detour with no signs....I finally ran into a very nice man going down a dirt road on a horse. He directed me to the road I was seeking. Many of the roads in that area are unpaved. John Birchers and the Michigan Militiamen must like them that way. I was only an hour late to have dinner with my friend. He was good with it.
Ty is a gentleman. Totally. He opens doors, including the car. Sorry, Ty. Next time get out a goat instead of that sweet little silver kitty that showed up in the bushes.
I had dinner last night at the restaurant where my daughter works. She left her financial planning job and went back to being a waitress. She said she didn't like living on commission and didn't feel like she was really earning her money when she wasn't doing anything physical to earn it. She likes being a waitress in a nice, upscale restaurant. Go figure. She's happy again.
This child of mine is gifted. I was upset when the school decided to label her gifted and put her in special programs. I don't like labels. But she found herself in advanced placement physics and advanced placement art at the same time, so she didn't let their expectations mold her.
I was having dinner there last night with a friend from school. I mean elementary school - I have known this man since we were 5 years old and just starting first grade. We connected at the first class reunion after my divorce and have been good friends since. We have dated, become serious, backed off, become serious, and have stayed good friends all throughout the last 20 years. Our birthdays are two days apart, and no matter what else is going on, we have dinner for our birthdays.
My daughter waited on us. Of course, I always enjoy that. I also enjoy the family discount. Well, my friend does. He always pays and it is not up for discussion, apparently. Dinner was excellent, as always.
My daughter sat down briefly next to me and told me that she and her boyfriend might be getting the internet soon. She mentioned a service other than AOL and asked me if she would get the same stuff. I was a little confused by her question, so I asked her to be more specific. It seems she was concerned that she might not get the same internet that I get.
This was no senior citizen who never used the computer before. This is a 24-year-old who went through one of the best school systems in the country and used a computer through most of classes. I also had to explain that there is one internet, and that the web is the World Wide Web, which is just a part of the internet. I was only a little embarassed. My friend does not use computers either, and he was listening carefully. He is, however, an engineer. Sigh.
The C-Cup Chronicles has an entry written by me discussing my deep chemical peel I had done on my face two years ago. Mrs Peachy was unable to post the 'peely' picture due to some fast-advancing digital senility. I was uncomfortable with only having my picture showing that was taken last weekend, as it implies that I looked like this after 5 days. I do not have a close up, new picture. Fresh new skin did not cure me of my picture-phobia.
It took closer to 5 months for my skin to look normal. After about 30 days I could cover the redness pretty well. Visually, the peel was a wonderful thing. Medically, it probably removed some early changes in my skin that would lead to new cancer lesions. Psychologically, it is distressing to need to hide a burned face and difficult to go in public when some chores need to be done out of the house.
It would have been a major issue to have that peel done when I was working as a Children's Protective Services Worker. The kids dealt fine with the cast I had on my foot after surgery and the casts from the carpal tunnel surgery; they even accepted the poison ivy all over my right hand at one time, but I don't think they would have been comfortable telling deep dark secrets to someone who looked like they argued with an acetylene torch and lost.
It is an invasive procedure that takes time to heal. I have to use a strong sunblock for the rest of my life. On the bright side, my life might be longer as a result of the peel. Also, my skin does look beautiful.
On nice days I walk the howling beagles for several miles. We all enjoy it. I have been using the same beginning of the route for years, just sometimes extending the distance.
We know all the dogs in the subdivision, or so I thought. We set off today down the street, watching for the black lab that is on an invisible fence and causes Baby to howl for several houses. Sure enough, there she was, outside frolicking in the front yard. Baby started getting loud. Molly was joining in the chorus; I began laughing, and we crossed to the other side of the street. I hadn't done that before, but I thought it might help.
I was wrong. It seems that the dog across the street from the lab, that is usually inside the house howling when we walk by, was outside loose. He charged down the driveway growling and trying to look menacing. It isn't easy to look menacing when you are all white, about 35-45 lbs, and have a full, curly tail. But he tried. That left me between a busy, jumping lab and a medium-sized menace. Walking backwards, I dragged my very noisy dogs along, encouraging the curly-tailed dog to go home before he got lost or run over. He followed us for several houses, my dragging the bouncing beagles, the Spitz mix growling, the lab barking....not much fun for me.
We managed to get around the next corner, and luckily the large dog there was inside. The owners seem to think their beast is a lab mix, but it is a pit bull mix. The dog has a nasty growl and tends to charge at my little beagles when given the chance. That dog is going to injure someone badly some day. Usually they tie it up outside or keep it in, but sometimes they have it just sitting outside loose with them. It scares the crap out of me and I love dogs.
