NO TIME FOR COUNT-DOWNS

He's in the air and should be in Kentucky by 9 pm!

Here I was thinking he still had another 60 days in Iraq and Kimmie just called to give me the good news.

Are you there yet?

Are you there yet?

I wish I could be there when he steps off the plane, but I am so very thankful that he is in fact going to be stepping off the plane in just a few short hours, safe in America and so much closer to those who love him. It has been a hard wait for me, but nothing compares to the time he spent over there so I shall be happy just knowing... he's coming home!

Love you Gabe, always!

SAGGING, ROCKY STYLE

What is the opposite of 'thong', as in underwear thong? I ask because I think I saw one the other day, sticking out of Rocky's jeans.

"Hey, aren't those my panties?"

"Maybe..." she said and lifted her shirt, exposing an amazing amount of excess fabric sticking out over her waistband. Sharing undies is just icky to begin with, but how on earth did that pip-squeak of a child with an extra small hiney think she could ever fill my ample britches? My pink and blue striped 'Hanes Her Way' were hanging out everywhere. How could anyone be that desperate?

It was the exact opposite of a thong. It was the un-thong, the anti-thong.

It was quite disgusting and disturbing, and not a sight I would like to encounter ever again.

I'm buying that girl her own panties on payday.

6:04 am

"mrrrrrrrrrp"

Through the fog of sleep I fumble for my cell phone, always close by in case my son Gabe tries to call from Iraq. Blurry eyes struggle to focus on the tiny screen. The digital clock reads 6:04 am. A little envelope and phone icon indicates that I have a text message.

1-800-Oompa1: Hey Mom

I try to remember how to spell 'hey', and numb fingers trip over the miniature keypad. Through crossed eyes I miss the [send] button and click on [delete] instead. I cuss and Dickidoo snorts in his sleep beside me. Did he just say 'quarter'?

1-800-Oompa1: Are you awake?

1-800-MOM: No, I'm texting in my sleep.

1-800-Oompa1: What's for breakfast?

1-800-MOM: Fingernails, boogers and spit.

1-800-Oompa1: Can I have lunch money?

1-800-MOM: No, eat left-over breakfast.

At times technology has it's merits, but not at 6:04 am, and certainly not for breakfast and lunch money. I spend way too much money on multiple cell phones on the family plan so I can keep track of my little army of Oompas... and the culprit for their existence... their father! I rarely have to call them, but I can almost guarantee that when I do need to contact them via the cell phone, they will not answer.

Except at 6:04 am, when the breakfast menu is in question.

"mrrrrrrrrrp"

1-800-Oompa2: Psst.

1-800-MOM: snoring!

1-800-Oompa2: lol. You should give me a ride to school.

1-800-MOM: No,I should stay in bed and sleep in.

1-800-Oompa: I'll make you a cup of coffee, you can have the last of the hazelnut creamer.

1-800-MOM: Start the truck, I'll be right out.

Yeah, technology sucks at 6:04 am. Especially when I didn't get home from work and into bed until 12:35 am! The moment Micro-Soft comes up with a mobile, electronic Mom I'm signing up for one, I don't care what it costs if it means that I can actually get more than 5 hours of sleep at night.

"mrrrrrrrrrp"

1-800-Oompa3: Mommy, I don't feel good.

1-800-MOM: What's wrong?

1-800-Oompa3: My throat hurts and I feel like I'm going to hurl.

1-800-MOM: Drink some hot tea. You'll be fine.

1-800-Oompa3: What if I barf?

1-800-Mom: I'll buy you some ice cream.

(1 hour later)

1-800-Oompa3: Mommy, you owe me some ice cream.

CONFESSION

Question: Who is as bad as a rotten politician?

Answer: An uninformed voter.

I am embarrassed to admit that when I took my place at the voting booth, I was every bit as bad as the politicians and the rhetorical rubbish they have been spewing into the air with increasing density over the past months. I didn't do my homework. When I encountered the brief but confusing language of the ballot amendments I attempted a crash course in self-taught political ho-hum and started scribbling in each appropriate bubble...

0 Yeah

0 Oh Hell NO!

I was going to town with the 'Yeah' bubbles, dropping down for the occasional 'Oh Hell NO' when something didn't sound right.

