THE BEGINNING OF THE END

I drove Big Red for the first time in months today.  Every time I climb in to the cab I know that it could be my last time.  There was frost on the windshield this morning.  I turned on the defroster.  I have been spoilt by the Little Blue Go-Cart, which actually has a working defroster.  Big Red tried but only managed to blow cold air on to the window.  I patted the dash and squirted the windshield with cleaner while running the wipers.  I knew it would freeze up, really I did.

Driving Big Red is a challenge.  The power steering on the right side is shot so I have to find a route to where ever I am going that has the most left turns.  I can turn right... with a lot of muscle, and I know it hurts Big Red, so I try to stick to left turns.  If that means that I have to go around the block a few times to get where I need to be then so be it.  Anything for my baby.

The Oompas are disappointed with their dad.  They think he doesn't want Big Red.  They think he doesn't care.  They are wrong.  I just wish he was.  I wish they were right and that Big Red just needed a little TLC, but in my heart I know it goes deeper than that.  I am preparing myself for the inevitable.

This time next week I be saying my final good-byes to the old Ford and test driving some new nameless vehicle which will some day make its way into my heart the way its predecessor did.

But I guarantee it won't be a Mini-van!

 

ABOUT THAT BIG RED TRUCK...

Dickidoo is a pretty decent mechanic but he is not a magician.  When he says that Big Red isn't worth fixing I have to respect his decision.  Still, I can't help feeling like the lone resistance while the rest of the world circles around like oil thirsty metallic piranhas!  Back, I say!  Back!

What is Big Red?  Big Red is a huge 1991 Ford F150 pick-up with a thirst for 85 unleaded.  She has taken me from one end of the state to the other.  We've watched the sunrise together.  We've watched hot air balloons drift gracefully across the crisp morning sky, we've driven mountain highways and scaled rocky paths.  We've splashed through flash floods, plowed through the snow and danced across the ice.  We've had a few close encounters of the automotive kind and seen a few flashing red and blue lights in our time.  We've parked over a look out and wished upon a falling star.

Big Red is not just a big red pick-up truck.  Big Red is a part of me.  A part that another part of me is trying to convince me to let go of.

What most people don't understand is that in this great big world full of possessions, Big Red is probably the only thing I have ever really wanted to own.  Family doesn't count, you don't own family.  And while I prize my camera, it is more of a tool.  Big Red, on the other hand, is as close to being mine and 'me' as any object can be.  Silly as it may seem to some, it's hard for me to let go and it does hurt.

Kind of makes me glad I'm not a pick-up truck otherwise I would have been scrapped a long time ago.

Where are those falling stars, I sure could use a wish come true right about now.

Oh wait, Gabe is coming home! (thats a pretty darn awesome wish come true!)
         

29 DAYS AND A WAKE UP!

NATIONAL PIG IN A BLANKET DAY!

 April 24 is . . . . National Pigs In A Blanket Day.

Do you remember the school cafeteria's pig in a blanket?  It was actually my favorite dish that those crazy old lunchroom ladies would whip up, from its thick, soft yet chewy buttery bread wrapper to the juicy wiener wrapped snuggly inside and served with soggy, greasy oven fries, warped rubbery carrot sticks and washed down with a luke warm half pint of milk.  Ah, those were the days!

Last night we had steak, artichoke and a salad wedge for supper.  A salad wedge is a wedge cut from a head of iceberg lettuce then drizzled with dressing and sprinkled with diced tomatoes and bacon bits.  Basically its a tossed salad minus the 'tossed'.  I don't know why but for some reason salad just tastes so much better as a wedge.

We had a lot of left over artichoke since we got a couple of free packs from the grocery store down the block.  There were three different prices posted and even the cashier was confused so he just tossed them into a bag without charging us for them.

"They look like they're going to turn bad soon,"  he explained with a wink.

So... guess what I had for breakfast?

Yep, artichoke... and cheesecake!  If that isn't a breakfast fit for champions then I am one happy loser!

Unfortunately I think those artichoke and cheesecake have replaced all the calories I burned while walking home earlier in the week, which means that I should probably walk home more often, whether or not Big Red gets fixed in time.  Which also means that I should surely be able to afford maybe one more slice of cheese cake.  I'll just have to take the long way home, that's all. 

