On Golden Pond...

On Saturday, H & I headed up to our cottage to make sure it is still standing after a long winter’s nap. It is! Yea! We bought *Nantucket* about 5 years ago when H discovered it in a For Sale by Owner booklet. I think he decided we didn’t have enough projects in the midst of remodeling our old house and designing and building a brand new house…so he found the perfect *project house* to help fill in any gaps where we might decide to, say, relax or go on vacation. We like to think of the cottage as *Nantucket* in the sense that we resemble the Kennedy family who can whisk off to a lovely weekend home as a getaway from our mundane everyday life. I must admit that our Nantucket is much more rustic than anything remotely Kennedy; however, the cottage is a fun place because it’s on the water and hey, there is always enough booze to make you ignore the décor and just be thankful there is at least indoor plumbing. Rather than *Nantucket*, I often refer to our place as *Jusfuckit*.

Since the past 2 summers have been filled with fun-adventures that involved selling a house and H singlehandedly building our new home, we have not had much time to spend at the cottage. Our last attempt at a weekend away, in the midst of HouseBuildingHell last year, ended in a horrible explosion of tempers when the plumbing in the bathroom decided to act up just as H stepped into the shower. As I recall, we ended up packing the car and heading home right in the heat of battle. It was ugly and I believe it to be a major contribution to last summer's complete and utter hell. Now that we are in the dawn of a new summer, H is once again raring to go on anything and everything involving work, tearing out, building, home improvement projects, and driving his wife completely mental. So off we went on Saturday to *make a list* (H’s pre-storm warning that tells me we are in for some fun!) of what we need to buy for this spring’s project.


One of my favorite things about the cottage is the neighborhood. Think King of the Hill. This is a colony of retirees who simply live to fish in the summer and survive on pure gossip in the winter. Let’s meet the neighbors, shall we…

*Denny* is a retired forklift operator who, after divorcing *Wanda*, told me he was in need of some companionship. He eventually hooked up with *Lois*, the widow of his best friend. When speaking of Lois’s husband, he will talk about his best friend but in the same breath say how “that bastard never treated Lois well a day in his life.” Denny wears canvas slip-ons, smokes generic cigarettes, and is usually a good source of what’s what.

*Jack* is Denny’s neighbor and sworn enemy. We are not sure what started this feud but we quickly learned that there is no love lost between the two. Jack is also retired, annually trains the swan families to eat from his hand, has a mysterious woman who arrives for a week or so mid-summer, and has pretty much greeted us with a friendly “Hi Neighbor!” when we have crossed paths.

*Tina* is a single mother to little *Glorianna*. Tina moved up from Chicago under mysterious circumstances. She introduced herself to us while her dog had the shits all over our yard. Glorianna or "Glory", is her overweight, somewhat obnoxious daughter who, at 7, is home-schooled. When they first arrived, Denny was looking for companionship and had high hopes with Tina…once referring to little Glory as “cute as a button”. This all stopped with the arrival of *Uncle Phil*.

*Uncle Phil* is Tina’s friend/brother/uncle?? We can’t figure it out. Uncle Phil arrives from Chicago every weekend in a blue Lincoln Towncar. He mentioned to H that he works in real estate. He purchased a pontoon boat and Chocolate Lab puppy for Tina and Glory. He also can't swim so he wears a life jacket most of the time when he is outside. The life jacket came in handy when Jack nudged Uncle Phil in his boat and Uncle Phil almost fell in the water. As a result, Uncle Phil hates Jack even tho the nudge was supposed to be a joke amongst neighbors. Since we heard Glory refer to Uncle Phil as “Dad” a couple of years ago, we now also refer to Uncle Phil as Tina’s Bootie Call.

*Richard* lives 3 doors down from us and is the neighborhood drunk. He seems to switch teams as far as alliances as he speaks to both Jack and Denny but not necessarily at the same time. He drives his boat very fast, usually with a beer in hand. Richard attempted friendship with H once by bringing him a tupperware container of rice casserole when I was not up at the cottage with him. H was afraid eating the rice casserole would put him smack in the middle of the Denny/Richard/Jack relationship so he played it safe and brought the tupperware container and rice home to throw it away.

*Bob Yager* lives across from Richard and, according to Denny, is thought by the majority to be “Queer as a three dollar bill”. Bob has a lovely landscaped yard with copious flowers, a bright pontoon boat with colorful flags, and young male visitors nearly every weekend.

By the looks of things on Saturday, the cottage is still standing and the gossip is still being served-up fresh! Denny informed us of his mild stroke while changing the kitchen faucet in November, Jack was feeding some baby swans, Bob Yager had a load of fresh potting soil delivered, Richard was holed up watching NASCAR, and Uncle Phil's Towncar was parked at Tina's. Can't wait for summer!

Precious Minutes

My mother just phoned to let me know that she and Ray have a new cellphone number. Mom has become high-tech enough to use her cell for all of her long distance calling. She noticed she was running out of minutes and was wondering if she was allowed to change calling plans so she got on to her dial-up internet and tried to check it out for herself. In this age of Blackberrys and Bluetooths and Razr’s and wireless internet and laptops, somehow the p’s always seem to put things into perspective.
Some snippits from our conversation…

I finally had to call the customer service number the other day and talked with the nicest girl! They sent us this new phone that we get for FREE! To buy it would cost $79.99!

I called again today after we got the phone to see how to activate it. The girl told me to just turn the phone on and I said, “How??”

…Then the new phone rang and I got all nervous so I asked her, “What is THAT? How do I answer??” I tell you, this girl was so helpful!”

I’m standing right here looking at this new phone! It answers when you open it and hangs right up when you close it…it’s a Noika flip or something!

We even have rollover minutes now! This is so good for your father!

This afternoon your father and I are going to figure out how to get the welcome message the girl sent us…we are just going to take our time and do it right!

The girl told me she needs a new phone, too. I told her she might want to get this one, it is really slick!

Your father has it all set up here…he is even charging the battery!

Darn barncats...!

So this new woman is boarding at the barn and she is annoying the hell out of me. I know this is very difficult to imagine since I am so rarely bothered by things; however, I am to the point where I am timing my visits so I don’t have to run into her. I am not the only one feeling this way, which I guess is a good thing. It means I am in with the *in* crowd even tho I don’t own a 35K horse! Yea me!

Anyway, *Lisa* is one of those people who tries extremely hard and with all her might to keep up with the Jones’s. (Me, I simply tap my heels three times and hope to hell I can pay the mortgage AND still lease my horse.) Now mind you, the *Jones’s* where I ride are more like *Rockefellers* so it is no easy task to keep up with any of them. Except for me…the AntiRockefeller.

On Saturday I was particularly irritable. I had gone to the doctor for a bruise I had on my leg. I thought it might be from riding but I was not sure. The doctor’s “OH MY GOSH!” kind of scared me and, unfortunately, she asked that I take a few days off from riding because it looked as if I had some soft tissue damage that was having a hard time healing, etc. etc. So, I was kind of bummed out and thinking my Olympic riding career was on the fritz. I went to the barn to brush the muck off my little guy and just have some quiet time when I encountered *Lisa*. After some idle chatter, Lisa mentioned to me how she isn’t planning to move her tack box to the barn just yet…this as she eyed my Rubbermaid storage bin with the “You’re ugly and that’s too bad” sticker on the lid.
I wonder if she thinks my tack box a/k/a Rubbermaid storage bin has cooties that will make her tack box look cheap? She also proceeded to inform me how she purchased her new horse from Washington State from a breeder. Ya whateveah. As if the horse is worth more because it is from another state? By this time, I was trying to ease myself away from her before my self esteem took a complete tumble into the familiar depths of non-horseownership. That, and I can tend to get a tad bitchy when pushed to my limits. This is when she dropped a zinger and said how unfortunate it is that I have to ride a horse that has “lameness issues”.

Lameness issues? I don’t think so.

Oh yes, his hips are way off and he tends to favor one side.

Yeah, well, he’s mine and he’s a peach and I am lucky to have him right now. It sure beats getting too far into debt buying something I can’t afford much less ride.


Meow.

Hindsight really IS 20:20!

I went to the eye doctor the other day which is not exactly a spalike winter-blah boost but I needed new contact lenses. My order from 1800 Contacts was held up until I could get an optomolic blessing from my doctor. I have gone to the same eye doctor, bar the couple of years I lived in Boston, since 4th grade. Is that not scary? As I sat in the examining room I tried to remember the various styles of glasses I have worn. Let's just say it was not a pretty time-travel journey. My first pair of specs, at the start of 5th grade, had red plastic frames with a slight swirly-shape to the sides. Oh, so pretty! I remember my friend Ellen had a similar pair in light purple but her mom splurged and let her get a heart embellishment on the bottom of the left lens. I hated her.

Being from a family of 5 kids, 3 who wore glasses, I had to wear the red plastics until I *was allowed* to get contact lenses in 8th grade. An excellent choice for both fashion AND durability, that first pair of glasses took me thru several jr. high volleyball and basketball seasons. The fact that I was no athlete subjected them to a number of bumps and elbows… A teammate even sat on them in the locker room once and they bent right back to perfect shape. My mother finally thought I was responsible enough to *care for the costly contact lenses* once I was nearly a teenager. She just never heard about the mascara wand I accidentally jammed into my eye the first week I wore them. The *coal black* waterproof Maybelline made a permanent mark on the right contact that stayed there right thru high school and college. (This was before disposable contacts for you youngsters out there!) My eye doctor finally asked me when I was planning to replace it and I had to lie and say I just kept forgetting to tell my mom.


Just after college, H & I were married and living in Boston and I suddenly became intrigued with the whole serious I’m-an-academic look. Heaven knows, I wasn’t very serious or academic in college so it was about time I got smart. I decided to chuck the contacts and don some large, round wire style frames. As one coworker told me, “They make you look very wise”. I was thrilled. Convinced that I was fooling the world into viewing me as one of those women often seen in Glamour Magazine…who are supposed to be working in an office but they have that “I’m Looking for Mr. Goodbar” sultry smile,…
I stuck with that theme for a few years. I was working in Banking, wearing spectator pumps and suits, and, like the Glamour lady, was working my way up to that glass ceiling! That phase of eyewear, along with my banking career, ended with a pair of thick black frames that made me look as if I had some serious issues to discuss.

