Christmas Memories

Here are some of my random Christmas memories that may be familiar to many:

1. As a small child, I remember waking up in the middle of the night and sneaking downstairs to see what Santa brought. Sometimes the gifts were unwrapped, like bikes, baby doll high chairs and sleds. I could hardly contain myself as I eyed those exciting toys and couldn't wait to play with them in the morning - only to find that the favorite gifts I had anticipated were for my brother or sister.

2. As a teenager I still couldn't sleep and still couldn't wait to see what I was getting. Even though we often picked clothes out of a catalog that my parents would purchase and wrap, I just HAD to see them ahead of time. I found all of the secret hiding places in my parents room and sometimes even got a few of the gifts open and re-wrapped without notice. I think I had to do that since the anticipation was so high I had to release some of the tension or I probably would have died of a stress attack on Christmas Eve. Thankfully I was able to use the gift search to keep my health in check and because of that, I never succumbed to a near death experience prior to Christmas.

3. I could never sleep on Christmas Eve. It didn't matter if I was 5 or 15 or 25, the excitement and thoughts of seeing the gifts on Christmas morning under the tree (maybe for the second time that night) kept me awake. As soon as it was morning - which had to start no later than 5:30 am in my life, I ran downstairs, turned on Christmas music to wake everyone else up - and sat near my pile of presents. My parents were always up at that time. After I had left home, I continued to call my parents on Christmas morning at about 6 am (to give them a chance to get their coffee). After mulitple years of doing this, they finally told me that they quit getting up that early after the kids left - and they rolled over and went back to sleep after my call. Who knew?

4. My sister and I ended up having different traditions related to Christmas morning. When we were grown (and probably past the age when this should matter) We used to take turns going to each other's houses for Christmas morning. When we were at my house, we got up early, turned on Christmas music, started the coffee and tore into the Christmas gifts. We took time to see what each person received but spent the most time excitedly opening our gifts. When we went to my sister's house, we would get up pretty early, start the coffee, possibly remember to put on the Christmas music and then start the tedious chore of passing out one gift each, and watching each person open and then ooohh and ahhhh over their gifts. It was often lunch time by the time all of the gifts had been open. If my sister had full control over the gift exchanges, she would have been even happier if the process lasted until dinner. We are the Patience and "Power-thru-the-Gifts" sisters - and it's not hard to know which is which.

No matter how old I get and how many different Christmas traditions I've lived through, I still feel that wonder and anticipation of Christmas morning. This year I'll be spending Christmas morning with my daughter, son-in-law and grandson. But before I go there, I know I'll be up very early, will turn on my Christmas music, make my coffee and open my first Christmas gift while Seymour opens his. I'm keeping that tradition - and those memories - ongoing. I can't wait!

Should We Be Singing This Christmas Song?

I've been listening to hours of Christmas music already and we still have a couple of weeks until that holiday. Today, while trying to sing one of my favorite songs in a high, squeaky soprano voice, I gave up and just listened to the words. The more I listened, the more unrealistic the song sounded.

Think about this - as the story goes, Mary had to give birth in a barn without even room for a cradle. We know she had an immaculate conception but I have never read that the birth was done the same way. I'm pretty sure she gave birth just like the rest of us women. So, she's cold, tired, and in a barn with farm animals. I think Joseph must have been outside directing traffic to the new baby.

Then, along comes a boy with a drum! Really, is that what Mary wants to hear just after giving birth? I'm sure she wants her baby to get some sleep but this boy says he has no money for gifts but he can play the drum for her. Let's get real here. Any normal mom would politely decline since I don't think they had Excedrin back then.

Now, a more appropriate gift might be for him to hum to the baby. It should have been "Little Hummer Boy". I know that some of the words in the song would need changed but I think it would be worth it for the sanity of Mary and her baby. Instead of saying "The ox and lamb kept time", they might have to leave the lamb out of it and just say "the oxen hummed along".

Remembering those first days after giving birth, I know I couldn't have handled anyone drumming for me - now humming - quietly might work.

I'm just saying -

The Evolution of Man - Another Theory

I totally agree with the Cave man theory - man was the hunter and the woman was the gatherer. It also makes sense that man today is the BBQ-er; fire and animal meat - it's still in their genes. Just as women have no choice but to be shoppers / gatherers. But there are a couple missing links, so to speak. What happened to the cookers and cleaners? You never hear about them. The theory doesn't mention that the women who were bringing home what they gathered ever put things away. They probably just made sure there was a path from the door to their sleeping area - and to the BBQ. They weren't meant to do anything else.

I think there originally were cookers and cleaners, but I'm not sure if they were males or females, human or ape. I can just imagine them scurrying around trying to keep order in the caves as more and more "stuff" came in. The cookers rarely left their fire because they were always trying to keep up with the number of side dishes they needed to prepare to go with the BBQ. Those were thankless jobs. I'm sure the gatherers and hunters were always on the cookers and cleaners, wondering what they did all day. My theory is that the thankless lot finally had enough and all jumped off the closest mountain. They were extinct long before the dinosaurs.

I wish just one had lived. I really need help putting away my groceries.

Christmas Gift Guideless

It's that time of year. It's too late to tell the friends and relatives you haven't seen since Clinton was President that maybe we shouldn't exchange gifts anymore. Once Thanksgiving passes, you've missed your window of opportunity so you try again to pick gifts that might be appropriate.

The problem is that when you haven't seen people in years, you really don't know what they look like, what they like to do or that they have become vegans in their food and clothing selection. It might have been nice to know that Aunt Nancy's eyesight is failing before I sent her the New Age version of the New Testament in the pocket-sized edition. Or someone might have told me that my cousin Mary went from a size 6 to 22 before I sent her that cute mini sweater dress.

I then realized that the best gifts were the non-personal kind. Who wouldn't want a basket filled with Ghirardelli coffee and chocolates - except for my mother who has eliminated caffeine - especially chocolate - from her diet. Who wouldn't want a basket of cheese and salomi except my dad who was told that he could die if he kept eating fatty foods.

But it's not just the giving that difficult. I'm also on the receiving end of gifts that people think I might like. When I was in my 30s, my grandma sent me a Hello Kitty sweatshirt. In my 40s, my grandma sent me a Hello Kitty shoulder bag. You hate to hurt their feelings so you just put the items in your closet, waiting a couple years so you can re-gift them for your Aunt Nancy and cousin Mary. I know that the time will pass quickly and I again, unwrap - Hello Kitty.

Hair We Go Again!

I spend an inordinate amount of time looking at people's heads. I'll admit it, I have hair-envy. Yes, I do have hair but no, I don't have hair that people look at with envy. I was "blessed" with thin, wispy semi-wavy hair. I think it's from my mother but since she always wears a wig, I can't compare. How can I describe my hair? Think "cow licks" - a whole head of them. When I picture "wavy" I think about old time movie stars like Betty Gable and Rita Hayward. When I look in the mirror, I see that wavy means that each section of my hair is waving to people all around me.

In fact, my hair is so bad that I recently took a trip and when I went into one State Welcome center and told her I had my dog with me, she automatically assumed it was a service dog. Do they have service dogs for hair and make-up impaired? No matter how nice I get my hair to look at the beginning of the day (thanks to "product" overload) by lunch time, I look like I just pulled into the fast food drive-through madly pushing my shopping cart.

By the time I got home from my trip, I knew I had to do something. Most people would make an appointment with a stylist but I've done that before. It's hard to watch a stylist holding a tissue to her weeping eyes as she sprays enough hair spray on my head to allow me to go on a motorcycle without an additional helmet.

I was either going to cut my hair really short and let each little wave play whatever havoc it wanted to play as a 2 inch long strand - or I was going to give myself a perm. God must have rushed into high gear because for some reason I could not find my curling rods. Luckily, just after God's bedtime, I finally found them and started on the perm-fix.

I now look like Little Orphan Annie's old, slightly off Aunt, but at least I have a controlled head of tightly wound but somewhat angry waves. Now I have to find my hats.

Family Issues

Like most people, I have had some issues with my family. It's always "he said", "she said" and you can't really prove anything. But I was thinking about the Pear Family. You know how kids are always yelling "Mom, he hit me", or "Mom, he pinched me". Usually there are no marks to prove these statements so you have to go with your gut "You both go to your rooms!"

But in the Pear family, if a little pear tells the Momma Pear that his brother hit him, that bruise shows up immediately. Unless it is a self-destructive little pear, Momma Pear can be pretty clear about what happened to whom. I would hate to be in the Pear family.

Now the Banana Family can also tell if the siblings have been fighting but it usually takes about a day for the brown bruising to show up. "Momma, Chiquita pushed me against the tree." Momma says patiently, "Let's talk about it over breakfast but try not to bump into anything before then."

The Orange family can fight til their last breath and there is no sign of a disturbance - not a bruise in site. The siblings don't even bother screaming to their Mom because they know they will both be in trouble - just like in my family.

Maybe I should read a book while eating my fruit salad next time.

Halloween with Seymour

I'm starting to get the feeling that my relationship with my dog might be becoming obsessive. (I can just hear my friends say "becoming??) I was invited to a Halloween party and went as a newbie gardner who grew her first pumpkin. I was the gardner and guess who was the pumpkin? Luckily the party was outdoors and the host was gracious about me coming with my dog. Well, "gracious" might not be the right word. "Tolerated" the crazy lady with her costumed dog is probably more accurate. But overall, Seymour was a hit with the kids and seemed to fit right in - playing ball, eating from the buffet and sniffing private parts. OK, I only saw one kid doing that and I'm sure it was an accident. At least I didn't take him "trunk or treating" with the rest of the kids - although I would have enjoyed snatching a bit of chocolate from his bag.

