A Fashion Yes??!!

For years my husband has been wearing his trademark, self implemented uniform of your basic blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt. The beauty in this, he says, is that you never have to think about what you're going to wear. You just open the drawer, pick any white shirt, any pair of pants and of course all the socks are white so it all goes nicely together. Dressed in 30 seconds - ta-dah! Little did I know he was about to become a fashion icon.

A few years ago I went to the local Fall Foliage Festival with my mom. This is a craft packed place few men dare to go. When we arrived I realized that the weather was a little more brisk than I had anticipated so I dug around in the trunk of my car and found said husband's old brown work coat. It even had his name embroidered above the pocket, which was ripped. The coat was a little stained. Afterall, it WAS a work coat. There were a few rips & snags on it. I put it on figuring no one would notice in the crowd.

As we were browsing, the proprietor of one booth, a pretty young women in her late 20's who looked like she was not a native of Around Here, told me she liked my coat. I did not appreciate the sarcasm, as I've always believed it to be in bad taste to make fun of those who are less fortunate, in this case, me. I didn't know why she'd bother to ridicule me so I just stared at her like she was nuts. Then she asked me where I got it. I told her it was my husbands work coat. Then she told me she LOVED it and turned to her friend who was also now beginning to fuss over me. "Look!" she said, "It's even DISTRESSED!" Knock me over with a feather. Then she went on to ask if I knew how much coats like this were worth, because where she comes from, people will pay a fortune for one.

Needless to say I walked away laughing my head off. I couldn't wait to tell my husband he was in style. He said I should have charged her $75.00 and sold it to her.

Now I find that holey jeans are all the rage. Again. This comes and goes every generation for some reason. As I glanced through a recent Penney's flyer I showed the husband this season's latest fashion trend. Holey jeans are all he's got. Some are patched but the holes come through anyhow. He decided he'd open a boutique and sell all his clothes.

The other day I went to China-Mart to buy some t-shirts for work. I ended up with a pack of plain white t-s. They match everything and their cool in the sun. Best of all - dressed in 30 seconds - Ta-dah! The man knows his stuff.

Farkle

Farkle. I cannot grasp this concept no matter how hard I try. I even read the directions for playing. It seemed simple enough. I clicked on the dice cup. Some dice rolled out. I randomly picked ones that looked like they matched. I clicked the cup again and the dice rolled again. Then the letters on the screen said FARKLE! Which if this is anything like Bingo must indicate that I have won. So just to follow the proper Bingo rules, I yelled to no one in particular: FARKLE!
I was so happy that I won on the first try. Then all the little dice disappeared and I realized that the game was starting over. So I did the same thing again, and Farkled again. I was under the impression that I was a FARKLE genius. Mais non. (Translated to english "But No." This is the only thing I can remember from French class besides the term "Ferme le bouche", which I've probably spelled improperly.) But I digress.

So I stared at the directions again. They were as clear as mud. I even asked my mother, the Farkle Queen, about this crazy game. She began spouting out numbers and matches and what is good & what is bad & none of what she was saying was even trying to go into my ear canal. It all bottle necked outside my ear & refused to go in.

There is a clear and simple explanation for my Farkle stupidity. It's the numbers.
Numbers hate me. I hate them. The only time they are relevent to me is when they have a dollar sign in front of them or are indicating the time of day. Other than that me & numbers don't jive. It started way back in high school when my dad made me take Algebra II. He wanted me to raise the bar, so to speak. The only thing I raised was Mr. Brode's blood pressure. I was clearly not one of his A or B students.

I used to shoot pool for fun now & then. Until. My husband was helping me line up a difficult shot & I asked him how he knew where to hit the ball. "It's just simple geometry" he said. I laid down my pool stick & haven't touched the game since. The idea of pool relating in some way to math just swooped down upon me like a dementor and sucked all the fun - WHOOSH- right out of it.