Last night while waiting in one of the many lines I endure in the course of my day, I spoke with a gentleman who was directly affected by my winning 'Oh Hell NO' vote. He was a volunteer for a program that benefited mild to moderately mentally challenged adults. The extra taxation they were asking for would have provided much needed funding for the severely under budgeted and over populated programs and services provided.

I wish I had done my homework and read up on everything that was on the ballot. I wish I wasn't so susceptible to all that political rhetoric. Even not casting a vote for something would have been better than casting the wrong vote. I wish I had spoken to that gentleman even just 24 hours earlier. I couldn't even admit to him that I had voted against the increased taxes.

I feel so bad.

I feel like a rotten politician!

MY FIRST (and quite possibly my last) COURT APPEARANCE

With my new job I occasionally get subpoenaed to appear in court. Very exciting! Yesterday was once such time and I dressed appropriately. Upon my arrival the movie star gorgeous young prosecutor informed me that he probably wouldn't need to call on me after all but I should stick around just in case.


So I sat with my co-workers and the police officer who had responded to our call. We waited for our case to be called but the other attorney had been tied up in another court and was delayed. When he finally appeared, what little professionalism I had immediately evaporated. It was another movie star attorney.


Oh my God, he looked like that Vogon guy from The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy!


I kid you not! This guy had scruffy white hair, he was broad shouldered and his arms hung down almost to the floor. I mentioned this to my co-workers who rolled their eyes at me. The defense attorney shuffled over to the table and cleared his throat.


Oh my God, he even sounded like that Vogon guy from The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy!


Every time the poor man cleared his throat or finished a sentence he made a muffled 'humphing' kind of sound. By now even the police officer in the front row was snickering behind tight lips. The movie star prosecutor walked over and shook his head with an exasperated smile.


'I don't know if I should call any of you.' he said .


'We'll be okay,' I promised. 'Just don't let him read poetry!'


(Relax Dickidoo, court was in recess when the Vogon... er... defense attorney came in so I was not disrespectful in front of the judge.)

WINDS OF CHANGE

I voted yesterday as did Dickidoo. Zack risked a 3 and a half hour wait to vote early but he voted. My friend in the deli voted for the first time after gaining citizenship (she was as excited as a kid in the candy store). Gabe probably didn't. There is so much involved in getting absentee ballots to the soldiers overseas that despite the importance of their votes, they often go uncast.

I won't say who I voted for, I will only say that my candidate did not win. I hope that I was wrong about the other candidate and the majority of Americans were right. But if I may have the luxury of even the briefest of sore losership... "Be careful what you wish for..."

That is all.

(If this guy were running for President I would have voted for him)

LAZY SUNDAY

My nephew came downstairs while Dickidoo and I were watching Green Bay getting beaten by the Titans. He glanced at the tv set during an instant replay.

'What you watching?' he asked.

'Hockey' I said without looking away from the screen.

'Golf' Dickidoo said at the same time.

'Golf', I corrected myself.

'Hockey', Dickidoo said at the same time.

'What? I didn't know, it could be something else.' my nephew protested.

'Its a bunch of huge men in helmets running around a field chasing a little pointy brown ball, what else could it be?' I asked, trying to concentrate on the action on the field.

'Golf ?', Dickidoo suggested.

'But I didn't know... I don't know what Green Bay is!'

'You're right, it could be the finals for the Martha Stewart Cookie Baking Championships.'

The Southern Oompa left us with a disgusted 'humpf!'. I, on the other hand, had a sudden craving for decadent chocolate chip cookies.

The girls and I went house hunting yesterday. We ended up down the street from the house featured in the Colorado edition of Extreme Home Make-over. I fell in love with the floor plans. Rocky fell in love with the furniture in the model homes. Becca fell in love with the neighbors, especially the cute 20 something blond one in the blue pick-up truck. We toured 6 houses, moving into each one in our minds. It was with heavy footed reluctance that we finally turned in the last set of keys and headed back to where our 40 year old cluttered and over crowded bi-level awaited us.

After supper we simmered in the hot tub, just us girls. We talked about girly things and laughed about silly stuff. We made wishes on falling stars... or maybe it was falling space trash. Art joined us outside later, but refrained from entering the hot tub. I guess he figured it was too hormonal for a lone male so he kept his distance. It was nice though, to sit out there with the Oompas and talk about everything... and absolutely nothing, out there beneath the stars.