H waded patiently thru those years and I think was secretly relieved when I announced a few years ago that I had once again found some new frames. The *new frames*, I later realized; put me right on the cutting edge of fashion. I shattered that studius look with a grayish greenish frame with imbedded sparkles in the sides. Yes, just follow me girls…I had Bling before it was all the rage.

Now in my 40’s and no longer feeling the need to look intelligent, I am back to contacts with the bling frames thrown in now and then. I figure this will keep me going until I find the perfect glasses-chain to wear around my neck…

That's HoochieWalkTrotCanter from now on...

One of the habits, I guess you would say, of living in a small town is that from the time you are a wee child you are genetically programmed to pick up the local newspaper in order to read several items religiously: The arrests and the obituaries. You just never know when the little kid you used to babysit will get arrested for dealing cocaine (this actually happened to me!) or your former classmate oh, say, is attacked and eaten by a grizzly bear (also actually happened to me...see The Grizzly Man movie...but that's another post entirely). Anyway, a religious reader of local interest items, (ahem!) I glanced at the obituaries this morning and found such a precious little gem of an obit:

Evelyn Louise Storey
EVELYN LOUISE STOREY "Hoochie Mama" Merrillville, Indiana Age 87 passed away in her granddaughter's arms with her grandson and their spouses at her bedside, February 20, 2006 at Colonial Nursing and Rehab.

Hoochie Mama??? I LOVE it! The obituary went on to say,

On June 30, 1935 she married Alvin "Did" Homer Storey, a marriage that lasted 60 years and produced three children.

I told "Did" (aka H) he may want to take note...THIS is how I want to be remembered:

She enjoyed plastic cross-stitch, games (cards, dice, cribbage), word-search or crosswords, fishing, traveling and was known to be "The Master Teller of Dirty Jokes." She delighted in performing in the annual talent show put on by the senior residents of her Ahepa Phase # 3 Apartment complex, where she resided for 8 years.

"Did" was not impressed that I inquired about tickets for the annual talent show at the Ahepa Phase #3 Apartment complex, nor did he appreciate my asking to be called Hoochie Mama from this point on. "Did" did, however, enjoy the dirty joke I told as we ate our oatmeal.

A sign this day just might be a challenge...

I was tired last night. Really tired. FallAsleepOnTheCouch Tired. Luckily, it's the weekend and better yet a weekend without a time schedule. Ahhh, the best laid plans...

This morning at 5:45 the poodles were alive and kicking and raring to go outside. I tried to ignore them but really, how does one ignore the *big chase* that involves Missy tearing across my body in a blur of white fur followed by Mr. P bearing his teeth and growling like he is going to rip her apart. No more sleep for this cowgirl. Miraculously, H was sound asleep. No, he is just better at faking sleep than I. Anyway, I trudged out of bed, down the stairs, and out the door to let them out.

Another big chase around the yard and Missy stops to take a poo while Mr. P PEES on her.

Yep, PEES RIGHT ON HER.

Argh.

Walktrotcanter: Defined

walktrotcanter -- [noun]: A person who has the ability to be invisible 'How" will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Tundra outside my kitchen window...

Tundra
Originally uploaded by WalkTrotCanter.

Why I am not going outside today:

The combination of cold early morning temperatures and northwest winds
of 15 to 20 mph... will produce dangerous wind chills ranging from
20 below to 30 below this morning. Wind chills will rise above
dangerous thresholds by late this morning as winds diminish and
daytime warming occurs.

Daytime warming = 9 degrees!

Coming This Summer: Walktrotcantering on Brokeback Mountain!

Yeah, so Hot Babe gets to go to a sunny island. Whateveah...

My friend asked if I would like to go to California this summer. She has a sister out there who she visits every year. From what I understand, the sister has a nice piece of property nestled in a valley very close to the mountains. The sister also has several horses so we will be riding and riding and maybe riding some more on this trip. My friend said she wants me to go because, selfishly, she wants a horseback riding buddy. I told her no problem...she can use me all she wants for that.

I have known this friend for several years and have often heard about her sister. Apparently, Sister has not had very good luck with men. She was in a very abusive relationship when she lived here in the Midwest so she went to California to get away from all of that. Once in CA she met and married a guy and had 2 kids. They were divorced about 2 years ago because the guy was fooling around behind her back. She bought her place and moved away from him. When my friend asked me to go with her in July, she was a bit nervous. She asked me out to lunch and hemmed and hawed a bit before I finally said what's the deal. It turns out that the sister, in light of all of her man problems, has turned to women. She now lives with a woman and, as my friend nervously pointed out *incaseIwanttoturndownthewholetripbutsheknowsIhavefriendslikethis*..., they share a room.

Between becoming my own version of a cowgirl out west and experiencing first hand some sort of a lesbian/bisexual Brokeback Mountain thing, this summer is sure to generate some interesting if not thought-provoking blog material. Stay tuned.

...and then I took on the roofing company

One evening during the year of HouseBuildingHell, H assigned me meet him at *the plumbing place* so we could pick out the sinks, toilets, and faucets for the new house. Because I was so (not) *into* the entire process of the planning, decorating and emerging beauty of the new house, I none-so-eagerly showed up after work to browse the various colors, shapes, sizes, and finishes of all things plumbing. Anyone who followed the neverending saga of building The House heard about how I detested the whole process …thus I was usually not a very pleasant person during these little shopping trips.

Nancy, the plumbing hostess, led us to the display of kitchen sinks once we had *tested out* both the standard and comfort height toilets. (She actually had us sit on the toilets so we could *feel* the difference. H was really enjoying himself during this. He even practiced holding a newspaper so he was truly sure which height was best.) PlumbingNancy was happily chatting about the benefits of her own black kitchen sink as she presented the selection of sinks. It never showed dirt, was terribly modern with her decor, etc. etc. The kicker with sinks, I found out, is that they come standard with a certain number of holes for the faucet, sprayer, etc. As luck would have it, the *Cashmere* colored sink came only with 3 holes (see, otherwise you have to have that *unsightly plate-thing to cover the extra hole) when the *Fairfax* faucet we liked required only 2, one for the actual faucet and one for the drinking water spout-thingie. PlumbingNancy suggested we get a soap/lotion dispenser to fill the extra hole. She was thrilled with the dispenser she had with her black sink and she raved on about how she doesn’t know what she would do without it. Obviously, PlumbingNancy does not live with H. Her husband probably works in an office and does not come home covered in pipe dope, drywall glue, and other various substances H encounters at work. Nancy's husband most likely comes home and announces he just needs to freshen up and he'll be back to help Nancy with the second and third courses of their meal. H for some reason jumped on the bandwagon and hailed the benefits of the in-sink soap dispenser. He lauded the utter convenience of the thing, how well they are made, bleah bleah bleah. Nancy was beaming with delight. S-O-L-D.

Fast forward to the present:

The soap dispenser and I have had an ongoing battle of goo since day one of installation. The damn thing is possessed and driving me to drink. (As IF I even need a ride!!) H is tired of my ranting and finally tells me to write to the company and stop complaining to him. I write a scathing letter to Kohler that ends with a question as to why I can purchase a soap dispenser from Bath and Body Works that will dispense thickasheck- beaded-with-moisturizer-anti-bacterial soap without fuss for just a few dollars while my $$$$$$$ *Kohler Fairfax* does not and has never worked.

I received a new dispenser for all of my troubles. Yea. On top of that, I received a note from *Customer Service* stating “We have determined human error as the cause of the soap dispenser failure”.

Human error?

MY Human Error?? Honey, I have worked in Customer Service for nearly 20 years. I could give seminars on The Golden Rule of dealing with customers so I'll give you a little hint: You never blame THEM.

I wrote back stating that my only human error with their product was purchasing it in the first place.

Anyway, it's all Plumbing Nancy's fault... but at least I didn’t get a black sink.

Just in case you notice me in blue eyeshadow and liquid liner

I stopped out at the mall the other day. It was Clinique Bonus Time and, well, even when I have all the makeup I need I can still find something to purchase in order to get that free gift which still, after nearly 20 years, includes bright yellow Dramatically Different Moisturizer. Who can’t resist that cheery colorful makeup bag with the fun trial sizes? Once while purchasing my obligatory amount of Clinique in order to get my free gift, a woman was walking past the counter with her husband. She saw that it was Bonus Time and suddenly turned to her husband and said “I…I…need some…something!” She didn’t even know what she would buy but she was obviously upset with herself for shopping with her husband during Bonus Time…husbands just don’t quite understand the obsession.

When I first began wearing Clinique makeup, I was just starting college. I remember feeling like I was entering a special sisterhood as I walked up to the brightly lit counter. Suddenly I felt very, very mature. No longer would I peruse the Maybelline and Bonnie Bell aisle at Walgreens. I would instead plunk down an obscene amount of money for bright silver eyeshadow cases and faux green marble blusher containers. And I, like many others, would eagerly await Clinique Bonus Time when it was all worth it because you got free stuff. Being a virgin to this new way of makeup shopping, I was assisted by the woman in the sterile white lab coat who was behind the counter. I remember she had short, blond hair and wore red glasses very similar to Sally Jesse Raphael. Several of us eventually referred to her simply as “Red Glasses Lady”.

Where did you get that great frosted eyeshadow?

Well, Red Glasses Lady recommended it…it’s a new shade.

Or

I can’t remember which color blush I used last summer…I’m going to have to check with Red Glasses Lady.

Always friendly but never pushy, Red Glasses Lady helpfully guided my friends and I thru Honey Blush, frosted eyeshadow duos, Moisture Surge Lotion, and self tanner.

