Funeral Crasher

So there I sat this past Saturday morning, enjoying the epic cheesiness of "Eclipse" (thank you Netflix) when I got a phone call from Walt, my unofficial personal assistant. He was calling to let me know that my great-aunt's funeral was that day at 11 o'clock. I found out at 9:45am. 

He said he had left a message on my answering machine about the viewing (the night before apparently) which my machine failed to relay to me. This made me wonder how many other important calls my machine has not given me.

"Kelly? Ed McMahon here. You won the million dollar sweepstakes..." 

Walt was unsure of the exact whereabouts of the funeral but he did know it was at 11. There are only 350 small churches in our community. I felt that I should make the effort to go, and besides, where two or more of my dad's family is gathered, usually a good time follows. I was sure I could find it. 

So I raced to the shower (after I finished watching the Cullens defeat the army of newborns and discuss Bella's future with the Volturi) and was on my way.  The first church I stopped at had only two cars in the parking lot, neither of which was a hearse. 

I tried calling my dad on my sister's old trac phone with 29 seconds left on it. Since there is barely any service in our area I had to drive further down the road just to make the call. It went to voice mail.  He was apparently already at the funeral which was surprising since he is notoriously late for everything. I kept driving.  I even tried calling my gram to see if she had a newspaper with the obit in it. I think I got her out of bed. 10:50am is sort of early for her. 

Three churches and 35 minutes later, I was getting uncomfortable. The vintage dress I was wearing (which fit 5 years ago but not so much anymore) was giving me the vapors from having to suck in my gut. My pantyhose (how OLD FASHIONED!) made me feel like I was wearing long johns because it was a very hot day. I should point out that the purpose of the pantyhose was to cover up the fact that I was too hurried to shave my legs and to give the appearance of a fake suntan. 

I had pretty much given up on finding the funeral when I fell in line with some white cars doing about 20 in a 55 speed zone. Could this be the funeral procession?  I was ready to turn on my hazard lights when I realized that it was just a string of old people driving. ARRRRRR!!!!

So I pulled over in a corn field and shucked off the pantyhose and unbuttoned the middle of my dress to let my gut hang out. Oh sweet relief. The white car drivers were going so slow that I caught up to them again. 

I decided to call it a day and just head home. That's when I passed a church with a full parking lot AND a hearse. So I stopped. And almost got out of the car half dressed. It's a good thing I looked down to find my purse. I put myself back together but there was no way I wrestling the hose back on in a church parking lot. Houdini I'm not.  No wonder no one wears those things anymore. 

Quietly I snuck in the church, and slid into the back pew, hoping this was the right funeral. I decided that no matter whose it was, I was going to stay and if anyone asked how I knew the deceased, I was just going to say they used to be my Sunday School teacher. Even if he/she was the town drunk, that was my story and I was sticking to it. Turns out I was at the right church - I could see the back of my aunt's head.

While I was sitting there I also had an epiphany. This winter, when I'm tired of the ramen noodles, I'm just going to go to random funerals and stay for the meal. I could potentially be eating ham and green beans every day for free. Eventually someone will be clever enough to write a screen play about this and when they do, I want you to remember who came up with the idea first. 

To Bee or Not To Bee (Stung)

Yesterday, while I was working on job #1 (if you don't know what job #1 is, click here) we were barreling down the highway on the chipper and my face and a yellow jacket happened to collide.

Normally the bees and I have worked out an exchange of etiquette that goes something like this:

1. The bee (I used that term loosely, it could be a yellow jacket, a wasp, a honey bee, a bumble bee, etc.) hits my face or body.

2. The bee politely excuses itself. Oh excuse me, I didn't see you there.

3. I excuse myself. No, pardon me, I didn't mean to intrude.


4. The bee and I exchanges brief pleasantries in a British accent. Quite alright, quite alright. Lovely weather we're having today, yes?  Oh my yes, quite lovely. I'm so sorry to have bumped into you so rudely. Here is my card if you need anything.  Thank you very much, You have a smashing day now, no pun intended.  Ha ha, a witty one you are. Yes you have a jolly good day yourself. 


