From the Gates of Hell -- Day 6

Today's mission -- dig out the garbage cans.

Not entirely sure why this was a priority, but today was the first day it hasn't snowed and truthfully, the task sounded far more entertaining than yet another thing on TV involving a ball.

Garbage collection is a memory, since our hauler hasn't gotten up here in two weeks. I could use the word "foul" but that might be too graphic. Then again, it does sort of describe the mood around here.

John made it to work this morning. I think he would have crawled barefoot to his office (40 minutes away on a good driving day) if he'd had to. I told him before he left, if he had any notion of hitting Ye Ol' Local Watering Hole after work and didn't consider picking up me and the other POS (Prisoner of Snow), he'd be wise not to go to sleep tonight. The snow shovel is simply too handy.

I'll never wish/dream of a White Christmas again.

Before and After......Day 4

As I watched it snow again all day yesterday, I was really reminded of Stephen King's "Storm of the Century." I kept waiting for the stranger with the weird eyes to materialize out of my walls and torment me. Good flick. Too bad we haven't had mail since Friday or I'd order it from Netflix.

So I thought I'd share what another 24 hours did to the snow in the yard. Our mayor declared the city to be in a state of emergency, meaning we'll hopefully get some aid from the National Guard for road clearing and emergency response.

Sunday

Monday

John and I both drive big SUV's, which can't be chained, since nobody will sell chains for tires the size of our's. (think of the improvement we've made to the environment by being off the road the last four days!) Sunday, John shoveled the snow to bare pavement behind his side of the garage. At that time, we measured 18" of snow. As Sunday night became Monday morning, and then Monday afternoon, his shoveling had proven to be a waste, since 7 more inches had fallen.

Anyway, he gets out there in the car and starts driving back and forth in the driveway, to essentially create a path for the car. Got all the way to the bottom of the driveway and got stuck. High centered on snow, was more like it.

This morning, getting out of here became a priority, before the word "homicide" got used again! Once we got off our hill, it wasn't bad. Ran into our mailman (umm, not literally) who was hoping to get up here today. THAT was a bright spot, knowing there are a couple of Netflix movies in his truck!

Swear to God, I'm going to learn how to drink if this weather keeps up AND I have to watch any more TV that involves a ball of any sort................

Let it snow, let it snow.....NOT

'Twas a few days before Christmas
in our Winter Wonderland,
We've had more togetherness
than we can possibly stand.

Board games and card games
and football by the hour.
Cut-throat penny poker
and several bumps in the power.

I've baked more cookies

than we'll ever eat.

I've wrapped every present

and festooned the dog's feet.

But the ice on the trees is a wonderous sight --

long delicate fingers dance with nature's delight.

It's a rare time indeed, to see a landscape like this.

But being housebound and outnumbered, is no holiday bliss.

We've bowled on the Wii

watched Danny and Bing.

With snow drifts this high

they won't find bodies until spring.

So right jolly we'll be,

outside the Banana Belt.

Merry Christmas to you

but please send help.

Today's laugh

Just read that Levi Johnston, Sarah Palin's son-in-law to-be, isn't even registered to vote.

Why can't I quit laughing?????

A Day in the Life

It is exhausting entertaining grown ups......

Why I Like this Guy

Four years ago, I attended an AFL-CIO Legislative Conference in Washington DC with John. Up until then, I hadn't so much as worn a campaign button since my younger years when I was a card carrying member of the GOP.

Hey, I grew up, ok? And I married a union guy.

So now, as a registered Democrat, I'll admit it was a struggle for me to abandon the dream of a woman in White House. Especially a woman as dynamic as Hillary Clinton. Obama has yet to answer a lot of my "how ya gonna do it" questions, but he took a giant leap in class for me today when he spoke about Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin's 17-year old daughter's, ummm, "lapse in judgement" shall we say?

"Let me be a clear as possible," Obama said, "I have said before and I will repeat again, I think people's families are off limits and people's children are especially off limits. This shouldn't be part of our politics. It has no relevance to Gov. Palin's performance as governor, or her potential performance as a vice president. And so I would strongly urge people to back off these kinds of stories."

Umm, yeah! Gotta say he was crystal clear on this one and I agree with him 100 percent.

The Bush twits, oh, sorry, Twins, made for great gossip column fodder with their underage drinking and bar hopping. But did it affect how daddy ran the country? No, he managed to screw things up all by himself. And if Jack Kennedy was truly a Ladies' Man, did his up-close-and- personal "friendships" with various female celebrities make him any less sharp in the Oval Office? I think he held his ground pretty well.