THE CAR KILLER

I'm hell on motor vehicles, I really am.  The Little Blue Go Cart is paralyzed... I'm sure it will end up being the transmission.  Big Red's steering is shot... kaput!  And after my little 'Gentlemen, Start Your Engines!' departure Friday morning (witnessed by Dickidoo himself) I apparently have 'glossed the clutch' and now The Hemi is stalling out and acting 'not right'.  Personally I think there is nothing wrong with the Dodge but made the mistake of pointing out to Dickidoo that he stalls out too (which he does) and he took that opportunity to suggest that it was my fault... as usual.

Oh well, what can a car killing woman do? 

I suppose revenge would be in order but not this time.  Dickidoo has decided that Big Red would be the better candidate for repairs and will start working on her this evening.  (Anything to keep me from further damaging his Precious!) Woo Hoo!

Due to my destructive ways, we are now left with only one working vehicle.  For the past two days Dickidoo has dropped me off at work by... you guessed it.... o'dark hundred.  And for the past two days I have hoofed it home.  Yesterday I made it home in 55 minutes.  I thought I was doing good until I found out that it was only 2.7 miles.  Today I made it home in 50 minutes.  I better be losing weight with all of this, that's all I can say.

Not true.  I can say a lot more.  For instance walking 2.7 miles for two days in a row actually felt good!  There was only one part of the walk, just one block from the house, where I found myself out of breath and feeling like the fat old lady that I am.  The rest of the way was really quite invigorating.

But I'd rather be driving Big Red.  Hook me up Dickidoo!  Yahoo!

p.s.  Mama just got the all clear from her doctor.  She is officially cancer free and the annoying little port in her side has been removed.  Big Sis Lisa has just finished her 4th treatment and will begin a new cycle soon.  She is loving her smooth as a baby's bottom head though I imagine she will have to cover up once the heat of summer sets in.  She also hasn't had to shave her legs or armpits for 3 weeks now.  I guess there really is an up side to all of this.  Thanks for all the prayers and well wishes.  They do help and are always appreciated.

Dorn~

CLUTCHAPHOBIA... for good reason.

Dickidoo was scheduled to fly out to California yesterday evening at 7:25.  Key words being 'was scheduled'.  Apparently his plane stalled out on the runway and never got the all clear to take off.  His trip was rescheduled for this morning and he was sent home with a $200 voucher for future travel, shut up money for the inconvenience.  Cool.

That is where the coolness ended... abruptly.

Dickidoo called me to pick him up from the airport.  I fired up the Little Blue Go-cart (what I call the Tracer which replaced my pick-up Big Red).  3 miles from the house and maybe 10 miles from the airport the transmission gave out.

All together now.... GRRRRRRRRRRRR!

Our neighbor Jim, who is always bailing us out of trouble, showed up in his truck, picked Rocky and I up, drove to the airport to pick Dickidoo up, dropped us off at the house then went back with Dickidoo to tow the Little Blue Go-cart back.

This morning at o'dark hundred I found myself sitting behind the steering wheel of The Hemi.  The Hemi is a huge golden Dodge Ram Crew Cab pick-up that drives like a bulldozer and sounds like a tank.  I need a pillow to scooch me forward far enough to reach the clutch.

Yes, that's right.  I said 'clutch' (with a shutter... I don't like clutch!).

I lost half a cup of coffee with all the stop and go jerking action going on as I tried to remember how to coordinate my two feet with the three pedals.  When I finally got to work there was a voice mail waiting for me on my phone.  It was Dickidoo, laughing his sleepy butt off.

Hey Jo, all you need is 2nd, 3rd and 4th, nothing else. You don't need to rev the engine up. You're good at 2000 rpm's and then nothing higher than 3000 rpm's okay.  I can hear you revving that  engine all the way from the house still.  Ha ha!  Alright, be safe. Just use 2nd, 3rd and 4th.  2nd, 3rd and 4th.  2nd to start out.  You don't need 1st, 1st is for towing and getting stuck in the mud, not for stopping and starting. Its a real low gear, okay? Just remember 2nd, 3rd and 4th.  Ha ha, I can still hear you.  Alright, be careful. Talk to you later.

I lost track of how many times I stalled out at intersections and stop signs.  Kimmie thought it was a hoot, as did the Oompas.  I whined at all of the stoplights, clicking my heels and chanting 'There's no place like home', all the while trying to maintain pressure on the clutch and brakes.  After getting money from the ATM for Rocky's drum lessons I forgot what I was driving and stopped in front of a big red pick-up truck out of habit.  Art's girlfriend interrupted my dream and prevented me from trying to stick the key in the lock.  Grudgingly I moved the next lane over and got into The Hemi.