I've already planned the next few Halloweens with Seymour:
A taco and a chef
A skunk and a flower
A dog and a fire hydrant (with me as the dog, of course)

Now I just have to find a Halloween party I can go to that hasn't heard of that crazy lady with her dog-son.

What's So Jazzy about Jazz?

Driving home late last night, I was searching my radio for some music that would keep me awake. It seems that most Sunday morning or late night shows feature Jazz. What is Jazz? I'm not talking about lite Jazz like sung by Etta James. I think the heavy Jazz is quasi-music developed by men - for men - so they don't have to dance. Most men I know would rather chew off their toes than get on the dance floor. "Honey, I'd love to dance with you, but as you know I don't have toes, so instead let's go to this great Jazz bar I found."

Jazz also eliminates sing-alongs unless you want to aimlessly purse and unpurse your lips at various rhythms of "ba-baba-ba-baba", which I must say I see men doing much more than women. Often the men are doing it while the woman is talking, but that's another story.

Speaking of rhythm, the little Jazz I've been forced to listen to seems to not have a beat. When I hear other music, I can at least keep the time by slapping my leg. With Jazz, I can start a regular leg beat but soon I'm way off from where the quasi-music went. All I hear is a loud white noise.

Once, when coerced to go to a Jazz club - with a guy - I asked him how you know when a song is over? And basically he said that when everyone finishes their solos, they stop playing. I'm sorry but some of those solos just sound like an orchestra tuning up. At least when I go to hear other music that I might not like, I can pretty much figure out when it is coming to an end - not so with Jazz. It seems to end just before I am ready to stand up and scream "I can't take it any more". Yet, I look over at my male friend and he is just lost in the music. I am at a loss as to why we have such totally different reactions to this music.

It makes me think that this "difference" plays a part in the problems with how men and women communicate. I know that this may sound like a stretch but consider this -if I think Jazz is white noise to me, then probably men think of women's voices as white noise to them. I'm just saying -

Doggie Door Drama

Seymour likes to play stupid (or play me for stupid) - like "Oh, I don't know how to go out the doggie door. Please open the back door for me". He does this about 10 million times a day. He comes jingling over to me and either sits staring at me or crosses his back legs - I get the message! When I get up and walk the long way to the door and open it, I have to pretend I'm also going out or he won't leave the house. I take a few nonchalant steps outside, like I'm getting ready to relax on the one chair available - the broken anti-gravity chair.

Sometimes he falls for it and hurries out the door, while I hurry in the door and close it. When he is tricked like that, it's amazing that he can come in the doggie door with no problem. I am getting really strong legs (oh, yeah, I can feel the burn) thanks to the multiple sit-to-stand exercises I do during the day. I'll admit there are a few additional sit-to-stand-and walk to the frig exercises I also partake in - due to the extra hunger I feel after all of the exercise Seymour puts me through.

But come nightfall, Seymour completely changes his tactic. He starts out by pretending to sleep in the dining room, instead of beside me on the couch. Then, he leisurely stands up (glances my way, I expect), stretches and quietly heads for the doggie door like he's going out for his last cigarette. It took me a few times to realize what he was up to. He knew that a raccoon had taken up residence under my shed and it didn't come home until dark. He was aware that I would catch on and not let him go out, so he did it so smoothly that he was out the door - and under the shed before I realized he wasn't blissfully sleeping under the dining room table.

Sometimes I don't even know he is outside until I get a call from a neighbor saying "your lunatic dog has been barking for the past 30 minutes". Once he is under that shed, nose-to-nose with the raccoon, there is no way to get him out. I've tried turning the hose on them, shoving a rake under the shed, doing a Mexican hat dance inside the shed directly over them, whistling and even bringing out his favorite treat - bacon. Nothing stops him. I pray that he goes hoarse, but my prayers are never answered. I finally give up, go in the house, turn up my TV, and reconcile to myself that my dog will soon die at the little hands of a pissed-off raccoon.

Just when I start to wonder if the tightness in my chest means I should call 911 or mix myself a big boozy drink, Seymour casually walks back in through the doggie door and goes back to his blanket. No panting, no injuries, and no raccoon chasing him.

To Seymour, it's just another beautiful night in the neighborhood - it's time to lick those balls and go to sleep. He doesn't understand why I am heading to the liquor cabinet instead of bed.

Farmer's Market May Be Selling Small Dog Meat

Don't worry - I saw no signs of dog meat at the market today. I saw bison, goat and chicken but if my little 4 legged alpha dog doesn't straighten up, he may be on the menu. OK, I'm not totally serious but I'm running out of patience here.

I went to a fabulous farmer's market today. There was such a positive energy flowing with all of the produce, arts and crafts, live music, good food and cool people walking with their well-behaved dogs. My eyes were riveted on each dog - big and small. They all walked quietly with their owners and none even sniffed the ground. They all - owners and dogs - seemed to be in a zen-like state as the walked around slowly, stopping to buy things and putting them in their recycled cotton bags. None of the dogs paid attention to other dogs - or people. It's almost like they were daydreaming. I was jealous.

I didn't have Seymour with me but want to take him. I'm just afraid of his probable bad behavior. Don't get me wrong, I love the little guy and 95% of the time he's great. It's just that the other 5% of the time takes up 95% of my last nerve. He loves people and most little dogs. But get him around deer or any big dog and he becomes a barking, lunging lunatic.

There are 2 varying opinions of him. People who have only seen him with other people - really anything on 2 legs - think he is the best thing since chocolate covered potato chips. But the ones who see him straining on his leash to go after the deer or the large dogs in my neighborhood call him the "beast" and I'm pretty sure it's not meant to be a term of endearment.

I really want to take him to the farmer's market next week but I'm terrified that he will be trying to start a fight with all of the docile animals there. I'm afraid that if I bring him once, I will be asked to never come back and I'm concerned that no one there will take the time to look at the video of him being a sweet dog that I plan to bring with me.

If I take him,these are the only ideas I can come up with:
1. Let him walk around the market with either a blindfold or black-out glasses on.
2. Pay someone else to walk him around the market while I shop on the opposite side. (and I can give them dirty looks, if needed)
3. Bite the bullet and walk him around but say I'm pet-sitting for my daughter.
4. See how much dog burger I can get from a 7 pound chihuahua

Wish me luck - or better yet - wish Seymour luck!

House Hunters Overload

I have been watching way too many episodes of House Hunters. It used to be really fun and somewhat educational. Now it's more like watching a car crash. I swear that the earlier episodes always had 3 great houses to choose from - "Will they pick House 1 with the pool and terrace overlooking the Hollywood sign, House 2 that looks like a castle complete with moat, or House 3, the 4000 sq foot house with a built-in cleaning lady?" It was hard to decide which they would pick, they were all pretty cool.

But lately, when they have the 3 houses to choose from, I'm wondering if that is the best of the lot in their price range? It should be called House Hunters - Recession Style. We're all barely getting by so I guess the houses they can afford are not the best on the block. Now their choices are "House 1 with 2 ft of water in the basement and the barely noticeable smell of mold, house number 2 that needs work - or torn down, or House 3 next to the junk yard and with the colorful graffiti on the back fence". Really - how long did it take them to find these awful houses? And did the families actually move into the house they choose or is this all a hoax to make us feel better about our own lives?

I want to see an HGTV show called "Choose your Neighbors". They take a family into a neighborhood where all of the houses pretty much look the same but they have to choose their house based on who they want to live next to. Do you want to live next to Neighbor number one, who can't help it if their dog can only poop in your yard (and no, they don't see a reason to clean it up), Neighbor number two who has a wee bit of a drinking and drug problem and plays loud music on their patio every night under a strobe light, or Neighbor number three who has not had electricity since 1999 and does not believe in mowing the lawn or towing away their broken cars?

Or how about a show called "Here's $100 - Make your Trailer Over." That would be great fun to see the end results. I'd probably spend $50 on pizza and beer for my friends and then once they are feeling pretty tipsy, hand them a paint brush and car pin-striping tape. I think people might watch that.

I would go on and on but they are now at the point in House Hunters International were a guy has to choose between an apartment that is very run down and the previous owner had left with the kitchen as well as the bathroom sink, or the 2 bedroom apartment that is 400 sq meters and the previous owners took the bedroom closets, or the fixer-up apartment with the small terrace that is only big enough to hold their washer and cat box.

If HGTV is trying to make me feel better - it's starting to work!

Watch the Time

It's important for me to be on time. I actually get tense when I'm late for an appointment, no matter how minor it may be. If I'm going to meet a friend for breakfast at 9:31, I apologize if I get there at 9:32. But now my friend is playing with my time-addiction so he is getting there at 9:28 which makes me apologize if I don't get there until 9:29. It's crazy - and it's gotten even crazier since I got my solar atomic watch. Now I know the exact time - early or late.

When I travel and the flight attendant says "We've now landed in Denver where the local time is approximately 8:45 am". I immediately look at my watch and have to hold my lips together to not shout "It is exactly 8:44 am." Sometimes I can't help myself and am forced to point to my watch and whisper to anyone who is next to me, "It's actually 8:44". For some reason, they don't seem impressed or happy to get the accurate information. Am I the only one who cares about the exact time?

Not only do I love the atomic part of my watch, but I'm thrilled that I never need to change batteries. Regular light keeps the watch running. If, by some unnatural occurrence my watch doesn't get light for a long period, I just put it on and as soon as the light hits it, the correct time is displayed.