I don't know why I'm number disabled. There is surely a phobia in there somewhere. Someday they'll do a study & come up with some silly name for it. Just like they did with Restless Leg syndrome. Heck, I've had that since I was wee little. We didn't know it was an actual affliction though. My family just thought I was weird & mom would send me outside to run around before bed so I could lay still. And then 25 years later - HA - Restless Leg Syndrome! So I'm very curious to see how this turns out with numbers and if there is a cure for it. In the meantime I'll just try to farkle when no one is around to smell it.

What I Can Still Do

I was going to use this entry to go ballistic and rail at my fellow Americans for being nincompoops. I was going to sarcastically thank everyone who has paved the dreary future for me and ruined the good jobs we used to have. I was going to rant and rave about everyone's stupidity and love of materialistic things. I was going to.
Lucky for you, America, Aunt Betty gave us our yearly copy of "Daily Guideposts", which I keep handy in the bathroom so that I'm sure to read it on a daily basis. (Because, if you think about it, the bathroom is the ONE place you are sure to go and sit for at least a few moments everyday.) The scripture for today was "God does not show favoritism" - Romans 2:11 (NIV)

No, indeed he does not. But he loves us just the same. So instead of fuming (oh, I'd still like to go ahead and let you have it) I'm going to concentrate on the blessings we still have instead:

I can still walk outside anytime I please. I can come and go as I wish. I can sit on the porch or take a walk. I can still put out birdfeeders and watch the animals fight over it. I can have a dog or a cat. I can have a guinea pig if I want to. (Scratch that, the animal nazi said no.)

I can apply for any job that's hiring. I may not get the job but I still have the freedom to make the choice to try. I can talk to whoever I want to. There's not a law yet that says I can't be friendly. I can smile whenever I want to. The muscles on my face still work so why not?

I can whistle (although it's a very poor excuse for a whistle) while I work. It's not the beautiful whistle my pap had (I didn't get all the good genetics) but it's a cheery little noise that indicates I am content. I can also hum, which sounds even more off key than the whistle.

I can go to church anytime I want to. Every Sunday, or every day. The church is there and I can go. I can send a Thank You card or Thinking of You card, or Hey How Are You card. My hands still work, the post office is still in business and it's always fun to get something besides a bill in the mail.

I can buy stupid things that make no sense. There is no law that says I can't buy fake dog poop to place strategically in other people's homes when I visit. I can go to the county fair or the yearly town carnival. I still have my teeth which means I can eat corn on the cob or a candy apple.

I can share what little I have with whomever I want. No one said I couldn't share. And anyhow, isn't sharing what it's all about? I can still try to set a good example.

I can still make small choices every day to make my life and the world a better place. We could complain and yell and write angry letters to the editor or we can start actually DOING something. It all starts with having a better attitude. Even if you have to fake it at first. So for today, let's start small. Just smile at someone.