My point is, as a voter, I could care less what a candidate or leader does in broom closets, under the desk or in the back seat. I'm not interested in whether they "inhaled". I just wanna know they're gonna protect what's important to me, respect my rights and not tax me to the poor farm. (as if there were any such thing anymore)

I don't mind learning about a candidate's background, upbringing, etc., but it should be for information only. Don't insult my intelligence by trying to convince me I should vote for one candidate because he/she is morally superior. Nobody is Mother Theresa.

And by the way -- I was social chairman for my sorority in college for a year. If Gov. Palin can't cut it, should I call the McCain camp?

Random thoughts

I was updating one of my community profiles today and thought about editing the question, "Who I'd like to meet."

I didn't do it, but the first thought that came to mind was George Bush. Now wait. Wouldn't you wanna ask him how he managed to live as long as he as, considering how stooopid he is?

Why does TSA say you can't take snow globes on an airplane, but gift shops sell them in the airport?

How come the anti-biotic you take for a sinus infection, costs three times less when prescribed by a vet for a dog with a hot spot?

When did we become professional money managers, responsible for oversight of credit card companies, banks and mortage holders to make sure payments are applied properly?

What's customer service?

The wager is -- Five bucks, Christmas stuff hits the stores right after school starts...........

Reto Research

Actually did some legitimate work this week. We're doing a special section on economic survival tips and my chosen stories involved coupon useage, a historical account of the other "oil crisis" in 1973 and energy savings in the laundry room.

I love research. I can kill more hours doing that than fiddling around in my studio with scrapbook supplies. And the laundry story is probably gonna cost me a new washer and dryer before the story even reaches print.

In the course of writing the piece on the '73 oil crisis (when jaws dropped over a barrel of OAPEC oil hitting $12) I decided to see what sort of recipes Suzy Homemaker was using to cut costs.

Check this out:

Businessmen's Special

Ingredients:
ground beef
onion slices
American Cheese slices
1 can Tomato Soup

Shape beef into patties; brown in skillet. Place patties in a casserole dish. Top each pattie with an onion slice and cheese slice. Pour Tomato Soup over patties. Bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour.

The recipe dates to 1950 but was resurrected in the 70s when produce prices spiked. Oh come on. Can anything be all that bad if it's smothered in Tomato Soup? Christie, I dare you to try this one.

And since filling up the family Truckster cost 55 cents a gallon, folks turned to entertaining at home. Newest trend in 1973? Theme parties. A hot theme was Watergate, go figure.
How's this for a menu: Plumer's Soup, Republican Peeking Duck, GOP Cookie Crumbles and Inouye's Hawaiian Punch.

OK, so now, let's brain storm and come up with a new menu for today's political environment. Anybody?

The Second Sunshine in My Life

Sun(ful) City

Spent the weekend in Las Vegas with John -- a trek we make once a year and normally, tied to some sort of business thing for him. This trip, we stayed at the Rio, off strip, and it was a nice change. Wonderful room, great service and food, uncommonly friendly dealers, but tight-ass slots.

I was ready to get outta Dodge and can there honestly be anywhere else on the planet to truly escape? Well, maybe a remote Caribbean island, overrun by Cabana boys with tight buns and an endless supply of Corona, limes and chocolate syrup, but I digress...............

Within 36 hours, I'd managed to demagnetize every player's club card I owned, broke my second pair of glasses and dropped more dollar bills than I'm willing to admit. It would have been far less painful to stand outside the main doors at the Rio and hand it to people. And who would have thought that magnetic closures on a purse could render hotel room keys useless? I'd already done THAT twice. John declared my little taveling handbag a lousy "moteling purse."

Saturday, we went down to the stip and joined the hoards in town for the Kentucky Derby. Weather was awesome, so it made for great people watching. There must be some sort of obscure Nevada law that I don't know about, requiring overweight women and young girls to wear skimpy clothes. Sure, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, but it blows the mind that people dress like that outside their own bathroom. Tight, low slung short shorts and cropped shirts with "belly" hanging over, under and beneath anything resembling a clothing ending point. A couple times, walking up Las Vegas Boulevard, I got behind a woman (NOT a teenager) who appeared to have two pigs fighting to get out of the back of what would loosely be called her shorts.

And then there were the bachelors and bachelorettes. Again, another odd Nevada law: get stone assed drunk at noon and wander outside. We followed a group of 20-something bachelorettes for a while, all wearing bikini tops and shorts -- rather well, I will jealously admit. Have no idea if she was the bride or bridesmaid, but one yungin couldn't walk without help. Behind her, on a cell phone, is another bridal party member, telling somebody, (and use a good Valley Girl/nasal voice on this) "Oh, she'll be fine. She's drinking water now."

We saw several bachelors who probably wished they'd stuck to water. One guy had to leave the restaurant where we had breakfast Saturday morning in a rippin hurry. His buddies were laying bets he'd hit the trash can before he found the bathroom. And another group of bachelors were piling into a limo Saturday night, but not until two of them chugged some drink in a glass resembling a bucket. Yeah, and the limo driver didn't want puke in his car.