"Okay, so tell me again how I'm the coolest, most awesomest mom in the world?"

(I don't think I've reached the status as the coolest, most awesomest Aunty in the world yet, mostly because of my low tolerance for stupid questions... but I'm working on it.)

IT'S RAINING SPACE TRASH

But don't worry, it only weighs 40 pounds!

Tariq Malik, Space.com
Scientists expect a 1,400-pound tank of toxic ammonia coolant that was thrown from the International Space Station a year ago to plunge through the Earth's atmosphere Sunday. One NASA expert says it's unlikely that the debris will hit anyone.

NASA expects up to 15 pieces of the tank to survive the searing hot temperatures of re-entry, ranging in size from about 1.4 ounces to nearly 40 pounds.
If they reach all the way to land, the largest pieces could slam into the Earth's surface at about 100 mph (62 kph). But a splashdown at sea is also possible, as the planet is two-thirds ocean.

Okay, I feel better knowing how unlikely it is that the debris will hit me... And even in the unlikely chance that the debris should hit the 1/3 part of the planet that isn't covered by ocean, the 1,400 tank should break up upon re-entry into the earths atmosphere and experts expect only about 15 pieces, the largest being no bigger than 40 pounds, to survive the searing heat.

Being hit on the head by a 40 pound piece of debris traveling 100 mph is definitely better than being hit on the head by a 1,400 pound piece of debris.

Yeah, I feel so much better now.

The phone has been ringing non-stop today. I let the answering machine pick up the calls. So far of the 20+ calls, only one was a real person... the high school secretary. (only one call from the school today, that's a first!) Obama, McCain and Palin all called. Biden must have lost my number but I anticipate his call by supper time. One of the 200 'Janes' from ARC wants my gently used clothing while 3 different Veteran organizations preferred 3 easy monthly installments. Dan from the police auxiliary thanked me for my generous donation that I didn't make last year and asked for my continued support, and I received my second and last notice of my truck's warranty had expired (for the 100th time) and would like like to renew it? Obviously they have never seen Big Red!
Zack's new used car broke down yesterday so Dickidoo and I made plans to go and pick him up before we left for the concert. I tried to sneak a nap in before we had to leave to get my son but Dickidoo had other plans for my time. Frustrated, I fussed while I tried to find Zack's number to call him and make plans. I remember saying something about someone being a *bleep* head and then I heard a distant voice coming from my phone: 'Jo, are you waiting for me?'. I had forgotten to hang up before trying to make my next call and when Dickidoo tried to make another call immediately after talking to me, we were still connected.
Did he hear my loving endearment? I figured if he didn't offer to buy me a tee shirt at the ZZ Top concert then the answer would be obvious.
We decided to take Big Red down to pick up Zack. I thought it would be a good idea to top off the truck's fluids since she tended to smell on the hot side after even short runs even though the thermostat read normal temperatures. I touched the radiator cap and decided that it was cool enough to remove.
I thought wrong. The cap shot off and radiator fluid spewed everywhere... including into my gaping mouth. Yeah, I know its highly toxic. Dickidoo almost got lucky, but I didn't swallow! By the way, yes, I did in fact get a really cool ZZ Top tee shirt!
The mouse population is down by 3 more residents. Art filled in as exterminator while Zack was gone. He's confident that he has gotten most of them, with the exception of one particular mouse who lives under the kitchen sink and mocks him with its incessant gnawing. I came home the other night and found my youngest son lying on the floor staring at the cupboard, clutching a large hunting knife, poised and ready to make a little mouse-kabob. He has as of yet been unsuccessful.
Guess it's about time to get the apple cider simmering. The little ghosts, ghouls and other costumed candy hunters should be making their rounds in about 3 hours. We've been serving hot apple cider to shivering trick-or-treaters for the past 13 years. Some of the older kids have grown up and now bring their own children to our house, sharing their memories of when they stood on our porch sipping the steaming juice. Family traditions are so cool, but even cooler still is to hear how your own traditions have impacted other families as well.
Happy Halloween~ don't eat too much of your kids candy!

HOW BABIES ARE MADE...