I have since, in the course of makeup-wearing, shopped other Clinique counters in various cities across the country and even the world. The other day when I stopped in at my original store for my purchase and Bonus, I was assisted by none other than Red Glasses Lady herself. Only now she is sans the red glasses due to lasik surgery a few years ago. As I was waiting for her to ring up my purchase, another customer and I began talking about Red Glasses Lady and her friendly years of service to us. RGL returned to the counter and heard the last of our conversation wherein I said, “I feel like I have grown up with her!” To that, RGL smiled and informed us she is going to be retiring next month. The other customer and I both agreed that Clinique Bonus Time surely will not be the same without her. Certainly, our makeup shopping will not be nearly as comfortable without her expertise. Who would we trust now for new shades of colorful shadow and makeup tips? In a way, it was kind of sad. I didn’t realize how attached I was to something so everyday and familiar that I didn’t really think about it. I even feel kind of bad now about straying from her store to others during the last several years. I felt like a bit of a Clinique-counter slut. Anyway…

Thanks Red Glasses Lady…I’ll miss you!

My latest senior moment

For some reason, I have a great sensitivity to seeing old men by themselves. I have no idea where it comes from, since the majority of my life is spent making sarcastic fun of people in general. It happens nearly every time I encounter an older man who isn’t doing something retiree-esque such as golfing or having coffee with his friends. If I am, say, shopping and I see an older man stocking shelves or worse yet being a greeter in a store, I have the tendency to get a bit teary. To me, they just deserve better. He probably misses his wife and her wonderful beef stew and maybe his kids grew up and live far, far away and don’t call or write and that’s why this poor guy is working his part time hours to pass the time until Wheel of Fortune comes on at 6. My sister calls it my *sickness*. She will burst into gales of laughter in telling the story of my emotional encounters with the older man that used to work in the local K-Mart. Every time I went into the store there he would be stocking the Martha Stewart towels or slowly trying to figure out the cash register in the midst of a bunch of over made-up GenX teens. Once, to my horror, my sister phoned me to say she saw him sitting all by himself, ringing a bell and dressed as Santa Claus in the front of the store. I avoided the place for the entire holiday season. I must have died a lonely old man in a previous life.

Last Friday I was doing my usual grocery shopping. I was moving along, minding my own business in the chip and dip aisle when suddenly I had one of my *senior moments*. Coming towards me in one of those motorized cart-things was an older gentleman. He had on a little pageboy cap and very thick glasses. He motored right for me for a brief moment and suddenly took a sharp left turn right into the potato chips. As he buried the entire front of his cart in the Ruffles I could hear the air-tight bags popping and the chips breaking. Instinctively I wanted to turn around and just go away. Heroically, I might add, I grabbed the *handlebars* of his cart and planted myself so he could bury himself no further into chip and dip hell. Mumbling something about how to stop, he slowly moved his finger from the *gas pedal* and brought the thing to a stop, nearly running over my foot in the process.

As much as I wanted to shake that old man and scream at him for making me all teary and emotional because here he is all alone on his little cart crashing into things with no one to help him because his wife died and his kids never call and how did he even get to the store did he actually drive himself????, I instead smiled all brightly and said, “Whoops, better take it easy there!”

I really do need some help. Really.

Hello? Is it you???

Tonight at the gym I was on the eliptical trainer...located just behind the treadmills. As I huffed and puffed, I happened to look at this woman who was working just as hard as I on her treadmill. She looked vaguely familiar. You know, how you KNOW somone...but you just can figure out WHO she is. The entire time I was eliptically training, I stared at Treadmill Woman. Who the hell IS SHE?, I thought?? As finished my eliptical workout, Treadmill Woman happened to be finished with her workout and headed out the door to her car. She glanced my way once with no sign of recognition.

All of the sudden, it came to me! This person, Treadmill Woman, looked exactly like BlogPerson Lynne! I don't even know Lynne, I am but a lurker on her site...but I have seen so many pics from HotBabe, Stacy, and Christine, that I recognized her right there on the treadmill in my very own club!

Lynne, next time you are pep-stepping away on your treadmill in NW Indiana and the person behind you on the eliptical trainer is staring at you, rest assured it is just me, WTC.

Practice makes perfect...if you have the time.

I just got a call from my mother. Now that they are both retired, she and my dad enjoy attending these educational seminars offered by our community. The seminars are directed to seniors and cover all sorts of topics from medical issues to political issues, to music, to pets. They actually sound quite interesting even to a non-senior like me. They are, apparently, so interesting that the venue where they are held is getting too small for the senior crowd. According to Mom, some of the attendees have complained about parking, not being able to hear the speaker, and even not enough seats for everyone. My heart goes out to the poor soul who has to field those phone calls.

Anyway,

Mom told me she and Dad just received the newest seminar schedule.

"Your father and I just got the new Social Senior Schedule. They finally decided to move it to a larger building. It was so crowded your father couldn’t hear."

"That’s great Mom, they seem to get quite a crowd."

"Well, your father is pretty sure he knows the parking around the new place."

"It will be handy to know where to go, especially in bad weather."

"The programs don’t start until next week but your father and I are going to drive to the new place tomorrow."

"How come?"

"Well, your father and I need to practice going to the new place."

I so need to retire...

I couldn't stop lisenen to her

I have a most unfortunate duty, I think, in that I have to be “The Voice” of the phone system at my workplace. You know how when you call a business and “The Voice” gives you a number of options that hopefully get you to whom you wish to speak? That Voice. Once my mom called and when I answered my phone she said, “That was YOU!...That voice…It was YOU!” as if she had suddenly recognized me on the street and realized I was the leading lady in an academy award winning film. It was very exciting for her.

When I record the greeting, I try to be very careful about my pronunciation and diction because I am so very anal retentive. During the *recording sessions*, I need several attempts before I am satisfied enough to “go public” with the finished product. Hey, it isn't easy rattling off departments and extensions...and timing when to take a breath so I don't sound as if I am gasping for air. Oh, the stress! It is so not my favorite job! Consequently, when I call various businesses, I try to listen closely to their Voice just in case I might pick up any tips for my own performance. It can be very educational I have discovered.

The other day I had to phone one of our customers. The Voice was so very endearing because I will bet the woman spent a lot of time getting it as perfect as she possibly could.

Thank ya fer callin . Please lissen carefully to the followin options…

Fer Purchasin, press one
Fer Perduction, press two
Fer Shippin, press three...

The Voice was actually quite pleasant in a sing-songy country Tammy Wynette kind of way. In listening to the entire list of options there was not a "g" to be heard. It had me so intrigued, I forgot why I had called in the first place!

I am not sure why I wanted to post about this...It is just one of those cute things I find amusing in my odd little world.

Thank ya fer readin it.

When they scratch at the door what does it mean?

I bought some reins on ebay a couple of weeks ago. Now that I have a horse to ride I feel it necessary to further grow my tack collection beyond merely a used saddle. One never knows when one will need to look coordinated and classy on one’s horse. Who knows, I could be invited to a show, parade, or Olympic Games at any moment and I want to be prepared.

When I received the reins in the mail, they included a color pamphlet describing the seller’s spiritual counseling business. The woman is a channel, animal communicator, horse trainer, author, nutritional consultant, energy-meridian therapist, a 4th degree black belt, and founder of Zen Horsemanship. I am thinking I purchased my reins from God herself. Boy, do I ever feel inadequate after reading that resume. The pamphlet included a number to call for past life readings, channeled readings, spirit communications, animal totems, energy balancing, ghost evictions, and animal communications. At this time, I don’t have much need for past life readings or ghost evictions; however, I am kind of intrigued by animal communications.

“Animal Communications are about healing. This takes place in the subtle body of the animal, spreading to their human companions. Increased awareness to the animals’ needs and their purpose is a benefit gained.”

I read all of this and took a good look at my dog Missy as she gnawed on her Nylabone.

“Sucker…I’ll lie here and look like I am all into this and just as soon as that chick leaves to ride her precious horse I am so on the couch.”

I looked over at the other dog as he lounged on his dog bed…

“Ya, AS IF I am supposed to be comfy on this piece of crap. I call the chaise!”

Feeling very increased in my awareness, I bought 2 new dogbeds today.

My main squeeze

MAG
Originally uploaded by WalkTrotCanter.

He walks, he trots, he canters!!!Finally...A pic of the newest man in my life! Meet Mr. Magoo! His eyes look a bit funky from the flash but he seemed to enjoy our little photo shoot.

I just want to clear the air about Friday

On Friday afternoons, I usually do my grocery shopping immediately after my riding lesson. The store is conveniently located near the barn so popping in, picking up my items for the week before heading on home seems to work out just fine. One disadvantage of my speedy method of grocery shopping is that I am usually still dressed in my riding clothes while shopping. I don't smell or anything...it isn't like I stomp in horse shit and wander around the fresh veggies, but I do tend to look a bit dusty just from being in the barn.

This past Friday, I was doing my usual *shopping in ridingwear*. I was nearly finished and heading down the dairy aisle when, just ahead of me, I heard "Ohhhhhhhh Daddy!!!" I looked up and there was a man about my age with three little kids. Another kid said, "Awwww Dad...let's get outta here!" I couldn't figure out what had happened until I moved forward and tried to breathe..."Dad" had let off one of those putrid beer or chili farts that was lingering right next to the margarine. As luck would have it, a woman happened to be heading down the aisle right towards me, just as I entered the toxic zone. Me in my dusty riding clothes.

"Dad" and the kids sped off and guess who got the"I can't be-LIEVE you stunk up the refrigerator section you filthy barn rat!" look of sheer disgust?

A very belated holiday review...

Well, the inflatable Santa, life-sized snowglobe, chaser lights, pine-scented pillows, and NOEL fingertip towels have all been stored neatly in their cheery red and green plastic bins…the holiday season is officially over. YEA!!! (Actually, I never had any of the above…I just like the blogworld to think I get into the holidays like every other red-blooded American and buy the latest and greatest in tacky seasonal items.) I have been the non-blogger for too too long! Not that I have had nothing to write about, it is pure end-of-the-year laziness. That and I have been riding my horse every day for several hours a day. I think I was beginning to get a bit bowlegged so thankfully I am back to work. I am trying not to sit on my deskchair as if it is a saddle…that might get some odd looks from my coworkers.