Enslaved By Wildlife

I never even saw it coming. It happened slowly and gradually, like the glaciers when they came creeping across North America. I suppose looking back, this has been going on for most of my life but I never realized the extent of it until this morning. The animals have taken over my life.
As I poured my coffee a few minutes ago I paused to look out my kitchen window. There is a fantastic view of the yard, flower garden and bird feeders. Underneath those bird feeders, like hungry lions circling a fresh kill, were the ducks. They hang out like a gang of street thugs, waiting for the smaller birds to scatter down seeds to them.
My intent upon installing the bird feeders was not to feed ducks. In fact, we don't even have any ducks. These Muskovies migrated from up the creek and moved in with us like unwanted house guests. They've taken over the yard, they eat anything that grows in the garden, they poop on my sidewalk and porch, they eat Old Bud's dog food out of his dish. They will even swim in the water that collected on the winter cover of our swimming pool. The Muskovies have got to go. There is a new gang of ducks in town and I'm hoping there will be a territorial overthrow. The new ducks are black with green heads. They're domestic but I'm not sure what kind. (Not Mallards, we have those too from time to time. Er, that is, they have us.)
Sitting also underneath the birdfeeder I spotted my little buddy, Chippy. Chippy (a chipmunk, I'm sure you guessed) has decided that my flower planting skills are not up to par and so he made a few modifications of his own. Apparently in preparation for winter last year, Chippy squirreled away loads of sunflower seeds and buried them in random locations for later use. Those seeds have sprouted and the result is small clusters of sunflowers here and there. I have to hand it to Chippy, this was a wise investment. Perhaps instead of investing in my 401K I should have just given my money to Chippy. By not eating those seeds and planting them instead he will be the equivialent of a chipmunk billionaire when these flowers bloom in the fall. And my bees will be happy about that too. Yes. I have honey bees. Yet another creature to which I am enslaved.
I turned away from the kitchen and went into the living room. From there I peeked through the window onto my front porch. On my porch swing, a robin has built a nest and is now sitting on eggs. On my swing. Where I like to sit. When I first saw the nest I thought it was a joke. Kind of like a tester nest. For beginners. Low to the ground, easy to get to. But then she moved in and there she stayed. Her hubby stops by every now & then to check on her progress & see how the kids are doing. So no more porch swing till this bunch hatches & I can ditch the nest.
I turned around & tripped over the cat who was there to let me know that IT WAS TIME TO EAT NOW. For an animal that can't talk she can get her point across emphatically when she wants to. So I fed Fat Gladys. She more or less runs the house, I'm just here to dish out the food & change the litter.
My chickens in the hen house have staged a coup and will not let me collect eggs without a tussle. When I bend down to collect what's been layed under the roost, Meanie hops up on my back and sticks there. When I reach around to brush her off she pecks my hands. The best I can do is flail around until she decides the fun is over and hops off on her own. The other chickens think this is hilarious. I can hear them cackling the whole way back to the house.
My coffee is now gone and I'm thinking of going for a little run. I like to go for 3-5 mile runs but that has been limited lately. My dog went deaf but he still insists on going along. The problem is, he can only keep up for the first mile. I've tried sneaking away without him. Deaf as he is, he must be able to smell my sneakers because he still manages to catch me. I even made a clean break the other day and was a quarter mile down the road when I heard his toenails clicking on the pavement behind me. He looked at me and grinned as if to say "Hey Mom! Don't worry, I'm coming!" Great. There is no aspect of my life, save my job, that is not run by animals. Roll my eyes and grumble as I may, I must admit, I sort of enjoy it.

On The Road

I've recently begun a new endeavor as a flagger. That is, I am the person with the Stop/Slow sign that you see at one end or another of road construction. Or more commonly, in the middle of construction at an intersection safely letting people out onto the highway.

On my days off prior, I would go in town to run an errand and wonder to myself who all the people were who were driving around. Don't they have jobs? Why are there such vast numbers of vehicles on the road during business hours?

I am pleased to announce the answer. As I stood in the middle of an intersection for 14.5 hours the truth became crystal clear. Old people. The roads are covered in old people. And old people do not get along with road construction.
When the milling machine goes by, it rips up the old road and carts it off so that the new pavement can be put down. This causes a small drop off and when old people have to drive their car over it they go 3 miles an hour so they don't damage the precious undercarriage of their 1992 Buick. God forbid.

Some slow down to the point that they cannot get their car to get up over the milling hump. Their car actually stops when they hit it and then they sit & spin their tires which backs up traffic and pisses off all the welfare people (who are also out shopping for cigarettes in their beat up Cavaliers & Reliant K cars with the fantastic sounds system and booming bass.)

In addition to the Old People, Welfare People and the Working Class (vans, trucks, etc.) there are about 500 rich blond women who spend all day driving through our construction site in their white Cadillac Escalades. I'm not sure where they are going but I am positive that I flagged the same woman out onto the highway about 6 times the one day. Her purpose in life is to drive around & look pretty.