When the Oompas were little I prided myself for being a very open and intellectual mother. When the children had questions, even the difficult ones, I tried to answer honestly but in a context that they could comprehend.


'Boys are made of snips and snails, and puppy dog tails. Girls are sugar and spice and everything nice. And a stork with a little blue hat drops them off on the front porch step.'


The Oompas are older now and are ready for the real truth about how babies are made.


Babies are made from kissing!


All of my pregnancies were preceded by kissing, which eventually lead to other things. For that reason I do not allow the kids to kiss their boyfriends and girlfriends. Hugs are fine, hand holding is cute, but kisses are out of the question.


At first the Oompas, who are smarter than their report cards reflect, scoffed at my theory. They had all taken the standard sex ed course in the 6th grade. They knew that procreation wasn't about the birds and the bees but about Sammy the sperm and Ella the egg. However I made them see the broader picture. What happened before Sammy swam the channel to have dinner with Ella?


Kissing!

And what happened before each of my children were conceived?

Kissing!


I rest my case. Kissing makes babies! The rule stands. No kissing!

GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY RANT

• You wouldn't take a toddler to a bank heist so why the heck would you take one with you when you steal from a store? Great role model mom! That child will be shoplifting from Toys-R-Us by Christmas!
• Size 3XXX thong... really?
• If you're gonna 'sag' your pants, make sure you have clean boxers underneath... please?
• Are all cops deliberately issued uniform shirts that are 2 sizes too small? (Oh wait, that's not a rant... I like cops in shirts that are 2 sizes too small! Sometimes it almost makes the ticket worth it.)
• Who ever says "I don't need deodorant because I never perspire" never stood beside themselves in the summer. (Try this trick, at the end of the day take your hand and stick it under your armpit... rub your pit with your hand and then take a good whiff of your hand... Then apply antiperspirant liberally because you know you stink!)
• I don't care how soft and fuzzy my sweater looks, don't touch it when I'm in it! (unless you look like Tom Selleck in a shirt 2 sizes too small and sound like Sam Elliot ... in which case would you like to see my size 3XXX thong?)

Okay, whew, got that off my chest, now I can go to work. By the way, I don't really wear a sized 3XXX thong, mine are a wee smaller, but mostly I just grab my regular old granny panties, yank 'em up and presto amazo, Insta-thong!

OUT GROWING STUPID

Does one ever really out grow 'stupid'? I suspect not. You don't put dish detergent in a dishwasher or washing machine (done both), sugar does not counter-act salt (tried it), table salt is a lousy windshield de-icer (don't ask, just take my word for it), and body soap should not be used as hair soap. Especially 'Yougert Vanilla Honey' body wash. I was desperate since once again someone had grabbed my bottle of shampoo from my shower, leaving me just a bar of soap and a container of extra moisturizing body wash. Already having experienced the scummy residue bar soap leaves on hair I opted for the body wash. I waited until the last minute to brush out my hair after showering. By that time it was too late. I had to go to work with hair that looked like it had been bathed in yogurt, vanilla and honey. I was just waiting for someone to come up to me and ask 'Hey, is that yogurt, vanilla and honey in your hair?' Grrrrrr! Remind me to find out who snatched my real shampoo and stick some 'Yougert Vanilla Honey' body wash into their bottle of shampoo.

Last night I heard a familiar squeak. I guess Zack's little trophy wasn't ABC Alphabet Soup after all. I was tempted to wake Becca and give her the good news but decided to wait until morning. Unfortunately Dickidoo had invested a small fortune in mouse traps of various types and models. Even more unfortunate still... ABC Alphabet Soup ended up on the up side of a glue trap. We were awakened by Rocky's frantic announcement that Becca had been bitten by a mouse. She had been trying to free the little critter who was stuck fast and squeaking so sadly.

Don't ever buy those glue traps. They are horrible! I think being stomped to death by Zack's size 10 boot is more humane than those sticky death traps. I had to bag the poor thing up and throw it into our outside freezer to put it out of it's misery.

Dickidoo goes to the doctor this morning to get his back checked. He's always screwing it up right around this time of year each year. If he were a horse we'd have shot him a long time ago. I suspect the subject of surgery will be coming up soon. He's put it off for several years but I can't imagine going through that kind of pain on a daily basis. I think we both have a problem with the odds though... it's one of those deals where he has a 50% chance of getting better and 50% chance of getting worse. There is no in between, not even a 'no difference', it's either better or worse.