It just took a short ride for the Oompas to believe me when I said that I just don't like driving the Behemoth that is The Hemi.  They may have to consider popping motion sickness pills before they ride with me again.  I will be so glad when Dickidoo gets home.  Hopefully he'll be able to fix the Little Blue Go-cart... or maybe Big Red!

But... before that happens, there's still driving to and from work tomorrow and Sunday.

All together now... GRRRRRRRRRRRR!

LETTER FROM GABE

Today was one of the suckiest days this year, until I got an email from Gabe in Iraq.

Let the countdown begin!

36 Days And A Wake-up!

If things work out we'll have both of his sons out here for his R&R.  Oh, I can't wait!

Uh oh, watch out, Fat Lady doing the Happy Dance!

aoljpictureUpload, aoljpictureUpload_1

DON'T BLINK!

It snowed yesterday... again.  My future daughter-in-law asked me if Colorado ever had a springtime or was it always winter here.  I told her that spring arrived, oh, about noonish yesterday, but if she blinked she missed it.  I'm not complaining though, not this time.  The moisture was a blessing to the scorched grasslands of the region.  Two wild fires including one on Fort Carson where Steve works, were extinguished by the heavy blanket of snow.  Sadly not before two fire fighters and the pilot of a tanker plane lost their lives. Under the circumstances I don't mind a little more snow at all.  When the re-growth begins perhaps we will recognize that the tragedy and loss was not entirely in vain.

But... in the meantime I do believe that hypothermia is setting in and frostbite is nipping at my finger tips.  I'm trying not to blink for fear of missing summer as well.  There is more snow in the forecast for this evening so I figure we should expect a heat wave of maybe 40 degrees between now and then.  Time to break out my Hawaiian print long johns.

Global warming huh.  Where!?

Tags: snow, wild fires, Global Warming

Sweeney Todd and nose hairs.

I finally saw the latest Johnny Depp movie, 'Sweeney Todd'.  To say that I was disappointed would be an understatement.  Without giving away the story (there are a lot of little surprises) I will just say that in my opinion musicals, comedy and dark slice and dice horror do not mix well.  Having said that, I must admit that Johnny Depp has a very nice singing voice.  As for the movie, it was probably a better book than it was a movie.  The plot was actually very good and I'm sure I would enjoy reading it, but I doubt I will watch the movie again. 

Its the beginning of April and time to resume certain grooming routines that seem a little wasted during the cold winter months, like the shaving of the arm pits and legs.  I'm quite proud of myself this year for actually shaving during the winter though mostly as a preventive measure.  My cheap disposable razors can't hack through an 8 month growth of leg hair and the shower is too small to drag in the weed eater so I tried to trim about once every couple of weeks.

What I neglected however was my nose hair.

Nobody warned me in my High School Health Class that there would come a day when I would have to maintain the growth of my nasal follicles.  I thought that was a old man problem.  Being as most High School Health teachers were teaching that class because they're too old to teach phys-ed any more, they knew!  They knew because they were already experiencing the inconveniences and embarrassments of nose hairs.  They all just chose not to mention it during the lesson dealing with aging and changes in the body during menopause. 

'Oh, and by the way, right about the time you hit your mid 40's and you notice that your hair has started to thin in some places, you may discover that your facial hair has actually begun a growth spurt requiring constant grooming.' 

Yeah, that would have been nice, but they chose not to share that little tidbit.

Have you seen that lady in the commercial who sticks that Presto Amazo As Seen On TV Nose Hair Trimmer up her nose and swirls it around like a magic wand, all the while she's smiling with a big As Seen On TV Teeth Whitener smile.  She has obviously never gotten one of her nose hairs caught and yanked out by its roots by that Presto Amazo As Seen On TV Nose Hair Trimmer.  I doubt it was even turned on because if it was working, her big As Seen On TV Teeth Whitener smile would be full of discarded nasal hair.

Nope, not for me!  I do it the old fashioned way now...  (Relax Dickidoo, I rinsed off and resharpened your mustache trimmer .)