5. Then the bee flies on it's way and I go about on mine. Neither of us are injured, just a bit shook up.

But yesterday the bee I rear-ended with my face had no time for such silliness. In fact, I suspect that the bee happened to be flying the same direction we were and we just overcame it, causing it's stinger to go directly into my face causing shock, pain and panic for both parties.

We hit each other so hard I barely had time to see the bright yellow stripes of its yellow jacket before it went careening off to the side and crash landed in parts unknown. It hurt like the dickens.

Normally, my face looks like this:

Occasionally, my face looks like this:

But this morning....my face looked like this:

I am smiling with both sides of my mouth, but the left side of my face was puffed to capacity and did not allow any room for upward movement of my lips. My left nostril was also swollen which pushed my nose askew to the right. My top lip was swelled up too.  If you think this is acceptable, scroll back to the first picture. Then come back down here. Then laugh heartily because I sure did when I looked in the mirror this morning. 

My Resume. Sort of. Incase You Ever Wondered.

For those who read my blog regularly, you may sometimes ask yourself, "What exactly is it that Kelly does? I mean, sometimes she's poverty stricken but then she talks about being a church secretary and then she tells stories about traveling around to work. So what gives? What the heck does this Kelly character do?"

When people say to me "So, what do you do?" The only answer that makes sense to give them is "Oh, lots of things." Other times I just say that I'm self employed. It would take all day to tell them about all my jobs. So for those who were curious, here it is: 

1. I work with a tar & chip crew. You know- those people you hate who lay down tar & cover it with stone & then you complain and drive 10mph on it even though it's rolled and packed tight- I'm part of the group responsible for your misery. This is a sometimes job that usually takes up most of my summer months. I was just off to a slow start with it this year. I sometimes wonder if the company I work for even knows they hired me because I've only ever met one office person. But she handed me a hard hat and a safety vest and I get paid so I can only assume that they are aware of me. 

2. I'm a church secretary. I do this every week, all year long. Even during tar & chip season. I print out bulletins and when there is a typo or blooper, it's my bad.

3. I am a contract quilter. That is- I hand quilt for others. This does NOT mean that I do all the patchwork. Nay, I don't do any. What I do is, people bring me their quilt tops that they've sewn together. I put the top, the batting (the stuffing in the middle) and the bottom together in a frame and hand quilt the sucker. It takes months. And that's if I work at it all day every day. 

4. I am a writer, occasionally. And sometimes, I even get paid for it. This is a whenever job. Whenever the need pops up and someone needs me to write something I do. 

5. I work at a Feed Mill. This is a sometimes job. Sometimes they need me and sometimes they don't. I usually answer the phones and re-set the computer wallpaper to ornery things. I went to school with the guy whose desk & computer I borrow so it's a lot of fun for me to mess around with his settings and then watch from a distance as he goes ballistic when he discovers it. That's my main purpose at the mill. To spread chaos. But sometimes, during corn season when all the farmers are bringing in corn, I get to weigh the trucks and run the skid loader. I have to say, running the skid loader all evening long for weeks might be one of the funnest jobs I've ever had. And I don't know why. It's un-explainable.

6. I house-sit for people. This is also an occasional job. I water their plants, feed their dogs, cats and/or chickens. I bring in the mail and the newspaper. I do whatever it is they want me to do while they are gone.  My clients are confidential. Mainly I do this for people who live close to me. The further you live from me, the more expensive I am. 

The busiest week of my life was a few weeks ago when I was doing jobs 2-6 and got the call that I'd also be starting job #1. Sometimes juggling six jobs can be a challenge. 