I have been reading about some of your holidays…you all have these warm, inviting photos to share, silly stories of presents and toys and wonderful trips. Honestly, it is impossible for me to even attempt to top any of that so I will simply review the past couple of weeks in bland list form. You may have the idea I am not very fond of the holidays and you are correct. I don’t detest the merry time of year, I simply get tired of the idea that everything is supposed to be happy, cheery, and tied with festive red ribbons. I do the happy, cheery, red ribbon thing for about a week and then I am broke, crabby, and ready for all of it to end. I do try my best to vew the entire season with humor; however, most of the time I seem to revert back to my usual sarcasm...imagine that. Anyway, back to the list:

H & I celebrated Christmas Eve by munching on Chinese food and watching It’s a Wonderful Life. I fell asleep before my favorite line, “To my big brother George, the richest man in town!” H was happy I was asleep because despite having seen the movie a zillion times, I cry every single time.

On Christmas day, we had my parents and NASCAR brother over for drinks. NASCAR brother brought a jar of North Carolina moonshine he had received as a gift. After tasting it, we all agreed it could probably best be put to use running an automobile. Yikes. On an interesting note, my folks gave H & I a humongous package of homemade sausage as a gift. The thing must weigh about 10 lbs. Knowing I am not a fan of sausage whatsoever, my mother said, “I know you two don’t really eat this, but it will be great to serve when you have people over.” With that amount of sausage, I am thinking we could invite a third world country for a get-together and still send people home with doggie bags.

For the second year in a row, I received no horse-related items as gifts. I give up. Thankfully, I have my own little horse now (YAHOO!) and I am ebaying myself together as far as necessary equipment. As much as I would have LIKED new breeches, a saddle pad, brushes, tall riding boots, a crop, a quilted vest, a titanium helmet, chaps, reins, a snaffle bit, boot socks, and/or a saddle cover, I was a good girl and smiled with thanks for the chocolate fondue set and Dilbert calendar.

H tends to get a bit bummed out on Christmas morning because he would love to have a houseful of kids to wake us with their present-opening anticipation. He has this idea that every other family shares a Norman Rockwell-esque warm fire, well-behaved youngsters, a golden retriever, and a Mrs. Cleaver wife during the holidays. I can’t understand why an icy cocktail, two neurotic poodles, and a wife in riding clothes won’t cut it for him. Anyway, he was feeling his usual we-need-some-kids mood until my brother and his family arrived. By the time our nephew was lounging all over the new sofa eating greasy chicken wings and our niece was projectile vomiting on the new area rug, his tune was rapidly changing to “when can we have our cozy quiet house back”. It was really kind of funny to watch. Poor H and his romantic ideals.

Last of all, it seems our cookies-for-the-neighbors sales tactic worked. We received friendly little cookie-reciprocations from several of the power-washing folks around us. One was even a late Christmas Eve delivery complete with a hearty, “Welcome to the neighborhood!!”. Perhaps they only wanted to get a closer look at Those who don’t decorate the wellhead and Those who don’t extract the unsightly soil from the driveway but the cookies were pretty darn tasty.

By the way, a belated Happy New Year to everyone!

The stockings have been hung on the chimney with care...

HO HO HO!!!

I have not had much time to blog this week...what with whipping up yummy yule logs, glue-gunning festive baubles for present-wrapping, gathering dried folage for my table's centerpiece, and taking time to shrink wrap gift baskets for the needy, I have hardly had time to do anything. Ya right...let's get serious.

H & I are hanging out at home this weekend...he deserve's a long winter's nap after all of his hard work the past year. (Mainly putting up with me!) *Hanging out* will pretty much involve cocktails, movies, and munching on snacks, as these are a few of our favorite things. We may change out of our sweat pants to walk the dogs if they REALLY have to go. My sis and family from Michigan are arriving on Monday so we will have a houseful of guests. I am making dinner for a crowd on Monday evening...sis, parentals, NASCAR brother, etc., so I have a bit of meal-planning to do...but it will be fun. I am off the entire week so it's time to relax and visit!

The very bestest news of all is that I am now the *leasee* of a lovely chestnut Quarter Horse gelding!!!!!!!!!! It is a bit of a stretch financially but H & I agree it is a good way to start out so we know what owning a horse will cost in the future. I am beyond thrilled...I feel like a 6-year old on Christmas morning, actually! Honestly, I am kind of afraid I will run the poor horse into the ground riding every day...but I was assured he is *healthy as a horse* and he needs to be ridden so there you go.
I'll post a picture so you can all oohh and ahhh about him. He's such the little peach!

Have a safe and happy holiday everyone! Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas to All...

H’s last day of bell ringing at Wal Mart was last week. He has such confidence when he goes into these things. I know he dreamed of his moment of fame when the mysterious gold coin would appear during HIS stint with the bell. I think he had visions of transforming the entire town into a celebratory scene from a Hallmark card as he stood next to his bright red kettle.
Instead, on his last night, he had to move out of the way to make room for the police and ambulance folks to get inside the building to deal with the woman in the wine aisle who smashed a bottle over a guy’s head.

…and to all a good night.

Power Sellers

Since H and I moved into the neighborhood during what I like to call “The Broiler Portion of Summer”, most of the neighbors were holed up in their air-conditioned homes on the weekends, bar the weekly powerwashing of the driveway by the neighborhood men. The noise of the powerwashers made it somewhat difficult for H and I to introduce ourselves so we normally gave a friendly wave (or hoist of the Miller Lite in my case). The powerwasher-people usually returned the wave, often with a somewhat puzzled look as if to say, “Who are you…you who sit idly while your driveway collects dirt and grime?” Once the powerwashing season was over, the weather got cold and no one came outside so we have not met many neighbors. These people don’t know what they are missing…wait til they find out that H will rake leaves, blow snow, and generally become a cabana boy once he gets to know them. Anyway, we were kind of hoping to get somewhat of a jump-start before next Spring as far as knowing who goes with what powerwasher. We figure maybe they will find us to be somewhat normal despite our unsightly driveway, battlefield themed well-head, and mole-tunnel filled yard. I know, our chances are getting pretty slim…especially since my potted mums on the porch kept falling over and blowing across the yard during my attempt to fit-in and seasonally accessorize this past Fall.

During some discussion the past couple of weeks, we decided we are going to try the direct approach and actively campaign to meet our neighbors during the holidays. Instead of painting holiday-themed signs or whipping something together with felt and a gluegun, we decided to bake cookies and distribute them to the folks on our street. We made several varieties of cookies over the weekend and I purchased snowman-containers and raffia ribbon so we could put our little packages together in deliciously attractive bundles.

H: What do you think I should write on the card?

WTC: Feliz Navidad…then they will think we are foreign and thus don’t know how to powerwash.

H: No, really…

WTC: How about Jesus is the reason for the season! Then they will realize we are religious and can’t do yardwork on Sundays.

H: Will you stop it…they will think we are weird.

WTC: We ARE weird.

“From our powerwasher to yours, H & WTC wish you a very happy holiday”

Another holiday classic from Indiana!

I may have mentioned previously my *love* for *attractive* Christmas decor and kozy kristmas crafts. A 7’ inflatable Santa, a life sized snowglobe, animated light-up reindeer, cheery glue-gun-assembled wreaths, cornhusk nativity sets…my list of items goes on and on. Screw the classy red bows and lighted garland…I want plastic candy canes, chaser lights, and wreaths on the grille of the car!

After the big Midwest snowstorm last week, H ventured back to our old neighborhood to plow snow for our two neighbor ladies. The two are sisters, in their 50’s, who live together. While we lived on that street, H always raked their leaves and shoveled their walk in the neighborly gestures that make H the nice guy he is. (Amazing that such a giving guy should end up with someone as selfish, sarcastic, and bitchy as me…opposites attract, I guess.) Anyway, since we have moved from the neighborhood, he feels sorry that suddenly these ladies have to fend for themselves during the brutal Indiana seasons of falling leaves and snow. The two ladies were thrilled that H arrived to save the day. He was showered with hot tea and freshly baked cookie treats. He also came home with a gift. A lovely thoughtful and handmade gift.

Knowing my *affection* for tacky craft items, H brilliantly placed the homemade sign at the entrance to our garage. I nearly drove through the garage door when I saw it.

Frosty and Me Welcome Thee!

WTC: “Yikes, where on earth are we going to put that?”
H: “Ummmmmmm, I guess we can’t leave it here by the garage in case they stop over.”
WTC: “Well we can’t put it on the porch or anything, someone might SEE it!”
H: “I know, it isn’t exactly your style unless the Frosty means a nice iced glass of something”
WTC: “Perfect. Let’s put it on the bar, then and call it good.”

Overheard last evening in the Ladies Room of a rather fancy restaurant:

Oh my god…I am so wasted

Ya, you’re pretty bad

I haven’t had a drink in three years. I’m so wasted.

You drank at last year’s party, didn’t you?

No, I haven’t drank in three years.

But you were so wasted at last year’s Christmas party. That was crazy.

I wasn’t drunk, tho, I just smoked the pot, remember?

Oh ya…right. You are so wasted.

A Kozy Kountry Kristmas

This past weekend a friend invited me to go with her to the “Annual Christmas Open House Tour” that takes place in a little town not too far from here. Those who participate in the “Open House” are local folks who decorate their homes and sell crafts, baked goods, and gift items. As a visitor, you have a map and you drive from decorated house to decorated house to shop for lovely Christmas goodies in this quaint rural area. As a rule, I should never be invited to go along on one of these things because despite my morphing into Martha the odd time, I am not a fan of crafts. Especially crafts that involve angels, cheap-smelling candles, and Avon gift sets as seemed to be the norm for this particular *Tour*. I do enjoy this friend of mine, however, so I went along like a trooper and tried my best not to be my usual bitchy snob of a self.