As one who believes that you can't have too much of a good thing, I recently found a solar atomic watch - with a compass! I have a horrible sense of direction so I thought, what a perfect addition to my wrist. I started playing around with the buttons on the watch and without knowing how I did it, I set the watch alarm to go off at midnight each night. The instruction book that goes with the watch is an inch thick and is not written in my language. "Press and hold A while pressing C twice and then tap D to set your alarm". First, I can never remember the order of the buttons. I know there are 4 but they are not labeled A, B, C, and D and I am left handed, which somehow also comes into play. I could not figure out how to turn off the alarm.

I finally decided to bury my new watch under a pile of papers in my office so that it wouldn't get any light. To this day, at midnight I hear the beep-beep-beep of the alarm. I now can't seem to find the watch. When it starts to beep at midnight, I race to my office and start tearing through papers but it soon quits. The compass part has been no help; wouldn't you think it would shine a beam of light to the north or something? I'm tempted to try to set the other watch for 11:59 so I can get to my office a little earlier, but I couldn't figure out how to set the alarm by reading the directions.

So, I'm back using my original solar atomic watch, sadly with no compass, and I keep tape over the buttons. One midnight alarm is all I can handle.

Internet Dating

It's not easy for an older woman to meet guys - since there are very few left in my age range. May they rest in peace. So, I tried Internet dating for about six months. Unfortunately, it's 2 years later and I still can't figure out how to stop them from taking a monthly fee out of my checking account! I'm doing a one-person picket line and refuse to use the site anymore. But, during my active dating time I learned a few things.

1. Men complain about women putting glamour shots on their profiles, yet the men I met use the best pictures they have ever taken - in their lives! Hey, here's a picture of me water skiing - 20 years ago. "Yes, that's me at college graduation - I always liked that picture". This is a good picture - of when I had hair. Come on guys, at least get a current glamour shot for your profile.

2. Then reading the profile, they put interests that are either things they used to do - 20 years ago, or things they wish they had done. Play sports (baseball in little league), dance (once), hike (from the car to the DQ) or write poetry (there once was a man from Nantucket . . .)

3. Women lie about age and weight but men lie about height. I went out with a guy who said he was 5' 6" - a little on the shorter side but that was OK. We met at a restaurant and he was sitting down when I arrived. We talked a bit during lunch and when we got up to go, he was actually shorter standing up than he was sitting down.

I've come to the conclusion that a dating profile of an older man is just a pre-written obituary. You see their best pictures, interests throughout their lives, number of kids and marital status. I think that dating profiles could put obit writers out of business. Maybe I should start reading the obituaries and see who I wish I had met 5 years before!

Now I have to say, I did have one good experience with Internet dating. One night, I came home late from a trip, tired and grouchy and I had an email from a guy from a dating site. It said "Hi, you're just the kind of person I'm looking for. You can't be the age you say you are, you look at least 10 years younger."

I started getting a little ego lift so I clicked on his profile, which started "I am a legally blind man. . . ."

I know I should have followed up with him, but I was afraid he might bring a large magnifying glass on our first date.

That ended my Internet dating experience - but unfortunately I'm still paying for it!

Cesar, Help Me!

I watch the Dog Whisperer regularly. I follow the exercise and love part but I'm having a bit of trouble with the discipline. I will take part of the blame but it can't all be my fault. Seymour has slowly but surely starting asserting himself and now I find that I'm in competition with him for being the pack leader.

Having a dog is like having a child all over again. I'll admit that there were times (many) when my kids would get their way after a tantrum. There were also times when I can't believe what would come out of my mouth -

After hearing "Mom, mom, mom", my retort was "I'm changing my name and I'm not telling you what it is!" That was mature of me.

I guess when it came to my dog, I decided that I should be more mature and understanding so I now have a 7 pound pack leader want-to-be in my house. It's like the lesson in biology about the frog that was put in water that kept getting hotter and hotter and - well I don't want to go into the gory details, but I am that frog!

Seymour went from sleeping in his crate in the dining room, to sleeping in his crate in my bedroom, to sleeping in my bed! It was almost like magic or I was hypnotized! Where did he learn that??

Then he started asserting his will during our walks - he had his own idea on which direction he wanted to go and when he wanted to just turn around and go back home. I know he's only a little guy, but I'm not comfortable having my neighbors seeing me dragging a 7 pound dog around the block - and I think it would be bad for his skin. So,he is basically now taking me for a walk.

Lastly, he has gone from loving his dog food to giving it a sniff and then jumping on my lap, looking me deeply in the eyes and saying telepathically "I know you're holding out on me - where's the bacon?"

Seymour has gotten so good at the pack leader role that I'm sure he has a mentor. My only legitimate conclusion is that there is a "People Whisperer" - and maybe the "People Whisperer" is happening at the same time I'm watching "The Dog Whisperer" in that high pitched voice that only dogs can here. I think that Cesar needs to have a talk with his pack - or there needs to be statement at the beginning of the show that says "not appropriate for dogs". I'm just saying -

Why My "to Do" List Never Gets Shorter

I was ready to cross one simple thing off of my "To Do" list today - 'Send Birthday Card to Dad'. Easy, hardly worth writing it down - you would think! This is how it went:

1. Look for Dad's birthday card (see more on this on last blog entry) After 30 minutes give up.
2. Go out to buy another birthday card.
3. Stop for a breakfast taco.
4. Come back and decide to include a letter to my Dad in large print so he can read it.
5. Finagle letter to fit on one page - change font and margins a few times - finally get it right.
6. In letter I said I enclosed pictures of my camper so I needed to print pictures.
7. My little photo printer will print directly from my camera memory card, so I went looking for my camera with the memory card.
8. Found the camera and put the memory card into the photo printer.
9. Pressed "print" and blank paper came out.
10. I was out of printer ink and didn't have any more.
11. Decided to print the pictures on my regular printer from my Acer computer since it can upload pictures from that memory card without having to connect to my camera.
12. Went upstairs to find some photo paper for the regular printer.
13. Found a sheet and put it in my printer.
14. Pressed "print" - nothing happened because my Acer had never been set up to connect to my regular printer.
15. Started setting up my regular printer with my Acer but I didn't have a CD with the printer drivers.
16. Went on-line to find the right drivers.
17. Found the drivers and downloaded them.
18. Finally got my Acer set up with the regular printer.
19. It said to print a test page so I pressed print - and there went my photo paper!
20. Went upstairs to find another sheet of photo paper.
21. Put it in my printer and finally got the pictures, although they were all blue in color (good enough because my Dad is color-blind.
22. Went to get my address book. Why wasn't it where it was supposed to be??
23. Finally found address book and wrote address on envelope.
24. Looked for stamps in the desk.
25. Found a baggie full of stamps - all of differing denominations. What was the price of a first class stamp now?
26. Decided to look for my Forever stamps (which I was saving as an inheritance for my kids) so I didn't have to google the current price of a stamp.
27. Finally found 1 Forever stamp.
28. Put letter, pictures and card into envelope.
29. Forgot to include some money I always send.
30. Opened envelope to add money.
31. The envelope wouldn't stick again so started looking for Scotch tape.
32. Took everything out of my desk, but finally found it and re-sealed the envelope.
33. Was too late to put it in my mailbox for the mail person to take.
34. Drove to the post office to mail the card.
35. Picked up some take out dinner.
36. Came home and was going to cross one thing off of my "To Do" list.
37. Couldn't find my "To Do" list.

How do people have time to cross more than one thing off of their "To Do" list each day??

The Recession - Fighting Fairy Won't Leave My House

At first I laughed about it, then I started blaming it on getting older but finally I realized - there is something powerful living in my house. For lack of a better name, I call it "The Recession-Fighting Fairy". At first I think she was just visiting, but lately I'm convinced that she has moved in and it's really affecting my pocketbook.

Originally, it would be things like missing Christmas wrapping paper that I had bought on sale the year before - never to be seen again - or at least not seen until 2 years later at Easter. I had to replace it at regular price.

Then it became more prevalent; the Father's Day card I bought wouldn't show up until Thanksgiving and the Christmas cards I had stored would disappear until the 4th of July. So, of course I had to replace everything at the last minute at a higher cost.

As the recession got stronger, the R-F Fairy was more determined than ever to make me help shore up the economy with my duplicate purchases. Soon, gifts disappeared, to show up a year later after I had already purchased the same gift again. So, what was I supposed to do when I finally found the second "Happy 50th Anniversary Mum and Dad" when they were now celebrating 51 years?

The R-F Fairy has been relentless. My father's birthday is coming up and I know I've purchased a few Birthday Cards for him, but she has hid them from me. I did find the 2 Happy Father's Day cards and could possibly adapt them to say "Happy Father's BIRTH Day" card, but that seems tacky. I feel like I've more than done my part to get us out of the Recession since I'm now having to look for coins in my couch to replace my dad's lost birthday cards.

My only hope is that they say the Recession is over, thanks mostly to my re-spending. The R-F Fairy should finally be able feel proud about a job well done. Now, go away!

House Cleaning Tips

I sometimes get behind in my house cleaning. Luckily I don't live alone. It's important to have someone else to blame when the house gets messy. Seymour, my dog, leaves a lot of things out - like his underwear, his mail, and his dirty dishes. OK, so maybe it's just his dirty dishes but it's hard to keep a house clean when you always have to pick up after another person - dog.

I've had to get creative with my cleaning so that if someone calls and says they are coming by, I have a 15 minute, 30 minute and 1 hour cleaning routine.