Scantily dressed, publically drunk and flat out stupid! Nothing beats a weekend in Vegas for entertainment.

What I Have Learned

First big lesson has been that I'm easily sidetracked. Well, that's no surprise to those who know me well. I'm the one who was first out the door after hearing the word "party" in college, before I even knew where it was. Midterms? Party? Hmm, tough decision......

So it also should be no surprise that I fully intended to be a faithful blogger when I started this thing. Obviously, that hasn't worked out so well. But here's why:

1. Bathroom remodel.
Smallest room in the house. The ONLY one without vaulted ceilings. Should be a quick job, three hours max, especially since I had the paint. Hardware had to come off the walls, but I can hold my own with a screwdriver, so after all the taping, I started on the towel bar and ring. They were easy, so I went after the toilet paper holder. Stubborn doesn't begin to describe this sucker -- didn't wanna budge. Hauled my son in for a look (he's a former construction worker, after all). Even he couldn't move the damn thing. John (suffering in less than silence with a cold) gets tired of the traffic between him and the TV and comes in to solve the problem. End result was a nice hole in the sheetrock. So, Bobbette the Builder learned how to patch a wall. Now totally complete, bathroom looks awesome in its new primitive decor. My three-hour "job" took three days.

What I learned:
Never give an ill man a screwdriver.

2. Garage Sales
Where does this shit come from? I've done a garage sale every year for the last five or six years and even though I think I'm getting ruthless in cleaning out closets and drawers before doing one, there's still MORE shit the following year. But I do like doing one early in the "season" -- usually mid-to-late April. If the weather's good, people are out in carloads. And the sort of people who shop in my garage (which only gets cleaned out and up before one of these affairs) are really entertaining. We have regulars, who arrive annually and usually with friends in tow. Makes me wonder if they show up for the castoffs or a side show. But they seem to like us, so I guess that's okay. "Us" refers to me and a girlfriend I call my evil twin. We've known each other since we were 10 years old and everything bad I've ever done, I blame on her. (We were a package deal when John and I married, only he didn't read the fine print in his marriage license until it was too late.) I blame the yearly garage sale on her. Anyway, we had a couple come in Saturday morning (day 2 of THE sale) asking about furniture, specifically a couch and kitchen table. I'd considered putting my kitchen table outside just to see if it would sell. Nothing wrong with it, I'm just ready for a change. I haul these people into my house, clean off the table and the woman announces it's exactly what she wanted. Loaded it in their pickup and off they go. John wanders downstairs a little while later, no table. I told him he should be glad he was in the bed. I might have sold that too! A couple years ago, using the same "let's-see-what-happens" logic, I sold the silverware. My son and his live-in buddy went to make sandwiches for lunch -- no knives. In the end, we made about $800 between us. But executing one is a truckload of work.

What I learned:
Probably best to inform those you live with if you intend to sell something important.
People will buy (almost) anything.
Shopping garage sales is hard work. We sold 27 baggies of cookies -- for a quarter!!!

3. Mon Petit Bebe (see following post)
I adore my granddaughter. I would walk over hot coals barefoot for my granddaughter. I've already promised her a Jag when she's 16. Grandpa promised her a Corvette. So yes, Megan. That means you'll be driving your 94 Civic into the next millenium! My little Butterbean came to stay for four days earlier this month. I was flying solo since Grandpa was out of town, but I raised two kids of my own and conquered three Golden Retrievers puppies in the last few years, so I can handle a four-month old by myself, right? Strange how some memories come back when you least expect them. Like cramming three hours of cleaning or cooking into twenty minutes while the little cherub power naps. Butterbean is low maintenance at the moment, since she's not mobile yet and really only requires a bottle and a nap to be human. I loved every minute but by day three, I was eyeing my Ambien bottle like a junkie and counting the hours until Mommy arrived.

What I learned:
God gave babies to young women for a reason.

A Rather Nice Place to Stay, by Amelia J.

I'm a lucky girl. I get to visit my Nana and Grandpa quite a bit. I love staying with them this much.

A couple weeks ago, Grandpa went to Washington DC. I was afraid Nana would be lonely, so I moved in for a few days. I got to meet some of Nana's friends, who said I was charming. Guess they're easily entertained by a wiggle-butt drool bucket. Nana and I also went shopping and played on the floor.

I talk to Nana a lot. She's good at conversation, but seems to need direction sometimes. I had to tell her how to make pancakes one day. Sorta strange, when you consider I don't have any teeth and can't eat anything besides Enfamil and Pedialyte.

Nana's lots of fun. She sings goofy songs and never runs out of kisses. She's very easy to please though.

