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.

Reveling in 5K Mediocrity

     Today I had the pleasure of running a 5K race (3.1 miles.) It was for a good cause and it was right here in my own neighborhood, who could say no? I’ve been a runner for several years now, however, not always a very enthusiastic one. As a result of my lack of enthusiasm for the sport, I’ve never really gained that Killer Competitive Instinct which all other runners seem to have.  They will joke and laugh with you at the starting line but when the gun goes off it’s all business, take no prisoners. 

     My goal for the very first race I ever ran was to not die and to not come in dead last.  I managed both, but just barely. I was comforted by the fact that it was largely sponsored by a doctor and backed up by the staff from our local hospital.  After a few more 5K’s, I got used to racing and am no longer intimidated by the sleek, muscular legs of everybody else, or their barrage of gadgetry that makes them look professional. I don’t bat an eye when I see people wearing arm warmers or running tights. As far as races are concerned, I consider them just another workout only with more people and at a slightly faster pace. I try to put forth just enough extra effort so that my time is just marginally better than it is when I jog around on any other day. That means instead of running a mile in, say 11 minutes, I may kick it up a notch and run it in…10:55. 

     Even the speed of others, although enviable, does not motivate me to try harder. You would think being so far behind in the pack would become disheartening. Perish the thought. There are advantages to being pokey and here they are:

1.       1.  The EMT car is usually right behind you. If you collapse they will be literally 2 seconds away. The speed weasels at the front of the pack will have to wait a heck of a lot longer for help to arrive than I will.

2.       2.  You can goof off.  Today I actually stopped, drank my water, walked it back to the garbage bag and waited for my friend Wendy to catch up. It was her first race ever and far be it from me to put personal success ahead of my pal. Besides, I was so slow I was certainly not setting any PR’s (Personal Record for those of you not familiar with running lingo.) The little girl handing out water was screaming for me to GO- JUST THROW IT DOWN & RUN!! (the water cup) but I was in no hurry. I should hire that little girl to be my running coach.

3.       3.  The volunteers along the way give you more encouragement. I think they feel bad for me because I run so slow. I try to explain that it’s alright, I just lack the desire to try harder and they just clap and say “Good Job! Keep it Up!” anyhow because they think I’m being modest instead of truthful.

4.      4.   When you finally get to the end, everyone else has already completed the race and therefore a larger crowd has congregated at the finishing chute to cheer on those who are just now arriving for the party. It makes me feel like Rose at the end of “Titanic” when she walks down the grand staircase once again and everyone on the whole dang ship has lined up to clap and cheer for her while Leonardo DeCaprio takes her hand and escorts her to the bottom. Only I’m extremely sweaty (even minimal exertion makes me sweat like a man), there’s no hot man waiting to take my hand (usually just a race volunteer who does nothing more than rip off my info at the bottom of my race bib) and Rose never bent over and threatened to throw up on her own shoes.

5.       5. Food.  While the serious racers are busy pacing back and forth in front of the results, waiting and waiting to see where they placed, I’m up to my armpits in bagels and bananas. FREE GATORADE- WOO HOO!!! I pillage and plunder the free buffet while they nervously await their time. Not me, I don’t care, I’ve got a poppy seed muffin in one hand and a blueberry muffin in the other, life is good my friend.

6.      6.    It boosts the self esteem of others.  I figure, if there is some new person who’s never raced before, more than likely their goals are similar to what mine were the first time. (Not die, and not come in dead last.) So what I’m actually doing is helping them meet their goal. They don’t finish last, I get muffins, it’s a win/win for everyone.

7.       7.   I can huff and puff as loud as I want and not have to worry about distracting the serious runners. (I have been asked by people passing me if I’m ok before. My response is usually: NO- who’s dumb idea was it to run this?!!) When I am in the back, no one can hear the loud breathing as I labor towards the finish line.

8.       8.   I’m proving Newton’s third law: To every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. It is a fact that in the world of running, some races hire what they call a “rabbit.”  The job of the rabbit (which is actually a person) is to set the pace of how fast the race will go, as pre-determined by the race directors. Bet you didn’t know that, but it’s true. (“Steve, today you will be running at the speed of a gazelle about to be eaten by a cheetah.”) I won’t go into all the intricate details so if you don’t believe me, just look it up. Only the rabbit doesn’t get to finish the race. Instead they sort of disappear somewhere in the middle and you will never even notice them. But they have done their job because the competitive runners will continue running at the pace the rabbit set, unaware. I am the self appointed Turtle to the Rabbit. *Note: there is not a rabbit at every race, usually just the high profile races.*  I am the opposite reaction to the rabbit. They go quick, quick like a bunny. I see their quickness and raise them one slowness. They don’t finish the race, I do. Opposite.

 9. Rabbits get hit by cars more often than turtles. It's much safer to be a turtle. Turtles don't dart out into traffic. They're already in the middle of the road when you come upon them, and usually, instead of running them over, you get out of your car and try to help them along. Who doesn't love a turtle?

   So if you’ve been thinking of dabbling in the weird and wonderful world of running, come- join us! If it is a race that I’m also in, I can practically guarantee that you won’t be last. And if you are, think of all the fabulous benefits listed above that come with the territory. If after some time, you also fail to develop that need for speed the majority seems to possess, my brother and sister turtles will welcome you with open arms into our shuffling community.