My 15 minute routine consists of -
1. Gathering everything that is laying around the downstairs rooms into large garbage bags and schlepping those bags out to the back of my pick-up truck;
2. Grabbing the electrostatic duster and doing a quick turn over the floors and furniture; then
3. Spraying vanilla spritz around the house

My 30 minute routine consists of -
1. Gathering everything that is laying around the downstairs rooms into large garbage bags and schlepping those bags out to the back of my pick-up truck;
2. Grabbing the electrostatic duster and doing a quick turn over the floors and furniture
3. Spraying vanilla spritz around the house, then
4. Checking email

My one hour routine consists of -
1. Gathering everything that is laying around the downstairs rooms into large garbage bags and schlepping those bags out to the back of my pick-up truck;
2. Grabbing the electrostatic duster and doing a quick turn over the floor and furniture
3. Spraying vanilla spritz around the house,
4. Checking email, then
5. Watching one episode of "Clean Sweep" on my TiVo

I really need an hour to get ready for company!

Remember What??

Next year is my high school class reunion. We haven't had one in 20 years so you can imagine (in fact you'll have to imagine since I'm not telling) how long it's been since I thought of opening my high school yearbook. Over the years my children have asked me what I was like in grade school and high school.

I remember grade school pretty well. I remember that I was a doofus - really. I did things like telling my teacher I knew how to do the Irish Jig and actually performing it in front of the whole school. I had no idea what I was doing but that didn't stop me. I also entered a talent show as a pianist - never had a lesson in my life - but I got up and solemnly played "Chop Sticks" (after a bumpy start trying to find the first note). I was a grade school cheer leader and was adamant that the rest of the squad was pointing to the wrong basket when we yelled "go, go, where, where, we want a basket over there". I continued to point to the basket we had been pointing to throughout the game until I was reminded, through gritted teeth by the squad leader, that they change baskets at half-time. You would have thought someone would have told me that a little sooner, like before the whole school thought I was a plant from the other team! So, those things I remember.

When asked about high school, I "remembered" that I was an outsider, didn't have many friends, and was pretty quiet. I did my work, was a member of the drill team, and I wasn't allowed to date until I was 16 - and then I couldn't go on a date in a car! Not a very exciting high school experience as I remembered it.

Then I found my old year book and started reading what people wrote about me. Here are some of the comments:

"To a very sweet and crazy girl I had the pleasure of meeting . . ." (I guess crazy and sweet balance themselves out)

"To the nuttiest and nicest junior I know. . ." (is this a good thing or was I really loony?)

"You're a really cute and sweet girl with a wonderful disposition and a really good sense of humor . . ." (finally I must have been funny in a sweet sort of way)

"To a real crazy little nut I'll always remember. . ." (what's with the 'nut' business?)

"Remember the talks we had walking down the halls. . ." (talks??)

"To a nice but very talkative girl . . ." ('but' talkative?)

"Don't forget the fun we had in . . Choir . . . French . . . Biology. . . History" (I'm starting to remember some giggling)

"Don't forget all the times you got me involved in your little schemes about parties. . ." (OK, some of this is coming back to me)

"Remember when I stayed at your house and your mother chased me around with a fly 'squasher'? . . ." (Why doesn't that surprise me?)

So, it appears that I was a fun, crazy, talkative, scheming nut in high school who had a mother that chased my friends around with a fly "squasher" - not much has changed! It should be an interesting reunion.

Taking a break

Taking a break from blogging until after Labor Day to re-set my funny bone!

Oh my god . . .

Did I get your attention? I've been saying that to myself for the last hour - thanks to a fantastic meal I just finished. I was thinking about how many times I order a meal due to one ingredient. If I see capers or artichokes and the next words aren't kidney beans, liver or beets, I'll probably order it.

I have been disappointed once when I did this. I saw a wonderful pasta with artichoke hearts so of course ordered it. When it came, I couldn't find an artichoke heart anywhere. When I mentioned it to the wait person he nonchalantly said "we're out of artichokes". What???? They couldn't give me that bit of information a little sooner since it was one of the main parts of the description "pasta with artichoke hearts". I ate it (of course) but sighed in disappointment with every bite. I could hardly finish the plate.

The other thing I've noticed is that my last 2 great meals have either been in an airport or near an airport. I'm not sure if my taste buds are losing their taste or if the food in and around the airport has gotten better. It would probably be best if my taste buds were losing their ability to tell good food since I have to eat my own cooking.

But today, I stopped at a restaurant called Bertucci's across from the Providence airport because I was early for my flight. I often choose a restaurant based on how full the parking lot is (and I have been fooled by finding that the full parking lot belonged to all of the families and employees of the restaurant) but this time the restaurant was crowded. The menu was pages long and I finally found the lunch section. My eyes stopped on "Piccato with chicken, capers and lemon sauce over pasta" and immediately stopped reading. When my food came, cute little capers were sprinkled all over the chicken and spaghetti - I was in heaven. And I love the name capers - it makes me smile. Anyway, it didn't take me long to realize that it is almost impossible to eat capers and spaghetti on the same fork. Capers are about as big as 4 grains of pepper and just about always roll off a fork on the way to the mouth. It's not like you can "fork" a caper either. I did finally balance a few on my chicken and loved the salty taste. I'm not sure what a caper is - and I'm not sure I want to know, but I do love them. After "2 handing" my capers onto my fork and lowering my mouth to about 6 inches from the plate I managed to get quite a few of them into my oral cavity.

I began quietly (I hope) moaning as I finally finished most of my food. I'm sure it wasn't just the capers; in fact I think the real winner was the butter, but this meal had me saying "oh my god" over and over. As I got into the airport, I tried really hard not to moan out loud but sometimes it just slipped out. I noticed a couple looking back at me as I was licking my lips and moaning - semi-silently. I don't know what they were thinking but I hope it was better than the real reason for my pleasure.

Ahhh, love me some capers!!

Money Saving Tips

I just got an email ad from Glade products. You know the ones, air fresheners, air sanitizers, insect repellents and plug-ins. In the middle of the ad for all of these products, they put a recipe for a refreshing watermelon salad. What? All I can think of is stinky stuff spraying everywhere over my salad. Ahhh, thanks but no thanks. Who in the world hired the person who pulled together that web page? It probably wasn't even a real recipe because they knew no one would have the stomach to download it.

Then I started thinking - what a good way to save money on food. It's like when you go to a restaurant and just as the meal is being served, someone at the table starts talking about vomit (and you know who you are). Now, I can eat almost anything, any time and anywhere but during that conversation, my brain said "Appetite gone, doggie bag, please".

Here's a money saving tip. Let's say you are having a party and don't have a lot of food out. The hungry group starts gathering around the buffet table. Instead of worrying if you'll have enough to feed them all, start talking about - diarrhea or the gross pimple you just popped. I guarantee you will have plenty of left-overs.

My favorite money saving tip is for mothers of babies . You know how much disposable diapers cost - outrageous! All you have to do to stretch that box of diapers is to buy a box of kitty litter. When you change your baby, add a cup or two of kitty litter to the diaper. That diaper will last for a day or two before you'll have to change them. In fact you can probably scoop out the clumps and use it another day or so. I don't know why no one has thought about that before? The other benefit of the kitty litter is that a young child can sit up by themselves if you position them just right - bigger base for balance.

My last money saving (and water saving) tip involves showering / laundry. I don't understand why more people don't shower with the clothes on? If you shower with your clothes on and bring one other piece of laundry into the shower with you - like a bed sheet or blanket, you will save water, save on laundry detergent and save time.

I know I should write a book on money saving tips - and someday I might - but I felt it was my duty during this downturn in the economy to share (for free) my useful and unique tips.
Really, you don't have to thank me!

Travel Obsession

I'll admit it. I have an obsession with scoring an A boarding pass on Southwest. It ensures an aisle seat, space for my carry-on, and let's admit it, it's a status symbol. The secret to getting the A is checking in 24 hours before your flight - not 23 hours and 59 seconds. One second early, and you will be denied your pass. By the time you click in again, you're already a B. It's embarrassing to be a B. And I can't even imagine how much therapy I would need if I had to carry around a C pass!

Plan "A" was in effect again this week. Hovering over the "check in now" button at one second past, I speed-clicked. Yes! A-17. This was my best number ever!

The next morning, I proudly stood in the A line. Casually, I waved my boarding pass while turning to people behind me. "This A-17 pass makes a great fan. A-30 never seemed to cool me off - ha, ha".

Once on the plane, I found the perfect seat - 5C. Being on the aisle, I could go to the restroom without bothering anyone and I could jump up when the plane landed without having to wait for some slow-moving goofus to let everyone in the back off of the plane before letting me out of my row. Row 5 was close enough to the front for a quick exit but not so close that the decrepit pre-boarders could walk as far as my middle seat.

The middle seat - my other obsession. A perfect day - A17, C5, and an empty middle seat. It made me think of the Austin Lounge Lizards song "Jesus Loves Me But He Can't Stand You". I always laughed when I heard it, but today, I'm thinking that there might be something to it. I am loved.

While basking in comfort, I glanced up as the last person boarded. It was a woman with a 2 year old. Then I heard those dreaded words "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a woman here with a baby. Can anyone move to another seat so that they can sit together?" I'm thinking "Why is she so special? Lots of people don't get to sit with their loved ones when they arrive late for their flight. Run faster next time, lady."

When no one volunteered to give up their seat, the flight attendant tried to appeal through eye contact. I did what everyone else on the plane was doing - slouched in my seat, dropped my head so close to my magazine that it looked like I was legally blind, and tried to make myself invisible.

Maybe I was wrong about how much Jesus loved me because as I covertly twisted my eyeballs to the right, I was staring into the flight attendant's hip pocket. She tapped me, and loud enough for the people in the terminal to hear, asked "Ma'am, would you mind moving to a middle seat?" You could have heard an airplane-shaped graham cookie drop while everyone silently thanked God it wasn't them and then waited for my response.