As for that old wives tale about two hairs growing back when you pluck one white hair, well, that pertains to nose hair as well.  Last year I trimmed back maybe a dozen hairs.  This year I look like I tried to inhale a herd of big, dark hairy dust bunnies which inevitably got stuck at the entrance to my nose. 

I can't believe I was ever excited about growing up.

DID YOU KNOW...

In two and a half years, 896 days to be exact, I shall be 50 years old.  The Big 5-0.  Half a century, a full time member of the Silver Club.  5 decades...  And in some cases I shall be eligible for a senior citizen discount.  Woo Hoo!  Bring it on!

When I was younger I used to fantasize about what I would be or do when I grew up.  I wanted to be a photographer (I am), I wanted to live in Colorado (I do), I wanted to play the guitar (I can, sort of), I wanted to write children's stories (well, I blog about my children so that kind of counts), and I wanted to have lots of animals (have had hamsters, hedgehog, dogs, cats, pet spiders... really!  Now there's just a crayfish, a homicidal gold fish and some anonymous fish who is in a witness protection tank in another room.

I think that it is safe to say that I have achieved all of my major childhood goals.  Yay me!  Now it is time to set some adulthood goals.

I want to learn how to read music.  I want to learn to play the mandolin.  I want to drift between the moon and earth in a hot air balloon.  I want to visit Alaska.  And I want to retire in a small mountain cottage where I can watch the sun rise and set from my front and back porch, far away from the crowd of the city but close enough for the Oompas and Grand Oompas to visit when ever they want.

Dickidoo is flying out to California in a couple of weeks to celebrate his Great Aunt's 90th birthday.  90 years old and that woman is a sharp as a tack!  That's how I want to be at 90, still raising cane.  I almost feel sorry for Dickidoo if we both make it that far.  

Well, heck, that's only 15,504 days away!  Woo Hoo!  90 here I come!

OLD AGE CRISIS, and mice-capades

They say the mind is the first to go.  That's probably true.  This afternoon I found myself skipping purposefully down the stairs until I got to the last step and realized that I had absolutely no idea why I was going down stairs.  I mentally retraced my steps but got stuck just one step backwards.

Hmmmmmmmm.....

Becca has moved in with Kimmie to help out with the Grand Oompas.  Last night they had their first 'apartment life' crisis.  They discovered a mouse in the house!  It must have been like an episode of 'I Love Lucy' with the two girls chasing the little critter around the apartment at 12:30 am, trying to catch it in, of all things, an empty toothpaste box.

Enter the apartment complex's handyman extraordinaire with two mouse traps which he strategically placed  in the kitchen and living room.  Hopefully there will be no more midnight raids by their whiskered intruder. 

I suppose my mind really is going because I can't for the life of me figure out how those two girls expected to catch a mouse in a toothpaste box.   Of course Kimmie is a blonde and Becca is what I call a 'dark blonde'.

3:30 IN THE MORNING...

This morning started like any other morning at o'dark hundred.  I slapped the alarm clock to quiet the static and closed my eyes for a minute.  10 minutes later I rolled out of bed and made my way down the hall to the dark kitchen where the best part of waking up was waiting for me.

Not really, it would be another 5 minutes before I held a welcoming cup of coffee in my hands.  I set up the Bunn-Omatic Brew-Omatic with robotic automation, got dressed and by the time I pulled the mismatched socks on my feet the java was ready.  I was really looking forward to this cup since we had run out of creamer two days ago and yesterday's coffee was lacking. 

At 3:30 am I can follow directions.  In fact, at 3:30 am I can ONLY follow directions.  Without the jump start I get from my coffee I can not think independently.  Even though past experience has taught me that it is a very bad idea to shake a  new bottle of coffee creamer before peeling back its foil safety seal, when I read the label on the creamer that instructs me to 'shake before using', I shake before using.

What it should instruct is to 'remove inner seal, replace cap and shake well before using.'

Because it does not, and I cannot think intelligently on my own at 3:30 am, this morning as on many other mornings I shook my brand new bottle of creamer, peeled back the foil safety seal and got a face full of creamer as the pressure was suddenly released and it's luscious, creamy contents spewed out at me.

I made my cup of coffee and took a long swig before cleaning off my glasses.  Okay, I admit its disgusting but at 3:30 in the morning, yes, I licked the creamer off my glasses before rinsing them off under the faucet.

What? 