I bet your thinking "Wow, you work all the time. You must be a billionaire." Au contraire. At the end of the day, I am merely tired but no richer than when I woke up. But I can honestly say, I love all my jobs. I have fun at every single one of them. I have met more people and done more things since I've begun this streak of wild and crazy employment than I ever would have if I had stayed tied to my cubicle like a good girl. And now you know what it is that I do. 

Every day is an adventure for me.  Stay tuned. 

GPS, Grand Pandemonium Strategem

I noticed last week, while carpooling with my co-worker Walt, that he was no longer looking out his windshield and using the road to see where we were going. Instead he was watching his GPS screen and swerving when it indicated a bend in the road.

Since he was kind enough to pick me up AND pack a lunch for me, I tried not to pick on him too much about it. But I did draw the line when he tried to veer off into a local farm.

“But it’s showing me I’m going to turn right,” he said.

“Yes, you are but not right now. This is a farm and that is a barn. Don’t even look at this anymore, you don’t need it.” I said, covering up the GPS screen.

At the end of the work day we needed to find our way home. Immediately after turning onto the highway, Walt turned on the GPS. This was good because I was not sure where we were at the moment either. Because I’m lazy, I’m going to switch the speaking format now because I don’t feel like dealing with a bunch of punctuation. 

            Female GPS Voice:  “Turn right onto Kline Road”

Me: Walt, this is a dirt road- we tar & chipped back this way last year. We go up past that farm where the road does a 90 degree turn between the barn & the house.

Walt: Oh yeah! I remember that! I thought this looked familiar. Let’s see where it takes us.

Feeling eager for a new adventure, I agreed. Plus when you’re the passenger in someone else’s car, there’s really no point in arguing- you’re pretty much trapped.  We twisted and turned back a dirt lane, between a barn and a house. Then the GPS gave us our next move.

            GPS:  “Turn left onto Geiger Lane."

            Me: I know we did this road for sure last year. Remember, we had that new kid on the roller and everyone kept forgetting to tell him which road we were doing next?

            Walt: Oh yeah!

            Me: Why is it taking us this way?

            Walt: I don’t know.

            GPS: “Turn left onto Culligan Road.”

            Me: HAHAHAHA! What the heck?  This feels to me like we’re making a big loop.

            Walt: It sure does. (Walt is a man of few words. Sometimes.)

            GPS: “Turn left onto Stoystown Road.”

            Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA!!! WALT!! THIS IS THE ROAD WE STARTED ON!! HAHAHAHA!!! (Gasp for air) WE JUST MADE A HUGE LOOP!!

           Walt: Hate when that happens.

           Me: Why did it take us the whole way through the country side!?? (Followed by more peals of laughter from me.) Why didn’t it just say “Turn your car around Idiot, you’re going the WRONG WAY??!!” 

          Walt: I don’t know.

          Me: (More laughing and eye wiping for the next 34 miles.)

On another occasion last year when there were more of us carpooling to work, we were using the GPS to find our way to Ligonier. We almost made it. Then suddenly, the GPS told us to turn right. We turned right although Granny (another co-worker riding with us) was adamant about the fact that we should have turned left. After a few rambling miles that made no sense to us, Walt asked to see the GPS.  He pushed some buttons and after a few moments asked Bill (our taxi driver that day) if he lived in Such-N-Such Corner. Bill said yes he did. Walt deduced that the GPS was no longer taking us to Ligonier but back to Bill's house. 

Granny was right. We should have turned left.  We were late for work that day. 

The Secret Lives of Dogs and Cats

Today before I left for work (at a new job which this is only the second day of) I gave Briggs, my Old English Sheepdog puppy very specific instructions. 1. Don't Chase Cars. 2. Don't Chase People. 3. Stay OFF the road. Then I left for work.

He likes to follow people home and they are all too nice to him. If one would scream at him in a very Alpha Female/Male voice, he would get the picture and go lay down. But no one ever wants to shriek at my dog because he looks like a walking mop so instead,  he follows them home. Their only choice is to put him in our basement to await our return. Usually I remember to lock the basement door that leads to the kitchen, not to keep people out, but to keep Briggs from pushing it open and entering the house. Usually. But today I forgot.