The first house was a teensy place with plastic candy canes lining the walk. We entered the house to be greeted by a huge woman sitting on a very puffy sagging couch. Between the couch and the 6' big-screen TV across from it, there was a walkway about six inches wide. We marched in to see what she had on display. There was a lamp made from a cup and saucer, several odd-colored candles in canning jars, and some wire hangers with knitting on them to make them into sort of a padded hanger thing. T-A-C-K-Y. I always feel like I have to say something at this point so I don’t start laughing…so I exclaimed, “How WONderful!” My friend looked at me like I was completely nuts. “Just look at these candles…and how cute is this tea cup lamp?” The lady kept watching her humongous TV so we turned around in-place and headed towards the front door. I uttered the obligatory yet jolly “MERRY CHRISTMAS!” as we proceeded down the candy cane lined path.

Another house (again, this place was teensy) was festively decorated with bows and lights. We were met at the door by a woman with tons of makeup and the largest rear end I have ever seen. She introduced herself and led us by her waddling bum to a kitchen and dining area filled with more knitted hangers and several dishes of food that looked a bit difficult to identify. She exclaimed how she is a Tastefully Simple Rep and this food is sooooooooo fantastic because you never have to add more than one or two ingredients! Not only does she do the home parties, she will take orders DIRECT for all of our favorite foods! “How NICE!” I exclaimed as I viewed her lovely display of pre-packaged foods...all loaded with fat, sodium, and mysterious preservatives that make them so wonderfully yet tastefully simple. I pictured myself suddenly growing an ass as large as hers and I went into a slight panic. "Wow, only two ingredients to add...this stuff looks amazing!" I said with enthusiasm. I am the reigning queen of sarcasm after this day of crafts and festive holiday food.

My favorite house was the “Christmas Cabin”. The place looked like a log cabin kit. Under H’s watchful eye, I have become an unwilliing yet highly educated student of quality house construction. (See blog- Summer, 2005) This most definitely qualified as a homeowner special. H would have marked it with a big red F. The “cabin” was decked out in light pine paneling kind of a tongue and groove look…all decorated in holiday cheer. The “Cabin” ambiance would have had me had it not been for the blue shag carpeting and overstuffed, misshapen couch/loveseat with matching coffee table in the living room. What the hell kind of log cabin has shag carpeting? And cheapy Wickes furniture?? As we proceeded to the dining room/kitchen, the flooring changed to a white linoleum. Not only white linoleum but white linoleum with heat registers cut into the floor. Little House on the Prarie Not. FAKERS, I wanted to scream, WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE KIDDING WITH THIS CABIN. Instead, I glowed, “Quite a house…did you build it yourself?”

Just a bit more holiday cheer from rural Indiana. I am so going to burn in hell someday.

You can ring my be...eh...ehll

A couple of weeks ago, H & I were home on a Friday night, having kind of a *cocktails and snacks hour* (formerly known as Happy Hour but now that we are no longer hanging out in bars, we have renamed it to suite our more geriatric at-home theme), and watching TV. As per usual, H had full control of the remote so we were watching nanoseconds of every channel on cable tv. Also as per usual, he stopped at a station that drives me batty, the local cable access channel. It isn’t that I don’t care about all things local; it is more the home-video look of the set. The people, especially the one county sheriff who is the host of most of the shows look washed out, oddly shaped, and generally in ill health due to the low video quality and amateur-ish format. So I hate watching it. Anyway, H’s channel-surfing came to an abrupt halt on this cable channel because it was a show about the local Salvation Army chapter.

H: I thing I wanna ringa bell thisyr.

As if on cue, the washed out oddly shaped sheriff in ill-looking health seemed to have heard H’s drunken proclamation.

WOOSS: Sooo, what’s that number again? Can we put it up on the monitor, Bill?

H: I’ma gonna ringa bell. Wherz thphone?

(Note to self: Do not, I repeat DO NOT sign up for anything having to do with serving the public during *cocktails and snacks hour*!)

Since H was probably the one and only caller that evening, The Captain from the Salvation Army called almost immediately to assign him to a 3-week schedule of bell ringing. At WalMart.

Last night was H’s premier as the WalMart Bell Ringer! After work we went thru a lengthy discussion on whether he should go with the traditional “Merry Christmas” or the more politically correct, “Best wishes for a happy holiday, Christmas, Kwanza, etc.” when he receives a donation in his *kettle*. Of course I suggested he go with a complete religious theme and shout out a hearty “Peace be with you child of the lord!”. H carefully chose his tasteful yet thermo-protective clothing as standing outside WalMart in a north wind calls for some serious layering. He left the house a man determined to spread holiday cheer. And to stay warm.

When he got home, I immediately asked him if we should consider suing the Salvation Army for damages due to carpel-tunnel syndrome in his bell-ringing hand. He stoically said no, but maybe we could do something about the psychological damage of having to watch WalMart patrons for an entire evening. In particular, there was one child who was handed some money by his mother so he could put it in the kettle. H said that as the kid went to put the money in, he FAKED putting it in the slot and kept the money for himself.

Welcome to holiday time in NW Indiana…

It isn't exactly my 100 things but it's a start

I stole this from Herb...it's kind of fun on a cold grey day.

TEN FIRSTS
First Best Friend: Steven Ellsworth
First Screen Name: Daria…I don’t even know how I came up with that name!
First Pet: I had a turtle named Norman
First Piercing: I got my ears pierced when I was 13 at the Merle Norman store downtown. I got sick to my stomach every time I tried to change the earrings, tho, so I let them grow back. I got them pierced AGAIN as a brave 16 yr old.
First Crush: Ricky Quackenbush. He was a hottie in kindergarden. The name may have been a challenge...WalkTrotCanterQuackenbush...
First CD: I am not sure when the albums/tapes morphed into CD’s…probably something U2.
First Car: 1987 Dodge ColtFirst Stuffed animal: I had this huge stuffed turtle (probably because of Norman) and we kids would often swing him around by his neck and hit each other.
First Kiss: Jamie Broadhurst…it was after a dance in high school. I believe Jamie now lives with another guy in San Francisco.
First Failing Grade: 10th grade geometry. I got a D and nearly had to go into therapy.

NINE LASTS
Last Beverage: Diet Coke/VO last evening
Last Movie Seen: Dreamer
Last Phone Call: A guy asking for a quote
Last Cd Played: LeeAnn Rimes. H had it on in the car and I didn’t know he had taken my CD out so I turned up the volume to “How Do I Live Without You”. Uggh.
Last time you Cried: Last week on the way home from the barn. A woman there just bought a grand prix horse for $26K and I was feeling quite jealous.
Last thing you ate: A strawberry/banana yogurt.
Last bad thing you did: Yelled at H about how he arranged the garage so I can’t back out my car. He was crushed because he thought he had done a great job.

EIGHT HAVE YOU EVERS
Have you ever dated one of your best friends: yes
Have you ever been arrested: no
Have you ever skinny dipped: yes…thank heavens there wasn’t much of an audience!
Have you ever been on tv: Yes
Have you ever kissed someone: Ummmmmm…yes.
Have you ever cheated: in a relationship? Yes…I had been dating my college boyfriend for 3 years and met H on a semester abroad program. I came home engaged to H and had to tell my boyfriend. Bad scene.
Have you ever been in love: Yes
Have you ever been in a car accident: Yes, right after I got my license!

SEVEN THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW
1. A favorite J Jill sweater
2. My obnoxious red Ariat boots
3.Eddie Bauer jeans
4. Gold hoop earrings
5. A bracelet I got from H
6. A white t-shirt
7. A padded bra. I am such a cheater.

SIX THINGS YOU'VE DONE TODAY
1. Drank 2 cups of coffee
2. Took a shower
3. Read the paper
4. Emailed my friend
5. Changed the CD in my car
6. Surfed the internet

FOUR PEOPLE YOU CAN TELL ALMOST ANYTHING TO
1. my friend Chrissy
2. my husband
3. my best guy friend
4. Geoff

THREE CHOICES
1. Black or White: Black.
2. Hot or Cold: Cold.
3. Chocolate or Vanilla: Chocolate

TWO THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE
1. Own a horse. Duh.
2. Stop worrying about my weight.

ONE THING YOU REGRET
I wish I would have taken my time after college to figure out what I wanted to do. All of the sudden I had a job and responsibilities and a husband!

We gobbled and gobbled...

...and the turkey is all gone! The long Thanksgiving weekend didn’t seem so long. In fact, it seemed to speed by quite fast as most long weekends have a habit of doing.

Our dinner was a rousing success. We ate in the dining room in the lovely ambiance of picture-less Weaver’s Cloth colored walls. (Martha, where are you??) Luckily H had installed a dimmer switch so with the help of candles, it merely looked like a cozy intimate setting as opposed to a very plain, undecorated room. As if on cue, my parents popped over (“We’ll be out of there in a jiffy so you can prepare your meal!”) and stayed for several hours even as I was putting the final touches on some snacks for our dining guests. My dad helped his hungry self as I was slicing and arranging so by the time the guests arrived, the snacks looked a bit snacked-on but that’s ok. It’s the holidays after all. My NASCAR brother was also home and arrived in a blaze of race-season-ending glory. He is in the process of taking a job with another race team so he was full of stories and name-dropping (“yeah, the other night at dinner with Paul Newman…” etc.) Hard to believe I used to change that kid’s diapers.

Friday was interesting. I went to a horse auction in Shipshewana Indiana. Shipshewana is known for its Amish population so usually there are lots of horses and buggies around. I guess the auction is where many of the Amish buy their horses because the place was packed. A friend I was with decided she was going to pick up an Amish guy so she could get a ride in a buggy…so she was flirting the entire time with every man in blue cotton pants and suspenders. She also kept trying to speak Amish-ly by saying “thee” and “thy”. At one point, she said to me, “Get thee over to the concession stand to get thy friend a Coke.” She didn’t pick up any guys, imagine that.

On Saturday I rode my own horse prospect, Whiskey…whose name is actually Risky but I like Whiskey better because Risky makes him sound dangerous and, well, I am a chicken so why even go there. In a scene much like Cinderella, I found that my saddle fits him to a T! I am happy to say all went well and I walked and trotted without too much trepidation. YEA! This one could be a keeper…stay tuned.