Hey, come on, at 3:30 in the morning my mind is not yet capable of intelligent thought.  In fact there is no thought process at all, it is all pure instinct and reaction.  And while the caffeine in coffee begins to take effect within 5 minutes, it really doesn't kick in until half an hour later.

That means that I am not capable of intelligent, independent thought until at least 4 am.

So, to Nestle USA, makers of Coffee Mate hazelnut creamer, please fix your label to read 'Remove inner seal, replace lid and THEN shake before using'.

I'm tired of licking hazelnut creamer off of my glasses at 3:30 in the morning.

8 MONTH WINTER, 4 MONTH SUMMER (or Lucky you live in the Rockies!)

There are only two Oompas in the house at the moment, so why is it so noisy?  Art is in Oklahoma at the Melee Spring Equinox and Becca is at the movies with her boyfriend and his family.  That leaves Zack and Rocky, who have decided that Will Smith's 'I Am Legend' must be watched with the volume cranked to the max.  I used to think Will Smith had a sexy voice.  Not any more.

Its still winter here.  I had to chisel a thick sheet of ice from my windshield this morning, making me 4 minutes late for work.  I've been living here the Rockies for 14 years now and still have not gotten used to having only 2 seasons in the year... winter and summer.  Summer begins two days after the last snow fall, when ever that is.  Winter begins with the first frost.  That gives us about 4 hot scorching summer months, then BOOM!  Winter!

March is almost over, can you believe it?  In like a lion, out like a lamb.  Yeah, well, have you noticed that the lamb has a very thick warm coat of wool?  I am not inspired!

By the way, FYI:

271 Days Until Christmas.
Ho Ho Ho!  Ha Ha Ha!

p.s.  I take it back, Will Smith still has a very sexy voice.

DUST BUNNY BOOK OF THE MONTH... (or year, or what ever)

I picked up a book the day before yesterday.  I used to be quite an avid reader, and a very fast one as well, back when there were fewer important things to procrastinate over.  Now days I'm too busy trying to find a way out of doing things which really need to be done to really have time to enjoy the time I'm saving by not doing what I should be doing.

Yeah, so any way I picked up a book the day before yesterday, a novel by Nelson Demille.  The jacket said he was a "#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR".  That doesn't really mean much to me since I have even less time to read the New York Times than I do for reading novels.  The title caught my eye though.  "NIGHT FALL", along with a picture of a passenger jet airliner that separated the author's name from the book's title. 

The price was kind of nice too, $1.99 at the Goodwill New Arrivals book rack.  I bought the book on pay day.  That was my splurge on myself along with a handful of paper backs, a hodge podge of fiction, most with worn and discolored pages, musty smelling and aged.  This particular book stood out from the others on the shelf with its dust cover still immaculately in tact.  Seeing hardly a mark on the practically brand new book cover I quickly determined that it was probably a boring book since it obviously hadn't been read.  My favorite books are easily recognized by scars they bear from being dragged around the house, in and out of the car, to the bathroom, and the kitchen.  This book with its glossy blue and black cover was in pristine condition.

There was no cheat sheet on the back cover, no synopsis of the story, just a bunch of testimonials from other authors and papers remarking what a great piece of work it was.  I cracked the book open and began to read.  It started out average enough, though hardly Book of the Month Club stuff.  That was what I was thinking as I turned to page 2.  I don't remember when I stopped skimming and actually started reading, but before I realized it I was completely engrossed with the story.

I was sincerely upset yesterday morning at work when I realized that I had left the book on Henry the Goldfish's tank instead of taking it into the car to read during my lunch break.  I just knew the spiteful fish was spitting water at the previously unblemished book cover.  When I finally retrieved the book after work I was relieved to see not a single water spot on the glossy paper.  I shook my finger at the gaping big eyed feeder fish before rushing upstairs to pick up where I left off.

It was almost grudgingly that I set the book down to take care of some previously arranged business, a trip to Kimmie's to pick her up for dinner, staying to play with the grand babies when their Mama admitted that she wasn't feeling well and passed on our dinner date, a trip to pick up dinner for her instead, more play time with the grand babies, and then home to fix supper for my own babies.  Finally I was able to return to the novel, with a firm determination to finish it before I set it down again. 

I didn't exactly 'set it down' per se.  It kind of 'fell down' on its own during an extended blink.  I finally gave in to my body's demand for sleep and sank into my pillow and blankets.  Next thing I knew it was daybreak.  Without even bothering to get up and take care of my morning routine the 485 page novel, now sans its immaculate dust cover, was back in my hands.  Becca made a pot of coffee and brought me a perfectly flavored cup.  Becca never makes coffee, she hates coffee, but she made a pot for me this morning.