When I returned around 1:30 he was nowhere to be found. I opened up the door and walked into the house. And surmising from what I found inside, this is how I imagine his day went.

6:15am - Kiss Mom goodbye & send her to work.
6:20am - Chew deer skull on the porch
6:22am- Drag rug out into the dewy grass. Pee on it.
6:25am - Finish eating breakfast. Lay on the porch.
6:30-7:55am- Take nap.
7:55-8:00am- Drag peed on rug back onto porch in a rumpled up heap.
8:15am- Spy neighbor walking up the road. Romp after her.
8:20am - Follow neighbor back to the porch. Foil her attempt to keep me on the porch.
8:30am - Get put in basement by neighbor.
8:30-8:40am- Sniff the basement. Maybe pee on the rug for good measure. Find one of Dad's hats and put it on the floor.
8:40-9:00am - Lay on the recliner. Get bored.
9:01am - Check the door to the kitchen. Find it unlocked.
9:02-9:10am- Re-arrange all the kitchen rugs. During re-arrangement, knock over full watering can with water in it. Bark at it as it runs across the floor to the center of the kitchen.
9:10-9:30am- Find the pile of newspapers in the kitchen that were stacked and awaiting recycling. Take some into the living room. Take some into the dining room. Scatter some across the water puddle on the floor.
9:30-10:00am- Lay on the living room floor and read the papers. Find an old quilt on the couch. Chew the binding off of it. Take a nap.
10:00-10:30am - Take every sneaker and flip flop that Mom has and put them in different rooms. Hide one under a rug. She'll never see it there. Make it look like a shoe factory exploded.
10:30-10:45am - Tug the afghan off of the rocking chair. Knock the mug off the end table. Pee on the living room floor.
10:45-11:00am.- Bark at the cat. Chase her upstairs.
11:00-12:00 noon - Explore the spare room that was discovered while chasing the cat. Find the Christmas decorations that were in the Goodwill bag. Take them into the hall and chew them. Go back in the spare room. Grab a swim suit and hide it under a pile of winter clothes. hee hee.
12:00-12:15pm- Go in Mom & Dad's room. Poop in front of the mirror. Admire my form. Find their slippers and fling them about.
12:15-12:30pm - Discover THE BATHROOM! Drink out of the toilet - oh delight! Dunk my face in the toilet as far as it will go. Blow bubbles. Track water from my long dripping mouth hair across the entire bathroom. Drink some more, make the puddle bigger.
12:32pm - Go pee in Mom & Dad's room beside the poop pile.
12:35pm - Chase the cat under the bed. Get slapped and hissed at.
12:45pm-  Find a pile of books and knock it over.
12:55-1:30pm- Take a nap in the upstairs hallway. Wake up to the sound of Mom calling for me. Run downstairs past the cat who was sitting on the steps looking disgusted about the whole mess. Get hissed at as I run past. Give Mom toilet water kisses. Get thrown back outside. Hear Mom scream something about installing an underground electric dog fence.

Best of Show, Worst of Directions

This year, for the first time ever, I entered a quilt at the County Fair. I think. Using the official Premium County Fair Flyer, a special publication to help direct one clearly and concisely as to all the rules and regulations of the Fair, I was able to divulge that all entries must be turned in by 7:00pm exactly two weeks after the third full moon after Easter but only if we were celebrating the Chinese year of the Scorpion. Otherwise, all entrants should have had their stuff in already, as was communicated via mental telepathy. The official Premium  County Fair Flyer, as it turns out, is actually a complex labyrinth of writing where, in classic labyrinth style, you get eaten by a Minotaur when you reach the center.

After determining that 2011 is actually the year of the Rabbit, I cross indexed my birthday with the number of stitches (estimated) in my quilt and then divided that by 15 to find out which page of the Premium County Fair Book the quilt stuff was listed under. Having no success with that process due to my lack of math skills, I was forced the read all 50 pages of the Table of Contents to find where the Senior Needlework Section was. 