I'm thinking he's more worried about the possibility of not being able to hunt than anything else. This much I know for sure though... it something happens and he cannot get around on his own two feet, he will have a four wheeling', off-roading, tricked out and camouflaged wheel chair with a gun rack and a toilet paper holder before opening day of the next hunting season! There's no keeping that guy home during deer season!

Which reminds me... my elk season begins this Saturday. I'm not taking any extra time off so it will just be for a total of two and a half days, but that's already more time than I had out in the woods last year. A huntin' we will go.... woo hoo!

Not enough time for a tricked out wheelchair. Dickidoo will have to settle for a walker covered with camo tape.

5th In State!

The Pride Of Mesa Ridge took 5th in their class during the Colorado State Marching Band Championships. Way to go Art, Becca and Rocky! They performed at Invesco Field. Becca, who is pretty much as anti-Bronco as I am pro-Bronco, even stopped in the end zone and picked some grass for me before leaving the field.

Watching the Oompas compete was the highlight of my vacation. The rest of the time was pretty much a blur of non-accomplishments. Normally a vacation spent doing absolutely nothing would be a good thing, but I had so much that I wanted to do, and needed to do, but other things came up and my to-do list has gotten longer if anything.

Zack, the Great House Mouse Killer, is in trouble. Becca befriended one of the furry refugees and even gave it the name "A B C Alphabet Soup" (please note a slight concern on my part as to her potential choice of names for my future grandbabies). Zack spent the weekend with us so he could watch his siblings compete. He was introduced to 'A B C Alphabet Soup' by his frantic cousin who was startled by the rodent in the bathroom (think it was my little peeking tom?) His hunter instincts kicked in and Zack promptly stomped the poor little critter to death. Becca was devastated (sort of) when she heard the news, until she discovered that 'A B C Alphabet Soup' had relatives living with us as well. Zack went back to Florence last night and won't be back until next weekend, which means the mice will be running rampant until then. Just Jim Fricken Dandy! Hopefully they don't breed as fast as dust bunnies.

It snowed the other night... not enough to stick by morning, but the Peak got a nice dusting. Unfortunately I have been having to deal with frost on the windshield for a week now, which under normal circumstances would not be a problem but I'm driving Big Red, who should qualify for a handicap parking stall herself. She has no power steering at all... not right nor left so now both of my arms are quite muscular underneath all of my flab. I've decided that with the cold weather setting in... the window is definitely stuck half way down! And that is especially sucky since neither the heater nor the defroster work. If I survive the winter Dickidoo has promised to buy me a new vehicle when he pays off the Hemi in the spring. That's 'if' with a capital 'I F'.

Dickidoo is still convinced that I should drive a mini-van. I am still convinced that I should not. Besides seating capacity and mileage the mini-van has nothing I want or need. I'm not sure why he is so insistent about it, perhaps he's hoping that even this late in the game I can still be converted into a Stepford wife type soccer mom, but buddy, that just ain't gonna happen. I want a car, an SUV (which get great mileage now days) or a small truck. If he wants a mini-van he can trade the Hemi in for one himself. I want a vehicle with balls! Like maybe a little 2008 Dodge Challenger....

Can you see me in one of those? I can!

WHAT VACATION?

I'm in day 3 of 5 days off. I'm still waiting for the rest and relaxation to begin. First it was Dickdioo home from Elk Camp and his baby sister back from Kentucky. Then there was a mad rush to get the Southern Oompas back on the road for their return trip home. Filing a police report yesterday for the burglary of Gabe's apartment was a 'hurry up and wait' kind of nightmare that almost cost Becca her participation in the Marching Band Finals this weekend. Fortunately the deputy's nephew is marching (rival school) as well and she agreed to let Becca mail in her statement knowing how important the competition was to her. Today will be spent picking kids up, packing, dropping them off and then running around looking for last minute forgotten necessities.

Tomorrow will be spent in Denver for the State Marching Band Championships. It will be held at the Invesco Stadium, where the Broncos play their home games. Dickidoo, my nephew Joe and I will drive up tomorrow but the band kids are leaving to night and staying at a hotel with the rest of the marching band. 3 Oompas loose in a hotel in Denver, those poor people have no clue what is about to hit them!