Baby must have been stressed by the commotion and excitement, because once we got around the corner from the pit bull house she pulled her back feet to her front feet and dropped a large load for me. I don't get how she can do this; I don't feed her that much food in a day, let alone at one meal. Of course I carry little baggies and I scooped it up and carried it the rest of the trip. For some reason she always drops a turd then walks a few steps, drops another....I end up having to scoop along several feet of sidewalk, trying to get it all.
After that, we ran into a mother with two little kids. The girl had gone ahead a half block, and the mother was yelling at her to wait until the dogs went by. I wondered if she thought my suck-up beagles were a threat to her children. They love kids. Then I heard her say that the dogs were cute, but the son was allergic. We hurried by so the mother could get back together with both of her children. By this time I decided to cut our walk down to a mile or maybe two.
I changed the route I had been using most of the summer and took a short cut. Molly, being the bottom feeder she is, found a half of a dried up peanut butter and jelly sandwich on whole wheat. She scooped that sucker up before I could jerk her leash. I stuck my fingers in her mouth trying to dislodge the sandwich, but no luck. I ended up with peanut butter on my fingers and a dog scarfing food down so fast I thought I was going to gag. In an attempt to jerk her around a little to dislodge the nasty food, I managed to brush up against my breast and leave a peanut butter smear. Great. Poop bag, brown stuff on my fingers and on my shirt. Just charmingly lovely. She swallowed the rest of the ancient sandwich and smiled at me. I considered wiping my hand on her fur.
It should have ended there. I felt I had suffered enough indignities. But no. I had to dig into the pocket of my white slacks to get the house key out. Of course I had to use the dirty hand because I had the dogs in the other hand and I didn't want to smear peanut butter on the leashes.
We may skip the walk tomorrow. It might rain. Yeah, that is what I told them. Rain. They don't like to get their little feet wet.
I am exhausted. I returned home last night, picked up the Screeching Beagles and rolled in around midnight. I had to teach today. I just want to pass along some information I gleaned during my trip.
The posted picture was taken of me on Sunday afternoon while we were sitting in a charming little outdoor cafe in Manitoba. Sorry, but it is the best quality you can get when you are forced to use a phone for photos.
When traveling between the USA and Canada, one must declare certain items. When flying, this is scrawled on a small form. I had to declare what I had bought. I wrote down some small gift items.
One should never write down "lingerie." My luggage was thoroughly searched by a happy, hopeful, sweaty young man who never stopped smiling. Remo can explain the necessity, I am sure. There is probably a penal code he can cite, too.
I am going to sleep. In the morning I will be doing laundry.
Toronto is a beautiful city. I was there recently, and loved it. It is so clean and safe. Well, surprisingly, so is Manitoba. There is just so much open land here that the downtown isn't even crowded looking. I have not yet seen a traffic jam. People are polite, other than one driver who must have been from the States who gave a loud verbal commentary on someone's driving skills and the driver's heritage. The streets are not only paved with sidewalks, but are multi-laned and well maintained. The air is fresh, the sky is blue, and it isn't even snowing. Yet. It is supposed to go down to 36 degrees F. in a few nights. I will be gone by then. It was in the 70s today and perfect walking weather.
I have been walking close to 10 miles a day when on vacations (rather than my usual 5 miles), which is about 20,000 steps. I have 17,000 today so I need to shlep out another 3,000 later tonight. Seeking Canadian beer should do it. Their beer is stronger than American beer, and since I am a Cheap Drunk anyway, it doesn't take much. I will get that last mile and a half done in the cool evening weather.
Tomorrow we are going down to the lake. I should get some nice pictures to post.
You know, we old people always have words of wisdom. It's what we do best, besides remember things from the past. I received an email from a long term friend with some words of wisdom that I will pass along at the end of this short entry.
I am in full Pretravel Freak Dance Mode and currently am in the process of cleaning out my purse. Traveling light is the goal. It's amazing, still, what I think I absolutely must take with me and carry around at all times. I carry a very small bag, but I can handle almost any basic emergency, including a power failure (flashlight) and a size question (tape measure). A comb or brush I can do without, lol. I have fingers! I can put away the Tattoo Goo, as my eyebrows are mostly healed and look very nice.
The C-Cup Ladies will be doing a section on Aging, a topic I am familiar with both personally and professionally, since I did Adult Protective Services for 11 years during my social work career. I also worked with the Home Help program, providing government home care funds to the elderly and disabled. My personal contribution to the Chronicles will be about the deep chemical peel I had done on my face. Somewhere I have a very, uh, flattering picture of me approximately a week after it was done and I was on the mend.