In a panic, I noiselessly ran through the things I wanted to explain to her. "Excuse me, I don't know if you realize it, but I'm a 'A'. I believe that a more appropriate course of action would be to pick on one of the butt-lazy 'B' folks who couldn't drag themselves out of bed early enough to be an 'A'. Or how about the clueless 'C' people who walk down the aisle looking for their 'C-47' seat number? I always get a kick out of that. Just tell one that seat 'C-47' is actually 4 rows back - in the middle, and they wouldn't know the difference. And you probably wouldn't even need to offer them an extra bag of peanuts."

Before I could stutter out my alternate solutions, she began impatiently tapping her foot so close to my ankle that the breeze was causing me to come down with a cold. With an audible sigh and intentional shoulder droop, I was just about to consider reluctantly agreeing (maybe if they threw in a free round trip ticket or a life time of 'A's. . .) when I heard a croaky, high-pitched, death-whisper - "I'll move". I turned and saw a frail 98 year old (at least) lady struggle to get up while asking for help to get her walker from the overhead compartment. The whole plane broke out in applause for her while actively avoiding eye contact with me.

Why did this end up being between me and the oldest living person on earth? There were plenty of virile young men who could have easily been heroes, and probably didn't have an 'A' boarding pass, but no, they all acted like they had no idea what was going on. In a weak effort to explain myself, I mumbled "But I'm an A" to which I'm pretty sure I heard "you got that right, lady". I spent the rest of the flight pretending to be asleep and ignoring any offers of a questionable "beverage" from the evil flight attendant. I should have flashed my 'A' more.

Not a Time to Drive in CA

I just - barely - made it through California this week without getting a speeding, parking or annoyance ticket. The State police were everywhere on I-5. In fact it looked like they might have been trying to save money by holding their annual conference - in their police cars - in the highway median. It was a sea of black and whites with periodic flashing lights just to scare the dickens of the cars on the freeway. A flash of police lights and cars screech to a speed of about 25 mph. I guess if they don't get as many speeders as they'd like they can always get a kick-back from tow truck companies hauling the accident remains away.

I'm sure everyone working for or contracting with California is pretty upset by getting an IOU instead of a paycheck. Can you imagine trying to take your family to McDonalds and when they say "That'll be 12.99" you say "Can you cash my IOU? The State is good for it". Ah huh, and here's your change in recyclable plastic bottles, buddy. This you can exchange for real money.

I thought of a solution to the State's cash problem. If, by bad luck - or actually going really fast, one does get stopped for speeding, they should be given a choice between a ticket (and increased insurance rates) or picking an IOU off of a Sequoya tree. It would be like picking a child's name from a Christmas tree at Kmart but we would be giving adults a much appreciated shot of greenbacks. Not to give the governator any ideas, but since I won't be back in California for at least a month, I would support it.

Late Night Search

I know it's not just me because now I have proof! You know how, sometimes late at night, you google things like "red blotchy butt cheek", or "Is there really a Love Potion Number 9"? We do these searches in private, in the dim light of the TV and in comfort knowing that we won't be embarrassed by someone knowing our inner most dreams and fears.

Then along came a tool called "Google Search Words". If inclined to do so, bloggers can track the search words that people use to find their blogs. I'll admit, my curiosity won over privacy and I tracked what people were looking for when they instead found my blog. This information has done more for me than 6 months with a psychologist - I'm feeling like I'm not as "out there" as I was afraid I was.

Most of the searches I traced were from out of the country. I couldn't help but stifle a giggle when I thought of the blog entries they were lead to when they searched for:

"Polyester pants that breathe" (Florida)
"Y caliente es bueno" (Australia)
"My foot swollen" (Sweden)
"Haircut in Venice, Italy" (France)
"When phlegm is not contagious" (Texas)
"Women look you up and down means" (London)
"Cool things about getting old" (S. Africa)


and my personal favorite -
"Sleep with turtleneck" (Israel)

The world does keep getting smaller. I have a kinship with a person in Israel who is probably right now sleeping in their turtleneck - sweet dreams my slightly off-kilter friend.

How Not to Become a Little Old Man - 12 Simple Rules

1. When you put on your pants and pull them up, lower them at least 3 inches before you tighten your belt.
2. Nod your head as if you understand when someone says "That's so fierce!".
3. If you fall asleep on the plane and find that you have been drooling, mention to the person next to you that there is a leak above your head.
4. Every time you leave the men's room, check to be sure you haven't zipped your underwear in your fly.
5. No matter how spicy a meal is, smile and say "bring it on" - and discreetly cover your face with your napkin while swallowing a roll of Tums.
6. Remember that a "comb-over" makes you look older- try shoe polish instead.
7. No matter how cool you think it looks, don't wear black socks with sandals - really, don't wear any socks with sandals.
8. If you laugh, cough or sneeze, quickly eyeball your crotch. A wet spot on the front of your pants is a sure sign of an emerging old man.
9. Continue to trust your friends - but never trust a fart!
10. Don't ever ask anyone to guess your age - you'll either be shocked at how old others think you are (especially when they guess right!) or you'll know that a "low ball" guess means that person really thinks you're old.
11. Don't use slang to sound young - "golly gee", "he's square" and "that's the bees knees" will sound a like a foreign language to the below 50 crowd.
12. Don't mix plaids and stripes, knee-high socks with shorts or wear matching outfits with your spouse - unless you are comfortable and proud of being a "little old man".

Plane Talking

You know the person on your flight that coughs uncontrollably, blows their nose like they were keeping the beat to "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun", and then hands your their germ-laden cup to pass to the flight attendant's trash? Sitting beside them is an ordeal - but being "that person" is like bad karma with a broken mirror.

Feeling pretty good as I boarded the plane, I squeezed my way into the middle seat between two neatly dressed business-types. As soon as I sat down, I felt an illness starting to spread rapidly through my body. Before I could mouth "how weird" my stomach started churning loudly announcing that it had a gift to give me. The barf bag was a god send. Silently, from both sides,two new bags were handed to me.

Soon my nose started running like it was in a race with my bladder. After running out of tissue, I discretely crumpled up some notebook paper and pressed it against my nose. Note to self - don't try this again.

I was getting ready to apologize to my seat mates when deep in my throat a cacophony of raspy uncontrollable coughs struck me speechless. The more I tried to quiet them by swallowing hard and breathing deeply, the worse my hacking became. My eyes decided to join in and glazed over with so much fluid that I couldn't see inside my purse to search for my last cough drop. The men beside me were actively avoiding eye or body contact.

Grabbing a pen and my last sheet of notebook paper, I wrote "This is not me. I think I've been inhabited by the ghost of someone who died on this plane. The real me is a healthy, well-mannered (single) person". Unfortunately, before I could hand it to window seat man, the drippings from my face openings made the words unreadable.

Not to be left out, my bladder chose to assert its will by demanding to be emptied several times during the flight. If I did not do its bidding quickly enough, my teeth began to ache in protest.

I was silently praying that a baby would start crying, someone would have a fit of machine-gun style sneezing or there would be a medical emergency on the flight. But no, everyone was quiet - except me. They were probably all struck mute by the fear that a woman with swine flu and TB was on board.

When we finally landed, my symptoms stopped as suddenly as they had started. Maybe the ghost couldn't leave the plane? It was too late to try to explain myself, and no one would get close enough to hear me if I did. Somewhere there is an evil spirit on a plane ready to inhabit another unsuspecting person. And I hope that person isn't sitting near me.

Spacelessness

There are times when I want to be alone - or at least have my own space. I'm beginning to think that I'm the rare bird. Like when I go into a public restroom - I love it when I have a choice of stalls! I walk past each, giving the door a little flip while I check the cleanliness of each. When I find the perfect one, I relax into my space. If I make a little "noise", I'm far enough away from the person at the other end of the room to not have to flush a few extra times, if you know what I mean! Invariably, the next person who comes in chooses the stall right next to mine. The restroom can be empty except for me - and the only other shoes I see are in the stall next to me.

Do I have some kind of bathroom pheromone that draws people to me?

The same thing happens on planes. The plane can be full except for the middle seats - they're all pretty much available. I can have my books, purse and coat on the middle seat and the first woman who walks in is magnetically drawn to the seat next to me. And it's not like they want to talk - they just have an irresistible urge to sit there. I'm watching everyone else on the plane stretching, elbows out as if there are getting ready to fly the plane themselves - while I'm squished against the window trying to do everything as if my arms had been tied against my waist. My range of motion consists of a limited front-ward movement of my forearms. Have you ever tried to open a peanut bag and drink you soda while your elbows feel like they are super glued to your sides? It does not make for a relaxing 2 hour flight.

And the woman in the middle seat acts oblivious to the grunts I make every time I try to turn the page on my newspaper or work on a sudoku puzzle. She seems perfectly content.

There is nothing special about me but maybe that's the draw. I'm pretty unassuming and look harmless. I am thinking of trying to change my image for the sake of some extra space. I'm pretty sure all it would take would be a clown wig for the plane and clown feet for the restroom. But, I'm afraid that the wig might draw the attention of airport security so maybe I could just put in fake rotten teeth and smile broadly at any woman looking my way. But with my luck, the woman will be a dentist with a lot of business cards.

I just thought of the perfect solution - one little item that can work for both the rest room and the middle seat. Easy to carry and easy to use - fake vomit.

Wish me luck!

Customer Minus Service

Is it just me or have you noticed that customer service isn't what it used to be. When you go to a doctor you hope to get out with your self-esteem and a correct bill. (" Ma'am, you can undress in the rest room. We only have small gowns left but put it on and try to tie it in the back and then walk down the hall - past the waiting room -to the last door on the right".) Does anyone really want to see my posterior parts while they are reading "Natural Health" in the waiting room? I don't even get undressed in front of my dog to save him from eye trauma!