One quick note, today is Missy’s birthday. You know, my bionic million dollar poodle with the magically cured eyes. She is 3 years old this day. Happy Birthday Missy! I’d give you a card with some money or a gift but I can’t afford it since your surgeries just about put us in the poorhouse. Instead, we’ll do some serious MilkBones tonight! :)

Gobble Gobble, etc.

I have not had time to blog lately…what with all of my sewing, knitting, and decorating projects for the holidays. Stringing popcorn and dried berries, spritzing the fresh garland on the mantle, setting up the snowglobe collection, and inflating the super-sized Santa for the front yard keeps a girl busy! It is so hard to be Martha. Not really…I have just not been home and during work I have been, well, working. Instead of blogging. So here is a brief recap so you can get thru the Thanksgiving holiday knowing WalkTrotCanter is still alive and kicking.

1) I looked at a horse last weekend. I actually just did it for kicks because it was close by and the horse is selling for cheap. I figured it would be good practice in horse-trading. WELL, not only did I like the horse, I was completely unafraid and got on him bareback! I am going to ride him in my saddle this weekend to see how it goes that way. He is a bay (which is dark brown with a black mane/tail) with a white star on his forehead. Cute Cute Cute! Also, his name got me…they call him Risky but I misunderstood the woman on the phone so I thought his name was Whiskey. It's carma I tell you.

2) H & I are having our first company over to the house for Thanksgiving! It has been very exciting to prepare for this because it meant that H got a bunch of stuff finished that was un-done…such as hanging towel bars, bathroom mirrors, and finishing a built-in bookcase which is really nice now that it is not a gaping hole in the wall that spews drywall dust every time we walk by. YEA! I am a little nervous about the cooking aspect of the visit/visitors. I am a decent cook but I always get a little tense when I am cooking for others.


3) I found the best product ever! Did you know they make paper shades for windows that look, from the outside, like real pleated shades? They are fabulous! I was wondering, with the whole horse budget and all, how the heck we were going to cover the windows…especially in the rooms we don’t even use. Now we can just use the paper ones until we move…er, I mean, until the end of time…er, I mean until we can afford (hahahahahahahahaha) real shades. Do you think houseguests will mind terribly that they are sleeping in a room with paper shades protecting them from the neighborhood eyes? Geez I am cheap.

4) I finally found all of my winter clothes. I had them stored at various places all over town. Some were packed away during the entire winter last year so it is like having a completely new wardrobe! I have an awful lot of sweatshirts.

5) There doesn't seem to be as much going on in my life to blog about as I thought when I started this list. Cheap girls with lots of sweatshirts don't have much of a life. Oh well, best wishes for a safe and happy and healthy holiday!

Life Insurance 101

Now that we are 40-somethings and home owners and deeply in debt, H & I decided it was time to make sure we are on the right track as far as retirement, life insurance, and all things involving how we will pay for our lives in the nursing home. This stuff is not interesting and costs money without any fun involved whatsoever so we had been putting it off. Needless to say, we had opened a couple of insurance policies back in the 1980’s (when we were newly married, anxious to dive in to our life ahead and when we still somewhat liked each other…j/k!!) and kind of left it at that for nearly 20 years. I guess we figured we had plenty of time to make millions in our careers and save enough money for our later years. I think we are now realizing we are soon going to be old fogies and we are not even near the million-dollar bracket. Duh. So anyway, we went to our insurance agent the other night to get things *organized*.

One item we discussed was life insurance. The big question being, what amount of life insurance do we need or require? Since I am the one who handles all of the bills and H has pretty much avoided the whole household finance thing from day one unless it involved budgeting for a new tool or construction project, this got kind of interesting.

Insurance Guy: H, how much money do you want WTC to have if something happens to you? Think now about funeral expenses, paying off debt, and living expenses for her when you are no longer around…

H: $3,000.

Insurance Guy: $3,000? With 3 zeros?

H (looking completely clueless but trying to sound like he knew exactly what he was saying): Yes…that should be plenty, don’t you think?

Insurance Guy: I’m glad I am not married to you.

WTC: Welcome to my world.

After we discussed my living in complete poverty upon his untimely death thus convincing H that perhaps he may want to up his dollar amount if he wants hot meals and clean laundry (not to mention sex) for the remainder of his living days, we moved on to rates for the life insurance policy amounts we had finally chosen. There were three categories of rates: Smoker/Drinker/GoingToDie, OverweightMiddleAgedButNonSmoker, and ExtremelyHealthyMustEatGrapeNutsAndTofuandJogSeveralMilesDaily. After showing us the rates, Insurance Guy made a major faux paux:

Insurance Guy: Here is the SuperPreferred-Almost Free Rate that WTC will receive since she falls into the ExtremelyHealtyMustEatGrapeNutsAndTofu category. I don’t think she will even need the physical…we’ll just put her right into that one…geez, how many miles do you run a day? Hmmmmmm…H, I am pretty sure you will need the physical. You don’t smoke, do you?...welllllll, we’ll put you in OverweightMiddleAgedButNonSmoker and see what happens. You may be on the line of Smoker/Drinker/GoingToDie but we’ll see.

H got this horrified look on his face and I believe I saw steam coming from his ears. He knows full well that I am the one who not only smoked for several years but he can literally set the clock by my cocktail hour. There is ABSOLUTELY NO WAY he can possibly be in a higher category than me. I smiled smugly and wholeheartedly agreed with Insurance Guy.

This week, while we wait for the health-screening folks to call us, H is in all-out health and physical fitness mode. He has exercised, shunned alcohol, and has eaten oatmeal for nearly every meal. He is utterly determined to be in the same category as me and completely defy Insurance Guy. Meanwhile, I stand by with my martini and dream of how I will spend my well-earned $3,000.

Little House on the Mole Hill

With the ever-increasing challenge of making our new house feel *homey*, H & I are pondering the what/where/how of landscaping for the outside of the place. We figure if we start now we MAY have some kind of plan together by the time we actually have to make the trip to the garden center in the Spring to purchase trees and any other organics that will take little or no regular maintenance aside from my standing on the sidewalk with a Miller Lite showering them with the hose. The yard is rather large, a little under an acre, so there is a lot of room for a lot of whatever it is we decide to plant. During the summer, while the house was still progressing, we *seeded* the yard. This was H’s great plan. He figured if we seeded the lawn, we wouldn’t have an entire winter of mud and we could then take our time with any landscaping. The neighbors, he figured, would be happy enough to see that, despite the fact that we seemingly have no theme for our wellhead other than “raging battlefield", we at least had the courtesy and fortitude to plant grass seed. (I think we may have had them a little on edge ever since the day H pulled his rusty 1987 GMC truck up to the front door to unload some things and he ended up leaving it there for several days. As these people power-washed their driveways, they turned the evil eye to our unsightly plot of land and whispered among themselves.) Thus, we spent a trillion dollars on KentuckyBlueGrassGrowLikeHellIntoALushAndGolfcourseLikeLawn. The grass grew, albeit 75% crabgrass…but it is green and, from a distance, looks somewhat lawnlike. To the untrained eye, at least.

Last weekend, H came running inside to inform me that we have moles. “Moles, WTC, they are RUINING our lawn!” He was all in a tither that the nasty little creatures were tunneling here and there and over and across in what looks to be a rather extensive condominium development complete with health club and pool. There are even a few volcanic-like areas where the moles popped their heads up from their burrowing to see where they were. (“Hey Al, I’m just gonna go a few more feet til I am even with the cable box, ok?” “Then we’ll break for lunch and maybe go for a beer.”)

So H was all upset about this new mole population and he insisted I go to the internet to see how to eliminate the problem. In my research, I found that the BEST way to COMPLETELY rid a yard of moles is to KILL them. The best method for KILLING them is to IMPALE them. The IMPALING can be executed either from a trap set in the ground in mid-tunnel, or by driving a shovel right down into the tunnel as the little guy burrows on by, (OMG) thereby IMPALING with one’s own yard tool.

I say we spend the money for traps or we really impress the neighbors and somehow incorporate the whole impaled-mole theme into a decoration for the well head.

The Happy Couple

The Happy Couple
Originally uploaded by WalkTrotCanter.

We had a lovely day for the pet Halloween party. AND, we remain the champs! YEA...Mommy really IS Martha Stewart! Mr. P and Missy won the "Cutest Small Dog" category. We came home with a basket of dog toys and treats for our prize. I think that calls for celebration...what's a wedding without a drunken member of the wedding party...

Nothing But Net

I don’t know about people sometimes. They really amaze me as to how narrow-minded they can be. I hate to sound like an old fogie but it has scared me on more than one occasion what little attention some folks pay to things outside their little bubble of a world. I am hardly one who travels the globe but I do make an attempt to learn about what is happening in the world. Heck, if you just turn on public radio for a week you can get caught up on what’s going on as far as all things political…and it is explained in neat, understandable little packages. The world is wacky enough so it scares me when, for example, a couple of weeks ago, a person well into voting age (who by the way expressed his unwavering support of a certain Republican President last November) asked me who Condoleezza Rice was. I guess maybe is just isn’t that important to know the key players who represent the United States to the rest of the world. It is, in this guy’s case, much more interesting and important to know every detail about his Sony Hi-Definition Plasma TV with Surround Sound he purchased at Best Buy. Anyway, I digress…what I am getting at in my many words is that I often wonder where people are and what the hell they are thinking that makes them do the things they do. Here is an example that came up last night. It is kind of a funny visual but a bit disturbing at the same time:

H, in the little time he takes to tear himself away from all things work related, volunteers at a local shelter for abused women. Many of the women who end up there have kids and H helps the kids with homework, plays games, reads, etc. while their mothers are busy getting counseling and trying to make their lives better. He loves kids so this is the perfect way for him to help out while doing something he really enjoys. It is also good for the kids because they are getting a positive male role model in their sometimes very messed-up lives.