That leaves me with Sunday for rest and relaxation.... maybe. (but probably not!)

Every year around this time we get a few guests of our own... field mice looking for a warm place to spend the winter. We currently have one who must have a little bit of dust bunny in it's gene pool because that sucker is big, and noisy! It doesn't sneak around like normal mice, trying to remain un-noticed. This guy runs around squeaking. I think it's actually yelling at me in his little Mouse vocabulary, probably something about those nasty cookies on the lazy Susan that even it won't eat. Like the Oompas, no place is sacred from the Squeaker. This morning while taking care of a pertinent morning ritual I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. I focused on the Dust Mousy just about the same time it focused on me. I don't know who squeaked louder. I jumped up with my full moons flashing and the mouse went positively Speedy Gonzales, disappearing in a wisp of dust. One thing's for sure, I don't think that critter is going to come sneaking under my bathroom door ever again... unless it actually has a thing for big white human buns, but by the way it's eyes bulged when it saw me this morning I really don't think that is the case.

One hour before I have to pick the Oompas up. That gives me one hour of peace and relaxation... Nope, wait, my nephew has the day off from school because of Parent Teacher conferences. Oh well, it was a nice thought.

Maybe I can collect a quarter or two for the Stupid Question fund. I should have just about enough to buy a new box of truffles. Something tells me I'm going to need a lot of truffles to make it through the rest of the year!

911

Someone broke into Gabe's apartment. There wasn't anything of real value there, just the basic furniture of a young family just starting out, and his computer. His computer contained pictures from his tours in Iraq, pictures from his wedding day and his leave here this summer with his new family. It also contained a diary and original poetry his sister ReBecca had written while helping Kimmie with the babies. The computer, which might get the theft $50 for drugs or booze, was priceless to us. The memories, the images, the words, the sentiment... gone for ever.

To steal from or victimize anyone is wrong, but to steal from a soldier's home while he is deployed overseas in a battle zone is lower than low. Even as I type this my army of vigilante dust bunnies are scouring the streets for the perpetrator. While I maintain a casual belief in karma, in this case I want revenge NOW! I hope that crook chokes on the hairballs of a million dust bunnies. Karma will come later.

THE EVIL ONE

Some people may think that I am the bad seed in the family but that is not so. Dickidoo is the evil one. I may have, in a moment of unguarded impulse, offered to vacuum up my step-ex-mother-in-law, but that is all it was... an unguarded impulse that was never fulfilled.

Dickidoo went one step further.

He had the Oompas stash the crematory box containing Grandma Violet Jean's ashes in the mini-van for his sister to find.

Poor Kesi was already feeling guilty for having misplaced the box to begin with. Then she admitted that while driving through Kansas the other day she saw a white box on the side of the interstate and regretted not stopping to check to see if it was her mother. I suggested that the box had followed her all the way from Kentucky, changing direction each time she made a trip back and forth.

Poor Kesi found the box in the mini van behind her seat and froze.

'Didn't you hear your mother calling out to you.... 'wait Kesi, come back Kesi!" I asked, describing the scene of her mother's box hopping down I-70 from Kentucky until she finally caught up with her in Colorado.

Okay, bad, I know... but I'm not the one who hid the ashes in the mini van to begin with.

That was Dickidoo.

I would never do anything that wicked.

Never!

The Way Things Are...

Things did not go well in Kentucky for my sister-in-law so she and the Southern Oompas will have to return there. My nephew Joe has decided to stay here with us until the rest of the family can move out permanently.


Grandma Violet Jean will return to Kentucky with the rest of her family. I'm sure that sometime in the future her final wishes will be fulfilled, her ashes will be scattered in the Colorado Rockies, and she will be laid to rest but I have given my word and it will be without assistance from me and my Windtunnel.


Dickidoo left for elk camp this morning. With all that has been going on this past week he almost decided to call the whole trip off.


And ruin my vacation? I think not!


I brainstormed like crazy. I came up with options and alternatives. I even found his missing hunting license. He was going hunting, dang it, if I had to drag him up there myself!


Actually he has been a solid rock through all that has happened here these past few weeks and I think he really needs the time away to rewind, regroup and recoup. His trip has been shortened from 10 days to 4 days, but even that will help.