"I thought you were going to finish that last night." she teased as I sat the book aside for a second to accept the steaming mug she offered.  What can I say, blinks happen.

I read the first 52 chapters with childlike eagerness.  In person I might have been tempted to interrupt but I didn't want to miss a single word, not one letter or punctuation.  There was no skipping or browsing ahead.  I read the story word for word, syllable by syllable without guessing or hypothesizing.  I wanted to read the story, the whole story and nothing but the story exactly as the author had written it. 

Nothing prepared me for the last chapter.  I was honestly completely blown away.

The dust cover is no longer immaculate.  It bears evidence of the few times I actually set it down.  I have decided that my method of judging a book by the condition of its dust cover is flawed.  I'm pretty sure that the reason the novel ended up in a thrift store used book shelf in such pristine condition was because the original owner didn't set it down until he or she had finished reading the entire book from cover to cover. I'll bet that reader was just as blown away by the ending as I was.

Becca has started the novel.  Art is next in line.  Rocky after him.  Our tastes in literature differ grately.  The majority of their books include highly colored drawings or glossy pictures.  They don't often see me reading and I suppose their curiosity was peaked when they realized how into this novel I really was.  I won't tell them what its about other than a plane crash and some detectives who investigate it 5 years later. 

"Night Fall" by Nelson Demille is by far the best mystery, suspense, thriller, detective love story I have ever read.  Ever!  If you come across a copy of "Night Fall", treat yourself and read it.  Do it on your day off, take the phone off the hook, keep the TV off and don't answer the door bell.  And don't blink!

Tags: Nelson Demille, Night Fall

HAPPY EASTER

Have you ever heard the song "I'm Dreaming of a White Easter"?  No, probably not because there is no song about dreaming of a white Easter.  Why?  Because nobody wants a white Easter, that's why.

Or at least I don't want one.

The Southern Oompas had to leave this morning because their parents needed to get home to deal with an unexpected emergency back home.  I guess it was just as well since I ended up working late to deal with the recent cantaloupe recall at the store and would not have been able to drive up to Denver until after 2, not giving me much time to visit.   Dickidoo told me later that he saw skid marks running off the road and cars stranded along the interstate where I would have traveled last night so it was a good thing I hadn't tried to make the trip in the snow.  I feel better now knowing that but last night and this morning I felt really bad and almost cowardly for not chancing it.  Being as Art would have been with me I'm glad I didn't.

On the bright side, there is tentative talk of a summer vacation out here when school lets out for the Southern Oompas, this time with Mama and Baby.  Woo Hoo!  The more the merrier.  The Grand Oompas will have lots of buddies to play with!

I hope everyone had a wonderful day whether or not they celebrate Easter.  Now that the gang is home safe from Denver we shall begin enjoying the occasion.

Slight oversight on my part.... no colored hard boiled Easter eggs.  I'm going to fix that right now.  Its just not Easter in Loompa-land  without colored hard boiled Easter eggs dipped in maple syrup.  (yucky! )

Dorn~

Tags: Southern Oompas, Easter

I WISH I WERE IN DENVER...

The Southern Oompas are in Colorado!  Dickidoo, Zack and the girls drove up to meet them and attend the Denver March Pow Wow last night where they were all going to be staying in the same hotel.  I had to work and Art had prior commitments so we planned to leave this afternoon.

Before I left to pick up Art and head up to Denver I was rushing around the house looking for something to wear.  Optimistically, but totally unrealistically, I glanced in Becca's closet.  One glance at the waist band on her teenie tiny pants sent me scurrying out of her room and back into mine.

All of my fat-jeans were dirty so I grabbed a pair of skinny jeans.  The first pair wouldn't even make it past my thighs.  The next pair got as far as my hips.  The third went on but there was no way I was going to get that zipper up.  By that time I was working up a sweat.  Hmmmm, a couple hours of this and I might just sweat off enough to get one of those jeans on!

I settled for a pair of stretchy skinny pants, added a buccaneer's blouse, black leather vest and I was dressed to meet my beloved Southern Oompas....

Or not.