Last night, upon his return from the shelter, H told me about a new guy at the shelter who is supposed to be a Child Advocate. This means he is there to make sure the children, who have often been abused themselves, are put on some path of recovery depending on what has gone in their lives. H’s description of the new guy was, “just out of college, thinks he knows everything, and wears those baggy pants that show his butt crack”. (H spares no words.) H said that last night, he and the kids were playing basketball when *new guy* said he would play too. The kids were all under 10 years old and H had been playing so that each one got to have the ball and take a shot. H was acting like he was working really hard and the kids were enjoying the fact that they were winning…everyone was all smiles. Apparently, *New guy* joined in and started playing like it was the NBA. He was taking jump shots and running over kids to “get to the net”. Instead of giving the kids a playful confidence builder, this *Child Advocate* was becoming the star player. It was all about HIM! H said he even made the last shot, a slam-dunk into the child-sized net. Fun times, I am sure, for these kids who have, in the past few days, seen their father beat the crap out of their mom, had to leave their home with the clothes on their backs, and had to live in a shelter so their mom can figure out what to do so they will be safe. It sounded a little like a skit on Saturday Night Live…which I’ll bet this *Child Advocate”* watches. On a High Definition Sony with Surround Sound.

Here are 2 examples...last year's Halloween costumes and, of course, the Santa visit. They are way too patient with me. Wait til you see the Bride and Groom...I'll post pictures on the big day!

Guys2

Guys2
Originally uploaded by WalkTrotCanter.

Guys

Guys
Originally uploaded by WalkTrotCanter.

I am sick of the sick

You won't get the title if you are not a follower of the walktrotcanter saga circa 2005...anyway, I stayed home from work today. A *sick day* if you will. I am actually fighting a touch of flu...sore throat, slight fever, earache...all things that point to "You had better stay home and better yet, DRINK, WOMAN". So I stayed home, lounged on the sofa, and ever the radical, had beer with lunch. I think they call this a Mental Health Day.

My staying home threw the poodles completely out of whack. Their usual "Mom's home for lunch pee" ended up as several lame whines at the door but when the door was opened they didn't know if they should go out to pee because it wasn't time. My poor dogs...they are such creatures of habit. They don't have a clue what they should be doing when I am home during the day. They are wonderful, tho. Anyway, the most important thing I did today was to make Halloween costumes for the *Big Party* which will take place on Saturday.

Last year at this time, while I was lounging around the Motel 6 trying to get a life, I read about this store here in town that was having a Halloween party. Prizes would be given to the best costume, there were refreshments to be served, the whole shebang. "Ah HA!" I thought..."I may be living in this complete shithole but I am clever with Superglue and felt, dammit!" ...and I was off to the craft store for supplies. Supplies, that is, to make costumes for my poodles. Oh yes, the pet store downtown was having a Halloween party for dogs...and may the best pooch win! Hey,when you live for a year in the Motel 6 and at the same time you own poodles (2 of them at that!), you have got to be completely out of your mind. Indeed, I was. And still am.

Last year, I ended up making a very clever *tandem* costume for Missy and Mr. P. Since Mr. P is kind of big and roly poly for his poodle body and is also black, I rigged up exhaust pipes (foil covered toilet paper rolls), handlebars (foil covered paper towel roll), a felt seat with hot red rivets (felt and rivits) and made him a Harley Davidson motorcycle. Missy, the dainty white poodle, was outfitted in a Harley denim vest, goggles, and bandana...so she was the motorcycle chick. They were the very vision of Easy Rider. It was a complete success...not only did we get the free refreshments, we won the GRAND PRIZE (!!!!!!) which was a gift certificate to the pet shop. (This is a pet shop on-par with where Paris Hilton would shop for her dog only on a small-town scale. Nonetheless, an expensive place.) YEA!

Now, as the returning champions, Mr. P and Missy will arrive at the party as a bride and a groom...ok, I know it seems a bit incestuous but they are not related. Mr. P. has a tux with tails (black felt) and a white collar (white statin ribbon sewn to the felt). His bowtie is black and pink with sparkles. He has a dapper pink flower pinned to his coat and I am going to grease his hair down so he has a part in it like a guy all dressed to the nines. It is fabulous! Missy, also known as Bridezilla because of her reluctance to stand still to be fitted, will don a silk dress with pink and white toule that trails behind her (lots of zig-zag on the sewing maching!). Her veil is a crown (pipe cleaner) of fake flowers (wired to the pipe cleaner) with a matching pink ribbon. I even stitched up a little garter that will fit on her front paw...it is the paw she raises when she shakes hands so she can really show it off. The happy couple looks fantastic when they sit and stay. I say, break a leg, guys...we must repeat our win of the GRAND PRIZE!!!!

I guess Friday night will be Mr. P's bachelor party at the strip club and Missy's *personal* shower...

I really scare myself sometimes...LOL

I think the Journey scares me

Remember being a kid? Of course you remember being a kid…but I mean do you remember being so caught up in fun and play that you rarely hesitated in doing something just because you were scared? If you were anything like me you sailed along doing all things precarious just to push the limits-only to be kind of surprised when someone of authority stopped you and pointed out the extreme danger in what you were doing. It was like constant Fear Factor beginning at about age 3. I remember leaping over fences, leaping off of swings, leaping off jumps on my skateboard, and leaping off my bike in the contest of who was the best stuntkid in the neighborhood. Really daring...or really stupid, I guess that was me.

Anyway, I guess I am wondering where the hell that went? When did the sense of fear begin to weasel its way into my head?

On Saturday, I went to visit Journey again. Journey is the horse I am considering as a major first-horse-ever purchase. I am so excited this is actually a consideration!!! I arrived at the *weekend home* of the sellers early enough so I had time to go out to the pasture to get the horse. It was very enjoyable and my Journey was a complete peach as I groomed him and talked with him and saddled him up with my very own saddle...to see if it fit. It did. I guess I mean It will...when he loses about 100 lbs. (He is a bit out of shape.) So, there was Journey all saddled up and ready for action. That was when I got scared. Like, really scared and chicken and full of fear. I looked all around to find that 6-year old daredevil for some encouragement and she was no where to be found. THAT BITCH!

The Instructor arrived as I was lunging Journey in a circle...just trying to look cool while me and myself argued about how to get on to ride. Instructor got on and rode a rather rusty Journey...he (the horse) has not been ridden for over a year (hence how fat he is!) and also has a really bad habit of tossing his head. It is a bad habit because someone like me thinks the head toss will graduate to a full bucking rearing dance that will toss me the length of the arena. It makes me scared. The head tossing, from all expert accounts, is just a bad habit that doesn't go any further than tossing the head. This in mind, I mounted the horse and walked and trotted around just fine. As we trotted, I began to feel *the scare*. The scare that makes me want to hop off that beautiful horse and walk away and curl up and cry; thus, giving up my olympic riding career...and that has made me nutsy. How will I ever be able to try out a new horse if I get *the scare*? I am truely in a quandry as to what to do. The Instructor and I have discussed how, with a bit of work, Journey will cease to toss the head...this is a correctable thing! I am just not sure if I want to do the work? Argh. How long have I wanted a horse?

I think I will write a little note to that 6 year old girl and tell her to put down her flying skateboard and get her young and fearless little ass over here to give me a pep talk.

My Journey has begun

A few weeks ago, my riding instructor told me about a horse that is for sale that would be, in his words, THE PERFECT HORSE FOR YOU. I hate when he says that because of, well, the whole timing issue. H & I had talked about the GettingAHorseProject…but since we only moved into the house a month or so ago I was trying not to leap into it too soon. (What’s the rush? I am only 40 and have been wanting a horse for, oh, about 39 ½ years or so.) It is one thing to move into the house and another to have things like bathroom mirrors (which we still don’t have and you don’t even want to picture me having to put on makeup at the full length mirror located in H’s closet. – long story) or towel bars (which we also don’t have yet so we hang our bath towels on the crank thingies on the windows). Seriously, I was trying not to rush the whole horse thing which is a stretch for the likes of me and my mindset the past year. A+ for attitude.

Anyway, The Instructor starts telling me about this horse a few weeks ago. He is a Quarter Horse gelding named, appropriately, Journey. I told H about him and to my shock and amazement he agreed we should look at him. On Saturday, we went with The Instructor to the *weekend home* of a rather prominent Chicago family. The *weekend home* happens to have a stable with an indoor riding arena. The three daughters of the rather prominent Chicago family like to ride on the weekends. I hate them. It seems that the three daughters have one too many horses and so they are selling Journey. I so hate them. As my luck has it, he does seem to be THE PERFECT HORSE FOR ME…he is not too huge, is very sweet and affectionate, and with some work could be a super nice ride. He has not been ridden much at all in the past year so when I got on him, The Instructor walked beside me – Just in case the poor horse forgot anything he knew and decided to take me on a rodeo ride. He was super-comfy…even at the slow trot. The problem, aside from the minor hurdle of finances at the moment, is that he needs to be worked so that he remembers all of his walking/trotting/cantering/behaving stuff. When a horse is not worked on a regular basis he gets lazy and out of shape…much like humans only at 1500 lbs. He would be a bit of a project; however, The Instructor is quite sure it would be the best thing for me as far as learning and bonding… and I would end up with a gem of a horse. What’s a girl to do?

To add to the decision making pot, the prominent Chicago father of the three daughters has agreed, if I buy Journey, to pay for 5 mos. board at a barn with an indoor arena so I will be able to work him. Why? Because they want him to go to a good home and they don’t just want to sell him and not know he will be happy. Geez, I really hate them. They must know I am a sucker for happy healthy animals. What to do???

H & I agreed I will ride Journey again on Saturday, in my own saddle to see how he is a second time. This is driving me nuts with anticipation, excitement, and a little bit of fear…you know how you should be careful what you wish for? I think I am doing just that. Stay tuned :)

For Martha it would be Real Simple

Since I am now residing the sparkly new house in the sparkly new kitchen with all sparkly new appliances, I am suddenly feeling pressure to cook nice meals. I have always been a decent cook; however, I am thinking I’ll have to be a bit more creative now that I seem to have every new and innovative device available to today’s modern wife. Don’t get me wrong, it is my own doing…H really is not a picky guy as far as food. It is just that when we were residing at the Motel 6 and I saw a recipe that looked good but was a bit involved as far as preparation, I could say to myself, “no way would I be able to make that Fassone Beef Tartar with Artichokes and Wood Perfumes in this dinky excuse for a kitchen…Impossible!” Now, if I see a recipe that makes me drool, I have nothing to say. Making the Fassone Beef Tartar with Artichokes and Wood Perfumes could be a process that takes an entire day and I have absolutely no reason not to rip that recipe out of Food and Wine and whip it up MarthaStyle with this new kitchen and all. It is real pressure I tell you!