And I shall have the bed all to myself for 4 nights! Ahhhhhhhhhhh!


The Oompas and the high school Marching Band have made it to the State Finals again. This year they are ranked 5th in their class. Needless to say they are ecstatic. This is Rocky's first year. She was nervous in the beginning, but to look at her now you'd think she's been doing it all of her life.


Zack has moved down south where he works at a cement plant. He just bought his first car and he should be in his own apartment by the end of the month. He's 43 miles away and for now we'll see him on the weekends, but I imagine as he becomes accustomed to his independence we shall see less and less of him. (sigh....)

As for me, I am just barely hanging on as my house fills up, empties out and fills up again. Oompas come and go, pulling my heart strings so tight at times that I can barely breath. I try to let the older ones go and spread their wings but it's hard when I know I can't be there if they fall. I try not to become too attached to the younger ones because I know they will be gone in a blink of an eye but it is hard. I feel like a waitress wandering around with my heart on a tray, offering it to everyone, but nobody wants it. They may take a taste but they always put it back and move on.

Maybe I just need to get pregnant and have another Oompa of my own, one that I don't have to worry about falling in love with just to have someone take it away from me.

Ugh! So this is what the empty nest syndrome feels like!

Maybe I just need a good stiff drink.

YAY?

The Oompas are cleaning their rooms in preparation of a new, hopefully better arrangement. Things that have been missing for months are reappearing one by one.

Grandma Violet Jean has been found.

While I am relieved that her ashes have been located and no longer roaming freely in my house, seeing her again is quite unsettling. Jean never lived here in Colorado, nor did she have relatives living here other than the Oompas who moved here after her death so one might wonder why she insisted that her ashes be scattered here.

But I know...

Jean was never welcomed in my house in her lifetime. Now in death she mocks me from inside the ashy cremation box. My sister-in-law needs to find a final resting place for her mother, or I will.

THE GREAT EVICTION

Thanks to the hard work of the Technical folks on AOL and Blogger I have transferred all of my precious blogs here. It was much easier than I had imagined. I'm still waiting for the page to turn black and then have rows of letters dripping down the page like the matrix, but not tonight. Tonight I shall not feed my growing ulcer. Tonight I shall sleep in comfort with the knowledge that my silly ramblings are safely stored in a new location on the cybersphere....

Until Blogger decides that free blogs are a waste of potential rental space and once again we find a 30 day eviction notice posted on the top of our blog.

If you haven't already done so, take advantage of the Blogger import tool and transfer your journals. Its so easy an idiot like me can do it!

Dorn~

FALL CLEANING or 'The Great Migration'

AOL is cleaning house and the blogs are outta here!  My dust bunnies, the Oompas, everyone, everything... POOF!  Gone!

So tell me again, what does AOL stand for?  I knew when I first signed up eons ago.  It was 'America OnLine' or some such silliness like that.  Well, they are systematically kicking America offline, whittling away at the services or products as they call them, until there will be nothing left but advertisements. 

Oh, I get it... Advertisements On Line!  That's what the acronym stands for!  Well, that's about right because with the cut back on chat rooms and message boards and the pending deletion of Journals, Hometown and Pictures then all they have to offer is e-mail  laced with tons of ads... and nobody to read them.

Pity.  I shall miss those silly pop-ups. 

I've already gone over to Blogger, clicked on the <forgot password> link because I don't think I ever knew it, and found a couple of blogs I forgot I even had.  One was so old it even had dust bunnies so I already feel at home.  Found a collection of my videos which was kind of cool so I'll be leaving that one alone.  Unfortunately someone already has a blog called 'Letters To Gabe' so I had to get creative and find a new name.  There is only one Dust Bunny Club Of North America though .

I shall miss this blog, but it's just a vessel.  You can be sure the Oompas, Dickdidoo, the dust bunnies and I shall be raising a ruckus, fartin' up a storm and loving every minute of the time we spend tormenting each other in another corner of the blogisphere.  I'll post our new address when we move in.  Please stop by, we'll keep the light on.

BYOTP (bring your own toilet paper!)

And a box of chocolate truffles would make a nice blog-warming gift...

Tags: AOL Journals Migration