Going to a restaurant is even worse. I've been with people who don't want to cause a scene so will timidly say "Ahhh, I ordered salmon steak with a salad and you gave me a cheeseburger with onion rings. But that's OK." They give me a fish-face look if I try to get them to send it back. And if I complain about my order, I'm told that "Our friendship is getting strained by your behavior". My behavior? All I want is the food I ordered and the bill for my own food.

Even the post office falls short in this category. I don't mind that I have to place my mailbox next to the road since it is a short walk up my driveway to fetch the mail. But when I get a package, my mail carrier pulls into my driveway and beeps for me to come to the truck and retrieve it. It's about a 40 foot walk from my door to the mail truck. I don't want to cause a fuss because - well they have my mail and I never know when I might have a big, unexpected check coming.

We are so used to poor customer service that when someone does what they are supposed to do, we almost cry with gratitude and ask for their supervisor's name so we can send a letter of appreciation.

I recently had a malfunctioning electric composter. I emailed the company. They sent me a free postage label to mail it back and within 2 weeks, it was returned in working order. At first I thought I was being punked but when no one appeared with cameras, I realized that this was good customer service. I, of course, wrote an email to the company praising them for their fine work.

Some companies now have cards that customers can fill out when an employee does something "exceptional". I've been trying to think about what I would write on a card to describe exceptional service.

"Jane didn't glare at me as she usually does when I asked for a coffee re-fill."

"This time Rick didn't say, when I asked that my passport picture be taken again, 'lady, that's what you look like'".

I'm perfectly willing to call good customer service "exceptional" if it means that I get my next package delivered to my front porch - whatever works!

Gadgets and Fads

I'll admit that I am intrigued by new inventions and gadgets. In fact, I'm more than "intrigued". I'm an owner of some of the most unique items out there. My family and friends are most likely pretty impressed with my stash. They haven't actually told me but I'm sure they are just wordless with awe. The following are a few of the things I have that I am guessing will not be found in your household.

1. Topless sandals - I saw these a few years ago on TV. The bottoms are brightly printed patterns. They look like flip-flops but there are not tops to them, no thong-toe pain and no "flip", "flip" sound as you walk. I had to get a pair. In fact, I got 2 pairs so my daughter could also enjoy the wind on the top of her foot as well as a full foot-tan. Ingenious! The sandal has a thin layer of paper that you peal off. Under that layer is some glue-like substance that is used to attach the sandal to your foot over and over again. I tried it out around the house and it worked great. I was thinking about the envious stares I would get that night when I met friends at a restaurant. I was cool- but humble.

At the restaurant as expected, the main topic was my sandals. One person liked them so much they wanted to take a picture. I proudly stuck my foot out in front of me so they could get a full view of the bottom. When I happened to look down, I saw a foot - but it wasn't mine. It couldn't be mine. It was swollen like someone had stuffed too much sausage in the casing. I was hearing mummers that sounded like "weird lady" and "elephant foot" or something very close to that. It was the end of the night so I quickly hobbled to my car and pealed the sandals off of my feet. They were not only swollen, but red and blotchy (my feet not the sandals but the sandals did have some red in them). The disappointment set in - my new sandal glue must have caused a severe allergic reaction - they would have to go. The only good thing is that my friend has a picture of me wearing them, but my foot will need to be photo-shopped a little so that the sandals show. My daughter decided she wasn't cool enough to wear hers.

2. Solar-powered mosquito repeller - This is something I really did need due to all of the insects that are trying to snatch a bit of my sugar-filled blood when I go outside. I either needed to dress from head-to-toe in a bee-keepers hat (yes, I have one) and painter's garb - or I needed a way to repel those blood-suckers. Luckily I came across this solution. It is a little black square box on a key ring. It has a small solar panel on one side. The directions say that you put it in direct sun for 8 hours, turn it on and like magic, the mosquitoes avoid you like you were a big fly swatter.

After charging it up, I headed to the backyard with my life-changing find. No longer would I have red, itchy bumps all over my body (and how to they even get to some of those hidden body places?). I sat in my lawn chair while firmly gripping my solar key chain. I was mentally calling those pests to me. It would be like I was in a large invisible box. They would smell their dinner(me), rapidly fly my way and would be jerked to a stop by "the repeller". I couldn't wait to see it.

After a few minutes, I felt my first bite. But to be fair, it was on my foot and the box was in my hand. I then lowered the repeller to my legs and I felt a bite on my neck. I finally waved the box around like I was leading some kind of secret religious ceremony trying to keep the mosquitoes from my whole body. But the repeller is only about 2 inches square and I wasn't quick enough to scan it over my whole body before the mosquitoes found a different place to attack. I do think it worked within a circumference of about 12 inches. I'm not giving up on this one. The next time I'm going to try crouching (comfortably) in the yard so there will be less body mass to protect. I think that is the key.

3. A non-battery powered, crank-handled flashlight - Being in to solar and energy conservation, this was just what I needed. The flashlight is ready any time you need it; no need to worry if the batteries are still good. This is sooo me.

It wasn't long before I had to chance to test it. One night, I needed to get something out of my shed. I couldn't find any of my other flashlights but remembered I had this one. I cranked it for about a minute and a faint light began to shine. Feeling confident I headed to my dark shed. The light lasted a matter of seconds but once I started cranking, it lit again. Unfortunately, it pretty much only works if you are rapidly twirling the crank. I found it difficult to do things like open the shed door, hold anything in my hands since they were both taken with the flashlight (one to hold the flashlight and one to crank), or breath. I was obviously out of shape and cranking made it worse. The sweat began to run down my face, blocking the view from the faint light of the flashlight. I began to feel around with my hands and when I came to an object, I'd quickly crank that handle so I could see what I had found. Sometimes I discovered things I wish I hadn't touched. This went on for about 5 minutes and I never did find what I was looking for.

I decided that my crank-light needed to go with my exercise equipment and I needed to replace it in my kitchen drawer with another non-electric light source - a candle. Again, I'm not giving up on it because some day it might come in handy - after I get my strength back.

Traveling with a Dirty, Hairy Beast

Yes, that is how I feel when I travel with my seven pound chihuahua. When I go into a hotel to get a room, I'm asked with disgust "Do you have a dooogggg?" If I were like a lot of people I would say no and then sneak him into my room. But being honest, I admit to my sin. Then, one of two things happen:

1. The front desk clerk says "That will be $20 extra dollars". Why, are they going to have an engraved doggie dish and special treats waiting for us in the room? Not a chance. They just pocket that $20 punishment and give us an awful room. Or,

2. There is no extra charge, but they put us in a room that hasn't been remodeled since the 50's and looks like it hasn't been cleaned since then either. I'm more comfortable sleeping in my dog's crate than in the bed. And don't even think about walking barefoot on the carpet!

Are pet owners really so bad that they have to be hidden away in the room with no number?

The same thing happens when one stops at a rest area along the highway. Each State is a bit different but the majority spend their money on "No Pets Allowed" signs. I have had to walk my dog beside the freeway in the "Pet area" or walk in the wilds of the unkempt spaces on the outskirts of the "good people with no pets" manicured grasses.

I've started bringing a portable table and setting up my lawn chair in the "doggie area" so I can pretend to be having an enjoyable picnic. If I bring my grass shears I might even be able to make the space the envy of the non-dog people, secluded and in the middle of nature - with nicely trimmed weeds and a sprinkling of poison ivy.

The hairy beast I travel with doesn't know and doesn't care where he sleeps or exercises - as long as he is with me. How many non-pet owners can say the same about their traveling companions?

Living unbalanced

Due to some problems with my heels, most of my life savings has gone to "foot relief" remedies. I now own a foot and leg massager that is large enough to use as a snack table (in fact, that is now it's main function), a night splint (that doubles as a bug killer) and a multitude of orthopaedic shoes (that double as - dress shoes).

The night splint was a good idea and has given my heel some relief, but it has caused multiple bruises on my alternate lower leg during my unconscious hours. I can only imagine what I dream about when I hit my shin with the splint every time I turn over. Visions of torture, flesh-eaters, and severe pain come to mind. No wonder I often wake up crabby - but my heel feels great! I've decided to take a little break from the torture tube - I mean splint - until my shin returns to its natural skin color.

My newest self-inflicted "cure" involves funny-looking shoes. After "Googling", I found a couple of types of shoes that people rave about as the best thing for their heels since they paid their children 25 cents to rub their feet. One is called Z-coil. That particular brand is known for heels that make you look like you could drill for an oil well with only your shoe. If those coils were looser springs they would at least make it fun to run in slow motion - like you were on the moon. But no, they have enough "give" to take some of the pressure off of your heels but not enough to counter the embarrassment of being seen in public in them. No matter how stylish they try to make them in their ads, I guarantee that you will never see a model on a runway in those shoes.

I succumbed to the rave reviews and finally bought a pair on ebay. These at least had a cover over the heels so that the coil wasn't obvious. The first day I wore them as I strolled through town (actually "strolled" should be replaced with "lurched"), I noticed people trying to covertly stare at my feet. When I saw myself in a shop window, I looked like I should have "made by the Munsters" written across them. Now I only wear them to walk the dog before any of my neighbors have awakened. Really, walking a dog by flashlight is a fine way to start the day.

So, I still wanted some comfortable shoes and the other brand I found were MBTs. Again, the reviews were exceptional. People went from painful heels to running marathons in less than a week - OK not running marathons but maybe 5 Ks. These were very expensive shoes but not exceptionally unpleasant-looking. They are like having a thick rocking chair blade on the bottom of each shoe. You are supposed to walk in a rolling motion that helps strengthen your core, your back, and most importantly, your heel. It was worth a try. I did my trusty ebay search and came up with a pair of brown mary-janes in my size. I decided that I should purchase something a little more dressy so that I could wear them to work.