Springtime has retreated into hibernation as winter takes over the foothills of Colorado, covering it in a fluffy blanket of snow yet again.  Normally I would enjoy the beauty of the unexpected weather, but not today.  Old Man Winter came calling and I don't dare drive the little Tracer up north in the snow.  I am holding on to the hopes that the snow will clear and the roads will be better tomorrow morning.  Got my fingers crossed, and toes, my legs and my eyes crossed too.

So close and yet so far away!  Grrr!  I miss my Southern Oompas! 

Tags: Southern Oompas

ANOTHER DUST BUNNY ANNIVERSARY

 Dust Bunny Club of
 North America . . .
 4th Anniversary!

Yesterday marked the fourth year this journal has been cluttering up the blogasphere.  In celebration I am giving all of my wonderful friends FREE dust bunnies!  In fact, I've already delivered them to your homes.  Just look under your beds and couches, in the corners of your closets and cupboards, and yes, even in your undies drawer!

Thank you all for being a part of my day and allowing me to be a part of yours.  Thanks Mr. Takara, Beginning Typing WHS 1977, for teaching me how to type well enough to be able to work a keyboard when I got my first computer decades later.  Thank you Mama for teaching me to choose my words carefully, and Daddy for the lessons in patience.  A very special thanks to Dickidoo and the Oompas for all the memories that have filled these entries over the past 4 years.

Now, go eat cake!  And don't step on the dust bunnies.

Dorn~

Tags: Dust Bunny Anniversary, blogplugs

GREEN BEER AND WEINERS?

HAPPY SAINT

PATRICK'S DAY!

Quick, Kiss Me!  I ain't Irish, but kiss me anyway.

We celebrated with a nice traditional bratwurst and sauerkraut dinner, complete with green beer... Rocky Mountain's finest (and a little squirt of green food coloring).

Yeah, I know, bratwurst isn't exactly Irish, but after last year's global warming explosion here at the House of Oompa I decided to that a little ethnic diversity as far as the menu went would be a pleasant change.  So bratwurst it was.  In keeping with the spirit of the occasion Rocky added an unhealthy amount of the green food coloring to the water the brats were cooked in.  They actually were quite delicious so long as you kept your eyes closed while eating the green weenies.

p.s. 282 Days Until Christmas! 

   Ho Ho Ho!  Ha Ha Ha!

Tags: Saint Patrick's Day, Christmas Countdown

PARENTING TEENS, the untold story.

I spent the last couple of days perusing the vast www for parenting blogs.  I have come to this conclusion.  The commercial spotlight on parenting dims way before puberty.  There are literally hundreds, nay, thousands of baby blogs, of Mommy and Daddy blogs with not only a massive public following but impressive commercial endorsements as well.  What I didn't see were highly acclaimed parenting for teen blogs.

Maybe I didn't look hard enough.

There are help and support sites for parents with troubled teens.  There are sites and foundations for parents with talented teens and teens with special needs.

Where are the blog rolls for parents of the average acne ravaged, 2.5 grade point average adolescent trying and failing drivers ed for the 3rd time in a row?  Where are all the Internet support groups for pre-pms because I could use one right now.  A Beginners Guide to Testosterone  would have been nice to pop up on my search bar at any time during my 3 sons' rite of passage into manhood. Blogs about clever ways to cope with the terrible twos are a dime a dozen.  What about the terrible teens?  Is society too gentile to stomach whimsical musing about training bras and shopping for athletic support cups?

I feel that mothers with older children have dropped off the scale in terms of needing advice and support.  Perhaps society feels that after raising ababy and infant that a parent already has several years of experience and has developed all of the parenting skills required to raise the child into young adulthood when the child can then leave the proverbial nest.

I beg to differ.  After raising 5 children, two of which are now in their early 20's, I am still baffled by secret society of teens, with their hot and cold mood swings that dulls the mood swings of menopause by 10 fold, their strange language that changes almost daily to prevent parental interpretation, and their logic that as a toddler was cute but is now almost oxy-moronic.

I think if society is going to blame its woes on the youth of today then perhaps there should be a little more emphasis on positive parenting for these average under aged citizens who will one day take inherit our world and blame everything on us.

In the mean time I shall continue my lonely, somewhat fruitless search for other parents of teen sites in the great abyss crowded with nursery rhyme e-cards, Hannah Montana theme party ideas, rainy day play dates and methods of training your toddler to recite Shakespeare. 