I've also discovered some pro's to flagging:
1. I get to wear the same thing to work every day if I want to. No one knows & no one cares.
2. No hair washing in the morning. Pony tail & hard hat. (I do use my Mary Kay & brush my teeth though.)
3. I can drink all the milk I want for breakfast. Because if I fart all day long no one is there to smell it.
4. Kids on the school bus think I am AWESOME and they all wave at me. Little kids in car seats yell Hello out the back window to me too. I am almost as cool as the truck drivers who honk their horn when you make the “blow the horn” signal with your hands.
5. I have the power to stop traffic.
6. People respect this power.
7. I get to laugh at horrible drivers.
8. I get to see the sun, when it comes out once a year.
9. The day sort of goes fast
10. They pay you a lot of money to stand there.
11. The hard hats are actually comfortable. And dry when it’s raining.

So far no one has thrown a milkshake at me in a frustrated rage. But the season is young.....

Humorous Poetry

And now for some humorous poetry written by my favorite local un-published poet- Kelly C. Baker:

"The following was written on January 11, 2006 as I was sitting in my cubicle trying to will the clock to move faster. It always seemed to me that the hours of ten and two were horribly slow and dreadful. And due to the time of year, I was having a little bout of Job-Hate-January. I give you "Ten and Two.""

TEN AND TWO
by Kelly C. Baker

Ten and two, I loathe to see those hours upon thy face,
For ever slow they seem to me, devoid a rythmic pace

Ten and two two, the seconds halt, the minutes cease to flow,
Suspended purgatory, a forlorn worker's woe

Eleven brings us lunch time, a recess for the grown,
And three brings four, the blissful hour when we can all go home

But ten and two, I shake my fist, you are the bane of me,
How dare you creep by dreadful slow, a long eternity.

(Pause for Applause) Thank you, thank you.

And now another fave, This one is dedicated to my good friend, Coffee, written December 3 2005:

MY SECRET LOVE
by Kelly C. Baker

Dear Coffee,
I love you, l love your smell
you wake me up & I feel swell,
After I chug your taste devine,
you warm me up and clear my mind
I love your chocolate covered beans,
I'd eat them until I turned green
You are my vice, my guilty pleasure,
my coffee mug at work I treasure
Without it, there'd be no You,
and nothing to look forward to
I'd be distressed, dismayed, upsot,
if not for your brimming pot
I grin each time I take a slug,
cause you're my favorite legal drug.

Love, Kelly

Three Wishes

If you had three wishes what would you wish for? This is a ponderable essay question that changes for me from day to day. There are days when I feel more compassion for my fellow man and would wile away my wishes helping people regenerate new livers, find kidneys and heal their health problems. Today I'm feeling more selfish.
In the sleep deprived state I am currently writing under, my choices may not make much sense and in a few weeks I will probably wish to amend them.(And I will.) Sitting here today, coffee in hand and facing a grueling day of putting on my happy face and being a people person because that's what I get paid to do, here are my three wishes.
Wish #1: I wish it were financially possible for me to be a fulltime housewife. There are lots of women who probably share my dream. I rue the day those doggone women's libbers screwed me out of my free ride. I have a sneaking suspicion that this is the reason I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I want to stay home. But hey, who doesn't?
Wish #2: I wish I had a new Easter dress which will also be worn to weddings this coming summer. In the 10 years I have been married I have not once bought a new Easter dress for Easter Sunday. At best I have some very nice bridesmaid's dresses that sometimes double as my Easterwear. Stacy & Clinton would burn them, they are from the mid 90's. I wouldn't mind burning them either. And new shoes to go with the new dress. My shoes are as old as my dresses. They should never be allowed out of my closet but sometimes.......
Wish #3: I wish I had compression hose. Yes. Old people stockings. I think it would feel fantastic on my old tired legs and maybe help the blood get back up into my heart. My varicose veins would cheer. I'm not sure if I would like the knee highs or the famous T.E.D. hose thigh high's, hospital issue. At any rate, it would have to help.
And those, my friends, are my three wishes du jour. Pathetically sad, but true. Stay tuned, I'm sure I'll have three different wishes in a few weeks.