The day I got my new shoes I wore them around the house for about an hour to break them in. It took a bit of practice but thanks to having a lot of furniture to break my falls, I conquered the shoes.

The next day, I needed to work at a conference and felt that they would be the perfect shoes to wear for a long day of standing and walking. I rolled my way from the parking lot to our conference booth with nary a pain. I was feeling pretty pleased with my new purchase. Within about 100 feet of the booth, I saw a co-worker coming toward me. I hurried toward him while minding my balance and rocking stride. Before I could say anything, he said "What's wrong with you? You're walking funny. You look like your bouncing". Well, I was bouncing but I didn't think it was that noticeable - and I didn't think I looked that funny - until I caught myself in a mirror again. I looked like I was walking wearing one high heel and one sneaker. Anyone who saw me from the neck up probably thought I was practicing my rooster walk. I had no other shoes with me so I tried to walk as little as possible the rest of the day. But at least my heels felt fantastic.

Ortho-like shoes and funny walk - or heel pain? I've made my choice. I just bought my second pair of MBTs.

The Following is a Public Service Announcement

Research has shown (OK, I've noticed) that people drive a car the same way they push their shopping carts. For example-

The people who strategically stop their cart in the middle of the aisle rummaging through their stacks of coupons are the same ones who drive their car slowly, and breaking frequently in the left lane looking at the scenery. They are in their own little world and do not try to shake them back to reality. You will look like the bad guy.

The drivers who speed up in the passing zone and then slow back down in the non-passing zones are the same ones who cut you off when you're heading to the chips aisle and then they stop to have a leisurely talk with strangers as you try to pass them by the popcorn.

And beware of the people with shopping carts that seem to be following the rules by staying to one side as they mosey down the aisle. They get to the end of the aisle, head their cart in one direction and the abruptly swing the other way. Last minute Nellie's. They are the reason I have to purchase band aids and knee guards. You see them on the road - their turn signal blinking left turn - but their car careening right.

The most dangerous cart-drivers are the ones that let you know they are in a hurry by periodically nipping your heels with their wheels and passing so closely to you that you can tell if they've brushed their teeth before they went shopping. Those are the same car drivers that bring fear to your heart because you know that the statement on your mirror that says "objects are closer than they appear" is so true. In fact, if they were any closer they would be in your back seat.

I hope I've saved a life - or at least a headache. Take precautions and drive defensively!

Thank you

There Are Cool Things About Getting Old-er

We all hear the normal comments about the positive side of getting older like:
1. We no longer give a crap about what people think about us.
2. We can say almost anything and get away with it.
3. At certain ages, we can get senior discounts.

I've noticed a few more interesting changes that seemed to have happened overnight.
1. I've started looking at women who wear knee high stockings rolled down to their shoes as being ingenious and stylish. OK, maybe I'm only at the beginning phase of this one but I did buy a 10 pack of knee highs.
2. I'm beginning to hanker after some cool orthopedic shoes - like Z-coil and MBT
3. I'm starting to admire grey hair (but I'm not quite ready to HAVE grey hair)
4. The brain cells related to remembering people's names are slothing away but I can tell you my phone number from when I was 8 years old. How cool is that?

Fortunately there is a part of my brain that hasn't aged. It's the part that thinks I can dance the night away doing the twist, jitterbug and mashed potatoes - but luckily my muscles - and joints - know better! It's the part that still thinks Johnny Depp is hotter than Michael Douglas even though I'm old enough to be Johnny's - - big sister - OK, mother. It's the part that still wants to try out for The Amazing Race or run a marathon (do they make Z-coil shoes for marathoners?) It's the part that says age doesn't matter when it comes to passion - for anything or any body.

There are cool things about getting older - as long as getting older doesn't mean being old.

I Miss My Toys

During the past few years I've started thinking about the toys I enjoyed as a child. Just reminiscing about some of them makes me feel all fuzzy inside - I really like feeling fuzzy. Two toys in particular were favorites.

The first was my pogo stick. I used to "pogo" all over the place - up and down stairs, across lawns and through neighborhoods. Most people don't believe the stairs part, but I was almost a professional "pogo-er". We had about 8 flights of stairs across the street from my house which took the place of walking up a hill. I easily hopped up those steps to get to the park that was about a mile away. Now that I think about it, I was the only kid I knew who had a pogo stick. Most everyone else rode bikes. I might have been a little slower getting places, but I think I had more fun - and probably more attention.

Because of those fond memories, I started checking on-line to see if they still sold this great means of transportation - and if they had some for (old, out of shape) adults. Yes, I found that they still sold them but they sure didn't look as sturdy as the old ones - and I've grown in height and width but the pogo sticks have not. I mulled over purchasing a pogo stick for months before I finally made an adult decision - based on the fact that my health insurance really isn't very good - and I'd feel a little awkward pogo-ing in front of my neighbors, I decided against buying one. Oh, and I'm old and out of shape.

After a few days of feeling disappointed, I moved on to my other favorite toy.

My hula hoop.

If there were Olympic competitions in both pogo and hula hoops, I would have a hard time choosing - I was an almost professional in both. I decided that the hula hoop was more my speed - and would help me to get fit. I purchased my "hoop" at Walmart (noting to the cashier that my grandchild would enjoy it) and excitedly took it home.

Once home, I checked to make sure there were no neighbors around and then headed directly to my back yard. I slipped the shimmery hoop over my head and down to my waist and gave it a twirl. Even though my hips were flailing like I was being stung in both butt cheeks by a swarm of bees, the hoop went around about 1 1/2 rotations before falling to the ground. It's like riding a bike (or pogo-ing), I thought, I just need practice.

So, for about 2 weeks, I would sneak into my back yard when I heard the neighbors leaving and fling that hoop around and around and down to the ground. I was getting more exercise with my arms than with my hips. I finally decided that they don't make hula hoops like they used to. Surely it didn't have anything to do with the fact that my center of gravity was oozing toward my knees? I just needed a hula hoop that was a little sturdier and had a little more weight to it - like they used to make them.

Another Google search and I found just what I was looking for - a "new generation hoop". It's called a sports hoop and the pictures on the box brought back all of those fun memories of my youth. Everyone was smiling and having a great time. This would be perfect! The hoops came in different sizes and weights, so I ordered the 4 pound beauty.

Within three days my new "hoop" arrived. It came in sections that fit together with little button-like closures - not like what I remembered. But it was pretty because each section was a different color - and it was sturdy. The main difference between this hoop and my old hula hoop (as I remember it) was that this one had ribs running around the inside of the hoop. That was a bit strange.

When I read the directions (really, who needs "directions" to use a hula hoop) for some reason it said that you shouldn't use it for more than 1 - 3 minutes a day for the first week. I figured that those directions were for the novice "hoopers". I was an almost professional.

With great anticipation I put my hoop together and moved my furniture out of the way. I positioned the hoop on my waist and gave it a flip. This time I was able to keep it going and loved every second of it - well loved the first minute of it at least. Then those little "ribs" started causing some irritation every time they circled and landed on any part of my body. By minute two, I was cringing as the hoop continued to orbit my waist. Dang, I must really be out of shape!

I decided that two minutes was plenty for my first day. The next day, I grabbed that brightly colored dream toy and easily started it spinning - and quickly the pain came back. I felt like my waist and hips had been used as a punching bag by a very short boxer. Any midriff contact with anything besides my underwear and loose elastic-waisted sweats was excruciatingly painful. Although moaning "owww" and "yikes" and other four letter words, I did last about 30 seconds.

This is now day three and although I know I'm still almost a professional and I still love my hula hoop, I think I need a short break from the pleasure and pain of my old past time.

Maybe I'll Google "roller skates".

Rain

We finally have gotten much needed rain over the last few days. When it cleared I went outside and observed-

At my house, it didn't rain "cats and dogs"
It rained "weeds and frogs"

Really, where else could those big, plump (usually found squished on the road) frogs come from?

Palm Reader - Part II

I couldn't resist. The last time I went to a palm reader (actually the only other time I went) was at the same festival a few years ago and the man told me I was going to be very sick (or something) in 5 years. I still can't remember how many years ago that was but I think it must be going on 5 years. But what do I know - I think that Woodstock wasn't that long ago and I'm sure I went to my annual physical exam just a year or so ago. Time is just a 4 letter word.

Anyway, when I saw him - and I think it was the same man or a relative - I decided to hear my future once again. This was only for research purposes, mind you. This time, I brought an interpreter, my daughter, to listen. I'm embarrassed to say that even though my background is speech-pathology, I still needed help understanding the man. If I did have a course in "How to Understand Everyone" it must have been during a too early 7 am class.

He told me I could ask him 2 questions. He started by asking my birth date and name. Then he seemed to do some calculations on the paper. He put his pencil down and reached for my hand. I tried to ask him if it made a difference what hand he read since I was left-handed and he was reading my right hand, but I don't think he understood me. (He must have missed that course also) He started squishing the flesh on my hand like he was kneading bread and finally said "you have 2 children". OK, that was accurate. Then he went on to say "you're not going to have money problems. You'll have all of the money you'll need". (I like that so I'll accept that as accurate.)