I am like a child with ADD right now, so I will move on to my next six tasks, all at the same time, and complete none of them. Here are my passed-along words of wisdom:
"Life's journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting "...holy shit...what a ride!"
This weekend I will be out of town again. Some people can just throw a few items into a suitcase and be on their merry way. I am not one of them.
First, I want to clean my entire house and make it perfect. Then the garage probably should be fluffed up too. The car has to be cleaned out and washed. All laundry has to be up to date. All of this is before I even consider packing.
Just deciding on which shoes to take will cause insomnia, and I already suffer from that. Due to the issues with my feet, I can't just run off with a pair of gym shoes and something dressier and go. Which clothes to take? What will the weather be like? I can spend hours deciding over which handbag to take. Maybe Prada is wrong for Manitoba.
Yes, Manitoba. May I suggest that you never tell someone that you will go wherever his next business trip happens to be. I have had a bad case of needing to travel and spoke without a thought. It will be fun, I am sure. Certainly the streets must be paved and I can do my daily long walks. I might need a coat and boots, but I am tough, ay? I already speak Canadian since my foray to Toronto. Maybe I will see a moose.
My best friend just talked me out of buying a Louis Vuitton suitcase. In doing my dance, I thought maybe I needed a new suitcase. Suitcases come in good stuff and disposable stuff, and mine is disposable and should be replaced. It should have been replaced a few trips ago. Maybe it just has character.
Hopefully my next trip will be a return to Toronto. I still regret not getting up that CN Tower with the glass floor for the rush I know I missed last time. I can start worrying now about driving over that bridge again. Sorry, I have to go work on some new steps for my Freak Dance. Have I mentioned how driving to airports gives me the jeebies?
The Nieces stayed from Sunday through Thursday morning. One of them had a Thursday morning orthodontic appointment. I had about five hours of peace and quiet, and the next wave crashed into my home.
My other niece brought me not her children, but her dog. He is half beagle and half either lab or retriever. He is sort of strawberry blonde and about 60 pounds of happy dog. However, he has a condition. He has major separation anxiety when his family goes away.
Somehow I agreed to deal with this. He has been banned from his previous doggy camp for eating a little girl's bedding. He chewed up her comforter and pillow when left alone for a few hours. He had been going there for years. Not coincidentally, his name is Chewy.
Chewy is a good boy. Don't get me wrong. But as soon as his owners left, he stood at the door and whined. He paced the floor and whined. He eventually changed from a whine to a true beagle howl, so I knew they had at least that part of his ancestry correct. My hounds joined into the sad song. So did I. This is how he acts while tranquilized. Then he snapped out of his daze.
He eventually sort of settled in here. The main problem is that I can't leave the house. If I do, he will think I have also abandoned him. I don't see why he should complain about being left alone with two hot little female beagles, but I don't want to risk my bed being chewed by Chewy. So I am grounded until Sunday night when his family will come happily back for him.
The first morning I let them all out about 4:30 am, figuring we were then good so I could sleep until 9 am. I am again taking Flexeril because the pain has returned in my back muscle and I figure I have nothing to do except sleep and read anyway. So in a groggy state, about 7 am, I figure he has no good cause to be asking to go out and told him to go back to sleep. About 7:30 am I wake up and say, "What's that smell?" I now need a new throw rug for my bathroom. I didn't see it as being salvageable, even though Baby uses it often for the same purpose and it has been scraped and washed many times. Eww.
Chewy is now so happy to be here that I know I will be asked to watch him again. I just don't like being grounded, but I am glad he feels safe here with me. Poor old guy. I can't even walk them. The combined weight of my 30-pound beagles and Chewy is more than I weigh, and I can't imagine trying to pull all three away from a running squirrel or rabbit.
So I guess I will just keep taking my Flexeril, be groggy, and read while I can stay awake. Monday I will hit the streets with joy. Sometimes we don't miss the things we take for granted, like freedom, until we lose them.
They're back! The Nieces, ages 10 and 14, have redescended. Gameboys in hand, they are playing with the dogs, petting the cat, arguing, fighting, and generally enjoying being in a home with no brothers or fathers in it. They are eating creative meals and keeping a fairly regular schedule.
The Girls live in a rural area and like to come here where we can zip to a mall or library or grocery store. They even look forward to dog walks, since we have sidewalks.
I don't mind the lack of sleep and the amazing amount of dishes and glasses that get dirty every half hour. I enjoy seeing their enthusiasm and pleasure in just being alive and growing up. They aren't mine, so they are good natured and polite to me.
Best of all, for me, they have helped a little with the Overwhelming Weeds. So what's a little exhaustion? These girls will never be 10 and 14 again. I want to watch them enjoy the ride.