I want to raise my children right.  I want to instill a sense of responsibility, a strong sense of family values.  I want to feel at ease when I relinquish my reins on their lives and allow them to spread their wings, knowing that I have prepared them for the realities of life.  I want them to inherit my world... our world. 

I want to enjoy the thought that one day there will be a reversal of roles and that I can count on my children to change my diapers just as I did theirs. 

Tags: teenagers, parenting teens

PRE-SENIOR MOMENT

Being ill for an extended period of time has its benefits.  I stepped on my scale, you know... the one that I love so much even though its broken (or maybe because it is broken!) and I have managed to keep my weight down to 140 without any additional dieting or exercise.  Unfortunately the uncontrollable coughing spells had me investing a small fortune in the feminine napkin industry for the past month.  Being a pre-senior didn't help and I found myself being introduced to many other age related inconveniences and truths that I suppose I shall now have to get used to.

Pre-Senior.  Kind of like a pre-teen, only older.

When was the last time you took your measurements?  You know, chest, waist and hips?  I took mine a few weeks ago for custom fitting on a dress I purchased on ebay.

I am still traumatized.

Remember back in the day when a woman would proudly announce her measurements for anyone within ear shot... 36-24-36.   That was like the perfect hour glass figure.  I wasn't perfect when I was in my teens and early 20's.  I was pleasantly plump as my mother used to say so delicately (Love you Mama!)  I was more like 34- 29 - 38, more of a pear shape.  Yeah, yeah, I know, I had a big butt.

No I didn't!  I would LOVE to have a 38 inch butt now!  My chest sports a measurement that based on its sheer size alone would excite the average man if it were not for the fact that it is located much lower on my torso than before and is only pert and perky when its cold.  My waist has since blended in with my upper and lower body and is identifiable only by my navel.  It doesn't exactly cinch in like it used to.  Was I really only 29 inches once upon a time?  I think my figure would now be describes as... a melon.  A plump, lumpy, bumpy, over ripe melon.  You know the kind... pale and a little squishy on the bottom.

I find consolation by stepping on my worn out old scale.  It still reads 140 for me.  That's actually 1 pound lighter than I was when I got married 24 years ago.  There is much comfort in that knowledge.

No, I will not fix my scale.  You know what they say, "If it ain't broke,don't fix it, and if you like it better broken, don't fix it then either!"

Who would have thought that being a pre-senior would be just as stressful as being a pre-teen.  I'm getting too old for this junk! 

I wonder if that measuring tape stretches?

Tags: Pre-senior, blogplugs

SICK DAY... (don't mind me, I'm on drugggggsss!)

My miserably brief attempt at hypochondria is over.  I should have gotten a clue when I couldn't even spell the word let alone tell the difference between 'hypo-chondria' and hyper-chondria'.  For the record there is no such thing as 'hyper-chondria' although I would imagine it would be the opposite of hypochondria, the denial of having any ailment at all, or something to that effect.

My condition: a mild chest cold (cough, cough!) complicated by allergies (ahhhh-chooo!)  After a very rough night and morning without the TLC of either Dickidoo or Dr. Bones McCoy, I eventually recovered.  My survival is owed no doubt to an overdose of Mucinex and a gallon or more of ice water that came out almost as fast as it went in.

Rocky and the guys are at the Melee in the Park.  Becca is competing in the district strings competition.  I spent the day home being sick.  I always tell people and I quote: "You can't get well until you allow yourself to be sick."  Today, in a rare case that should probably be marked on some calendar somewhere, I took my own advice.  I called in off work in advance last night and slept in.  My face still feels like it was hit across the cheeks  by a 2x4, but for the most part I feel tons better.

I'll bet Art's Ghostrider Chili had a lot to do with it as well.  That's some gooooooooood stuff!

Not much on TV today.  I kind of surf the news, forensic and food channels.  Everything on the major stations have something to do with the presidential election.  All the mudslinging, flip-flopping and campaign promises (not to be confused with REAL promises) bore me.    The candidates sound more like beauty pagent contestants than presidential hopefuls.  I amuse myself by adding 'And if elected I promise to bring World Peace.' to the end of every speech. 

I'm thinking Barrak would win the bathingsuit competition but Hillary will take the talent competition by acting like she really likes her opponent.  McCain will have to settle for Mr Congeniality.  Huckabee who?  Isn't he that little blue hound dog from Hanna-Barbera?

Tags: Mucinex, politics