After a bit more squishing, he said (or my daughter interpreted) "you won't go into a hospital" (excellent) "you will die of a heart attack" (hmmmm) "your friends will say 'I just talked to her yesterday and now she's gone'". (I guess that's OK but it is counter to what I was told before about getting very sick. I think I like this one better) He added that I needed to take herbs for my blood pressure. (It sounded like those herbs weren't going to work though but I didn't question)

Then he said "you're going to work until you're 66" (Yes, I can do that and actually to get full social security, I'll have to do that. But I won't have money problems he said so does that mean I can live off of my social security or I will die soon after I turn 66?)
"Does that mean I'm going to die at 66?" I asked using my first question. He shook his head "no". That was a short answer! Why did I waste my first question on one with a "yes" or "no" answer! I'm starting to think that I'm one of those people who want to know when I'm going to die. That way, being a procrastinator I can hold off cleaning and organizing until the last minute.

He changed the subject and after looking at my hand he asked how much education I had and I said that I had a masters' degree. He looked down again at my hand and then said "you quit learning at age 26". (awww, come on, my comments haven't been that unintelligent) Now, I was starting to question his reading. I actually didn't even get my masters' until I was in my 30's and I have taken a multitude of classes all of my life so this was way off. I'm pretty sure I've learned something since I was 26.

He went on to the topic of marriage and said that I would have (or had) a happy marriage after age 28. Well, I was first married at 21 and that was happy for quite awhile. I did re-marry well after 28 and that worked for awhile. Maybe I missed my window of opportunity. I was beginning to get more skeptical

We were getting to the end of the reading and I could ask one more question. I asked how my family was going to fare? He said that they would take care of me and give me descendants and that we were close (I guess having my daughter sitting beside me interpreting was pretty close) I already have 1 descendant, my little grandson, so I guess he was right.

He was a very nice man so I'm not complaining. He definitely said many of the things we older adults want to hear - I'll have money, die quickly, have descendants and have close family who will take care of me (but then why would I need to be taken care of if I'm going to be healthy and have money until I keel over?)

Next year I'm going to ask him to clarify that last point.

The Cat

I am always talking about my dog but I do also have a cat. He adopted me a few years ago. I figured out who his real owners were when I happened to pass a garage sale a short distance from my house and the lady was selling all of her cat paraphernalia. She said her cat disappeared. I mentioned that her run-away might be hanging around my place. After I described him, she said it sounded like him. But that didn't dissuade her from continuing to sell the cat's possessions.

I still wasn't willing to take on the responsibility of a pet (I didn't have my dog at the time) so although I did finally put water out for him - and some food - and a blanket for the cold weather, I didn't consider him my cat. I called him "sweetie" because I wasn't naming a cat that wasn't mine. And he was not coming in my house.

He had been hanging around for a year or so when I was getting ready to move. I tossed and turned many nights over what to do with that cat. What should I do when I move? Should I try to take him back to his original owner (who now owned no cat supplies)? Should I try to take him with me? What if I take him with me and he runs away trying to get back to the old house and gets hit by a car (OK, I'm a bit of a worrier with a touch of drama)

I finally decided that I would take him to my new house. I researched the best way to do it and reluctantly went with the "keep the cat in the house for a couple of days after you move so it can get acclimated to his new home". By then I also had a dog.

The cat came to the new house (too late I learned that riding in a car makes him sick). He moved in for a couple of days and never really moved out. He does go in and out as he pleases - through the doggie door. When he is out, he has taken over the doghouse. He is loving attention and his favorite thing is getting rolled with the lint brush. (Why waste time cleaning hair off of furniture when you can just roll it directly off of the animals?) He continues to not have a name because he's not my cat - so I still just call him Sweetie.

Tips on What Not to Do When Your Travel

1. Don't ever laugh or even acknowledge the staff working at the Xray machines in the airport unless you have a few hours to spare.

2. No matter how good the "special price" is, never eat a bean burrito before boarding a plane.

3. Never get a "spur of the moment perm" just before closing at a salon in the local mall in another city.

4. Don't ever bring only 2 tissues on a 2 plus hour flight.

5. Never try to blow your nose on a piece of notebook paper when you run out of tissues.

6. Never soap up your hands in the rest room without being sure the water faucet works.

7. Never bring too little underwear on a trip thinking you can wash it and it will dry overnight in your hotel room.

8. Never believe everything your GPS tells you.

9. Never leave the rental car parking lot without knowing how to turn on the lights, open a window, open the gas cap or open the door.

10. Never pack clothes based on the weather report you checked before you left home.

11. Never think that the safety pin holding your pants up will get you through the day problem-free.

12. Never say out loud "This flight is always on time" or "I've never had an airline lose my bag".

13. Never think that you don't have to write down where you parked your car in the airport parking lot.

Some Instructions Could Be Clearer

Why is it that some items have the most asinine instructions such as "plastic bag is not meant to go over head" or " Styrofoam peanuts are not eatable". Yet some things that should have very clear instructions, are missing highly pertinent points.

For example, I recently had my first colonoscopy and had to take those little white pills the afternoon before. The following is all of the information I received:

1. Drink at least 8 large glasses of water throughout the day (piece of cake!)
2. Take 4 tablets with 8 oz of clear liquid (does that mean another 8 oz. or is it part of my original 8 glasses? I'm not sure I can drink another glass of clear liquid even if it came in the form of a light beer!)
3. Repeat once every 15 minutes for a total of 20 tablets (so it sounds like I have to have an additional 8 oz. of clear liquid every 15 minutes - is that even possible?)
4. 8 PM take 4 pills with 8 oz. of clear liquid (nooooooo) and repeat every 15 minutes until all remaining pills are finished. (I think I've heard of someone drowning by drinking excessive liquid. I better look that up on google before I harm myself)

That was it for the instructions. What was I to expect next? Of course, I knew that what goes in, must come out - in great amounts! What they should have added was "if you were not one of the top 3 finishers in the 100 yard dash, do not attempt to leave your house." That would have been a very helpful tidbit of information. And then they could have added "When you think you are all cleaned out, you aren't. Move a chair into your bathroom and bring a good book - or two".

Because I didn't receive those additional useful instructions, I did not hire a dog-walker - or even someone to check my mail. Those are on my "must do" list for the next time - if there is a next time.

So,with my dog jumping like he was on a pogo stick every time I stood up during the day, and then being disappointed that I didn't head toward the front door, I finally had to take him out for his evening constitutional. I made another stop in my now least favorite room of my house before we (he) excitedly pranced out of the door. I was cautious at first but by the time I got across my front yard, I was feeling pretty confident. We started sniffing (he) and trotting (he) down the street, happy to be out of the house. By the time we got about 3 houses down the block, I could hear my stomach start to rumble and moan. Actually the moaning was coming from my throat when I realized that I was too far from my house to get back in time.

Mid-leg up, I quickly pulled my questioning and frustrated dog toward my house. He was having none of it. This was his time and he wanted to enjoy it. Not to get too graphic but when one has to do "number 1", it can be held back by crossing one's legs but there is no way that I have figured out to hold back "number 2" so I usually resort to the "number 1" method. Things started happening quickly. Between the internal (and soon to be external ) explosion, my new running technique of running as if my knees has been super-glued together and being hunched over while dragging a dog who still only had 3 useful legs, we were a sight to see. Usually a neighbor or two stops me to visit but I think anyone seeing us that night probably thought I was practicing for the lead in "Hunchback of Notre Dame" and shouldn't be disturbed.

Of course I didn't make it back in time but all I can say is that I was thankful to be wearing black.
I don't need to go in to the gory details because that would be too much information but this all leads back to my original premise - it would be nice if some important instructions could be a bit more detailed!

Trust Issues with my Dog

I thought I was done with all of the drama of trust issues in relationships. I have gotten to the point in my life where if it appears that someone wants out of a relationship, they just need to get out. Whether it's me or the person I'm with - if there are signs of discontent, I walk. Maybe I've been a little impetuous in the past but I feel that if things aren't working, it's time to move on.

Then I got a dog.

I can't just get rid of my dog because we may not be getting along. And he can't just pack his doggie bowl and drag his bed down the street looking for a better home. We're in it for the long haul.

It's just that I think I'm more forgiving and willing to make it work than he is. For example, when we are taking our walk and he sees another human, he runs toward them like they are his long lost original owner. He crouches down playfully, wagging his tail like he's trying to swat a swarm of flies, nuzzles their hand and looks up at them almost in a pleading manner. And of course they melt. Sometimes I feel that the person looks at me as if they are questioning my dog-parenting abilities since my dog Seymour seems exceptionally happy to see a stranger. Once the stranger passes, Seymour is his old, loving self toward me. Do I get angry, jealous or hurt? Well, maybe a little hurt but I don't say anything.

But if I should go out and happen to pet another dog, Seymour knows! As soon as I come in the door, he is sniffing me all over to find some evidence of my "cheating". Once he has found it, (and he usually does) he looks me in the eyes as if to say "how could you"? To alleviate my guilt, I dutifully head to the frig to get his favorite treat - bacon. All is usually forgiven after a few bites of that special snack.

Now when I go out, Seymour doesn't just sniff me for dog smells, but he gets right up to my face and sniffs my mouth thoroughly for "bacon smells". I often go out to breakfast with friends and I can't help myself - I usually have bacon with my eggs. I try to cover the smell with lots of coffee and even a mint but to no avail; deep in the recesses of my throat there must still be bacon residue that is smellable only by my dog.

I think he is even more upset to detect the bacon than to smell another dog. He has shamed me (just by looking me in the eyes accusingly) so that I have finally taken to dividing the bacon on my plate in a restaurant into 2 piles - one for me and one for Seymour. The only way I can hope to gain forgiveness from him is to come home with bacon in my pocket.

I'm still surprised at what I will go through for my dog that I would have never considered doing in a relationship. I think a lot has to do with the fact that he doesn't talk - he doesn't even bark when he's upset - he just stares at me. There is no arguing with a dog. You just try to make it work.