The other day, I was reading a magazine called Real Simple. A free issue I received had some delicious-looking recipes that were *supposed* to be easy/after work-type meals. I most often like to cook from scratch as the sodium content in prepared/frozen foods is enough to make me bloat so bad my pants don’t fit for weeks. Serious sodium bloatation. Like many working stiffs, however, I do not usually have the time or the energy to dive into something such as Fassone Beef Tartar with Artichokes and Wood Perfumes after a grueling 8+ hour day at the office. The Real Simple recipes were just that. Real Simple while being Real Healthy as well! YEA! I trooped off to the grocery store last week to stock up on all of the recipe essentials. Unfortunately, it was one of those days at the store where, at 5 pm on a Friday evening, every parent in Northwest Indiana decided to pack up all of the kids, take them to the grocery store, and proceed to let them scream at the tops of their lungs. Oh ya, and they also took the older kids off their leashes so they were running thru the aisles in a manner that had me bobbing and weaving for my various food items. Do they just KNOW I am going to be there or something? Am I some sort of attraction device for hyperactive, unsupervised toddlers?? Damn shoppers with kids…maybe the recipes were supposed to be Real Simple but the shopping was Real Crazy.

After making a delicious Salmon With Roasted Onion and Fennel on Tuesday, last evening was the big night to prepare Chicken Souvlaki. I rushed home from work, chopped, diced, marinated, sautéed, and mixed. The lovely aromas of herbed chicken and fresh vegetables wafted about the kitchen. I hummed happily, the very picture of Martha herself. H arrived home and I gushed about the lavish temptations that awaited his palate. I reached into the fridge for the fresh yogurt dill sauce (the crown jewel of the entire dish made with fresh PLAIN yogurt). For some reason, my eye caught the words on the yogurt container from which had come the yogurt for the yogurt dill sauce. “Low Fat VANILLA Yogurt”. Yuck. Chicken Souvlaki with VANILLA yogurt? That would absolutely be grounds for me getting fired on The Apprentice.

H: “Why are you standing in the fridge"
WTC: “No reason, just getting things ready for this sweet meal ahead!”

Today it's MY Birthday!

...my blog's, that is! A few things about my blogging:

It’s an addiction.

It got me laughing during my darkest moments at the Motel 6.

I have met some truly interesting and fun people. I feel like I know children, husbands, friends, and boyfriends (real and imaginary). It is way better than watching TV!

It has helped curb my ebay buying because I spend more time reading than I do shopping.

Like a few others, I see the crummier moments in life in a new light. H cringes when I say, “Oh, you are so getting blogged!”

I have a whole new attitude towards soy.

I was so scared to “come out” from semi-lurker to blogger!

I only did it because Stacy asked where I was in one of her posts.

I began the whole thing by reading PlanetDan’s post about senior pictures. (It was forwarded to me by a friend who said I could probably relate)

Thanks, Dan!

It has been a whole year and the Motel 6 posts are over! YEA!

It doesn’t mean the house is completely finished so don’t think the sarcasm will end.

I am still a lurker on certain blogs.

But I read my favorites every day!

I think it would be fun to meet some of the people in person.

But they don’t even know my real name.

Happy Birthday Roundpen...here's to another year!

~Maureen

I believe I may have arrived.

Be warned that there exists, as you grow older, a point in time when a certain role-reversal takes place. It doesn’t always have a defining moment; in fact, from what I can tell it kind of creeps up on you and suddenly you realize it’s there. Not only is it there, it often requires immediate attention and/or action. It is, of course, the moment you realize you are starting to parent your parent. As in, “Mom, stop crying. I’ll thread the needle for you…No,no, you are not going blind…the thing is really small. Look, even I can’t see it!” Those small moments, where, in the matter of minutes, you begin to do the comforting, problem solving and emotional supporting of the person or people in your life who you thought were absolutely perfect. I mean, they taught you not to swear or pass gas in public, laugh and make fun of others (ok, some of us are still working on that one), cook and do laundry and bathe on a regular basis…they pretty much, except for the odd genetic flaw, made you YOU. All of the sudden, you notice your dad burps at odd times and your mother calls to ask you what she should do because the pharmacy messed up again and she’s so mad but didn’t say anything because she didn’t want to make a scene and you suddenly find yourself telling your dad to stop it, that’s gross and telling your mom you will phone the pharmacy and give them hell. I think I have definately arrived. In ParentTheParentVille.

It has been a few months since my mother had her heart attack. Since then, she has graduated from cardiac rehab, maintained a daily exercise program, revamped the food supply to all things heart-healthy, and has generally done everything she is supposed to do on the path to good health. Despite her good intentions and the support of her family, she is extremely fearful of something going wrong again. I have noticed it in phone calls and conversations…she got dealt a nasty blow and, in many ways, is still on the mend. I was, in fact, getting to the point where I was trying to figure out how to suggest maybe she see a counselor; however, my parents are extremely private people. You don't discuss finances or personal difficulties...they will just work out in time, dammit. (If only they knew about the place called BlogLand where one can rant like a raving lunatic to everyone in the entire world who has an internet connection and everyone can not only read life’s juicy details, they can even make comments if they wish.) Even suggesting my mother “talk to someone” is about as likely as me giving up my evening cocktail. Not gonna happen. Last week, I got a phone call that went something like this:

Mom: As part of my volunteer group, I am taking a training class to assist people who have lost a loved one. I am supposed to help put them in the right direction in case they need help.
WTC: Good! You will be really good at that.
Mom: Wellllll, not really.
WTC: How come? You are good with people and you know practically everyone in town.
Mom: Well, (here came the tears) we were doing a role-playing exercise and I was playing the part of the bereaved person.
WTC: Yeah?
Mom: (sniff) I was doing my thing and all of the sudden I started just sobbing. WTC, I was SOBBING! (Is actually sobbing by this point in the conversation)
WTC: Hmmmmmm…what did the other people do?
Mom: The woman in charge took me aside and said she didn’t think it was really time for me to be doing this…that maybe I am just not ready to be counseling sad people.

It turns out this lady happens to be (as luck would have it) a professional counselor who has now offered to “meet” with Mom. My mom explained to me how wonderfully nice this woman is and how it will probably be so good to talk with a professional who will understand what she is feeling and help her get past whatever is going-on. She was practically gushing with relief.

WTC: That sounds great, Mom…It’ll probably do wonders for you.
Mom: Well, you know, it isn't like there's anything WRONG. And of course I am not going to say anything PERSONAL to her.

WTC: Right. Just give her the cliffs notes and you’ll be cured.

Be warned...just think, one day you may be here, too. I'll be sure the bar is stocked when you arrive.

WELL? What are we going to do?

Now that we are moved, we are going thru the "making the place ours" thing. It is kind of difficult to know where to begin when it's a new house since the place has no real personality yet. There isn't much to work from as in an older place. In a house that has been lived-in, you can say, "I think I'll trim those bushes back so we can see the basement window", or "These Brady Bunch curtains must go." In a new house, you say, "MY GOD, WE ARE COMPLETELY EXPOSED...WE NEED BUSHES!" ...and if you are me, you cover the windows with sheets, open a beer, and admire your work. I have, with the fine example of Mandy, switched into MarthaMode. What with her bathroom remodel AND scrapbooking I was feeling somewhat lamoid in my skills. In retaliation, this past weekend I bought fabric and stiched up some lovely silk curtains for a few of the key viewing areas. You know, the windows that you have to duck to walk by in case the 16-yr old neighbor boy happens to be out in his yard looking in. ahem.

The biggest dilemma I have found in making this place a true homestead, however, is the proper decoration for the well head that is sticking out of the ground in the middle of the yard. Ours looks like a white pvc pipe with lots of weeds around it right now. At one point in the construction phase, H put some orange flag material on a pole next to the well head so it wouldn't get hit with any construction machinery. The little flag looks as if it has seen some heavy artillary at this point. Our little battlefield theme was just fine with me until I took a tour of the neighborhood. My findings were not good. No one in this land of PerfectLawndom has anything remotely similar. Apparently, I was wrong to think this might be perfectly acceptable. How trailer trash of me. Instead, I discovered, we are supposed-to have a thought-out theme happening with the well head and its immediate surroundings. I so fit in here!

Take for instance, Neighbor #1: This is the couple at the end of the road with a really pretty little girl, the wife that H lusts after, and the husband who looks like he has not quite evolved completely from his caveman ancestors. They have a lovely garden theme happening in their yard. The well head is, I discovered on my tour de neighborhood, cleverly hidden under one of those big fake rocks you can get at Menards. Ah ha! Very creative! Neighbor #2 went for more of the Billy Goat's Gruff theme. A perky little footbridge arches over the unsightly well head. A wooden cutout of a little girl is set up to stand on the bridge as if she is gazing over the lush yard. I also noted a scary wooden black cat that was recently added to the bridge as a Halloween decoration. ("H, get your ass outside...it's time to put the Halloween decorations on the well head!") Neighbor #3 is probably my favorite in that he is working more along my lines as far as creativity. He topped his well head with a whimsical wishing well. This little whimsical wishing well is the only landscaping for this entire location. ("Hey look, I can save wads of cash on plants if I just put this wishing well here. It covers the unsightly well head AND works as enchanting decor! It pretty much takes care of the whole yard!") Brilliant.

Unfortunately for H, I began coming up with ideas for our yard post-PerfectLawndom tour. Battlefield was just not going to cut it, however he didn't exactly go nuts over my Jimmy Buffet theme. Or the one with water-action. If this keeps up, I may just throw a sheet over the thing and call it good. Did I happen to mention how much I have enjoyed this moving business?