We have good times together, me and Nana. So how come she tells everyone she likes me best like this:

Your basic taxpayer train wreck

Okay, let's talk airport security. The suitcase has come out of winter hibernation and nothing has changed for the better in the four and a half months since I last stood half-nekked in a public place.

John's job requires frequent travel. Since my job is portable (gotta love laptops and hotels with hi-speed Internet!), I tag along to make sure he doesn't leave anything behind in hotel room drawers. We've visited some awesome places that would never have been on our personal radar -- the Broadmoor in Colorado Springs, the Ritz Carlton in Kapalua, Maui, Toronto in the fall -- and some we'd rather forget. Three hours in the baggage claim area of Chicago's O'Hare, under a leaky roof during a thunderstorm, comes to mind......

Let's be clear here. I would rather not sit next to the person whose to-do list includes building a shoe bomb with hand lotion during the flight. Consequently, I'm not opposed to having my luggage pawed through by a pair of human salad tongs or my carry-on stuff x-rayed.

But is nasty a required job attribute for airport screening personnel? Or does the company arm patch on their sleeve covertly release mean-ness meds on a regular basis during their shift?

It's easy to identify those who don't fly much -- they're clutching too many bags to carry on and they develop whiplash trying to hear and see all the reminders about what can and can't go beyond the screening area. Then, they find themselves parked in front of plastic dishpan, looking like a deer in headlights. I don't get impatient with these folks. Their innocence makes me yearn for that wistfull era when flying was F U N.

Those of us who do this on a regular basis, spend the time in line shedding shoes, belts and metal jewelry. We arrive in front of the dishpan with our laptops and video cameras in our hands. And while I'm always prepared, the nastiest of the nasty screeners always find me.

My top three:

#1. Portland International, March 2003
Arrive at screening area, barefoot, clad in t-shirt and shorts. Carry-on bag in dishpan with shoes. Walk through x-ray.
Amazon woman, with fog-horn voice, holding my carry-on: "Whose bag is this?"
Anne: "Mine."
Amazon woman: "Don't zip the bag. We don't have time to unzip it if we have to search it."
Anne: "Sorry. I didn't know."
Arrive at gate. Discover wallet is missing when trying to pay for bottled water. Answer page from screening area.
Woman at Information Table: "If you zip your bag, the contents don't fall our during the x-ray process."

#2. San Jose, California, May 2003
I'm in line behind a woman in what I'm sure is a designer suit. The jacket is covered in big, brass buttons. (note: this airport serves people with mailing addresses like Carmel, Monterey and Pebble Beach) She can't remove her jacket because she has nothing on underneath. That sends the screener into a frenzy for someone with one of those bbq lighter wand thingies and I get accused of holding up the line.

#3. Phoenix Sky Harbor, March 2008
Arrive at screening area, stocking feet, jeans and t-shirt. Laptop, camera, jacket and funky clear plastic baggie with tiny tube of lip gloss in hand. One bin left. Extras are stacked behind the restricted area and I ain't goin there. Pile electronics, shoes and baggie in bin. Hope for the best for the carry-on.
Frizzy haired screener, holding my bin and yelling: "Whose stuff is this?"
Anne: "Mine."
Frizzy haired screener: "Laptops have to be in their own bin. Can't you follow directions?"
Anne: "There ARE no bins."

People, there has to be a better way................

In the beginning

I gave up considering myself more literate about computers than my kids, the day my son built me a new one years ago. Now that my other kid has started a blog, I guess I really gotta get on board.

I'm the writer, for God's sake. What's taken me so long? Good question.............

Well, for starters, I've often wondered who would care what I wrote about? I mean, I write for a living and I love what I do, but the thought of reaching a potentially larger audience than our paper's circulation, sorta intimidated me. Well, that and the fact that I've had three editors who would have sold body parts if I could learn the definition of "brief."

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Those of us who play with words, are never at a loss for them. We write on anything -- napkins, the back of receipts, airplane boarding passes. We carry and possess more pens than Office Depot. But I type faster than I do longhand, so a blog is actually going to unclutter my purse and car console of all those things I'm "always gonna write about."

So I'll start by introducing myself, which always seems like I'm writing my own obit. In the course of the last 30 years, I've had the same husband, two children, three dogs, five cats, two turtles, a goldfish, eight cars, two houses and one grandchild. I survived adolescence twice as a female -- my own and that of my daughter (I finally understood why some animals eat their young) and I've decided that the only way to get rid of grown male child is to move. I've also learned that I should have had grandchildren first -- they're all the fun without the work.

I'm a flip-flop-shorts-wearin-sun-baby kinda person, who gets cranky if it rains too much and runs to the nearest tanning salon with the best sale going. Guess it's no stretch, then, to say I'm on a life mission to find the eternal Margaritaville, complete with a bottomless glass of the same.

Okay, so no pictures yet. Gimme a break. I'm just glad I got this far.