From there, it directed me to see Department 11-24 Rules. That was much easier to find because all I had to do was catch a Leprechaun and threaten to steal his gold and he just showed me where the Department 11-24 Rules were located. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. There was only minimal confusion reading the Department 11-24 Rules but I managed. 

Then I flipped back through my Premium County Fair Encyclopedia, back to page 329 to see what category my quilt would fall under. I found it under Section 5, Class 43, Division W, Code Red, Alpha One Niner Delta, Genus cotton, Sub-Genus hand quilted. But that only applied if the quilt was not entered in any other class. Well clearly. I think. I really wanted to get this part right for fear that instead of entering a quilt, I may accidentally sign myself up for the Axe Throwing Contest, which is listed under sub-genus hand thrown. 

After filling out the necessary paperwork the Oracle of Delphi must be consulted. As per page 542 B XI of the Premium  County Fair Publication of Confusion and Hysteria the next step was to drive the quilt to the fair and enter it, so I did. 

I went back today to see how my quilt fared (at the fair, ha ha.)  It turns out I won Best of Show for rock painting and I may be a winner of the Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes. Score. 

The Enthusiast

Today I was working at my church secretary job. (Yes, God allows people with a sense of humor to work for him, don't be so shocked.) While I was there, the conversation between our pastor, Bro. Mike, and I turned to personality traits and since we both tend to enjoy letting a tangent run, it ended with me taking a test to see which one I was.

Normally I cheat at these tests to get the desired result because they are usually the same old boring test and you end up finding out if you should be a fireman, or work in forestry, or be a mathematician or be a nurse but this one was so sneakily set up that there was no way for me to cheat. (I cheat because I hate math and will do anything to avoid any kind of career that involves it. This is why I am a church secretary. Although I still deal with "Numbers" as a book of the Bible and I am totally O.K. with that.)

The test results indicated that I was probably a #7- the Enthusiast. At first I was skeptical. But I took home the background reading that went into depth on this personality type. I parked my butt on the couch and started delving into it. There were lots of things I agreed with. Like how #7's don't like rules and authority, how we like to have a bunch of different things going on at once, and how we're easily distracted but generally cheerier and more optimistic than other personalities. It went on to say that usually the Enthusiast will turn any horrible event into something positive. It also said that a #7 has no qualms about looking foolish in front of others (so true, so true) and that we can be a bit of an Entertainer. (Welcome to My Psychosis, ha ha- No- Really!!) Robin Williams is a #7.  It was quite indepth and accurate.

Everything was making sense but I kept feeling irritated every time it said #7's were "scattered."  Nooooo, not me buddy. I have got it to-gethuh! (Insert double finger snap and head swagger.) Scattered? I don't think so.
I was making notes in the margins and underlining things that were right on the money. That's when..... I smelled it.  The smell of burning. So engrossed was I in reading about myself that I totally forgot that I was boiling potatoes for ham pot pie. They had been boiling for almost an hour and a half by themselves. The house was starting to get smokey. I don't know about the other #7's in the world, but I lose most of my 5 senses when I'm reading. Luckily my sense of smell remains vigil.

I ran in to the kitchen to find blackened mashed potatoes stuck to the bottom of my pot. This removed all doubt from my mind that I may be scattered. The proverbial scales fell from my eyes and the truth landed on me like seagull poop at the beach. I laughed so hard the dog came running to the screen door to see what the hubub was about. He likes my scattered-ness because he got to eat the burnt potatoes that I had to throw away.

So I cut up more potatoes and put more water on in a different, unburnt pot and set them on the stove. Then I went upstairs to email Bro. Mike since I thought he would get a kick out of it. This time I set the timer on the microwave so at least I'd get a reminder beep.  Ten minutes later I went down to the kitchen to check the potatoes.

They were still cold. I had forgotten to turn the stove back on.