Life in the Slow Lane

After a lead in like that, you are bound to be disappointed, and I have to admit that it was a little anti-climactic. See, I started planning in November, and I dreamed about it and dreamed about it all through December when I finally put it together on Christmas Eve and... nothing. I just happened to forget about a few key properties of the great cool thing I was wrapping. That cool thing being dry ice. Like for instance that you can't handle it with bare hands. Or that it should be kept in a well ventilated place. Or that in order for it to "smoke" it has to have water in it. (Now at this point you should say "Water doesn't work very well in a well ventilated container that may be shaken and turned upside down as Christmas gifts frequently are." And this is what I should have said, too. But alas, it was not to be.) And I also happened to forget the great physical truth that cold air does not rise. So while visions of a huge smoking pac...

Most people know that the most entertaining Christmas gifts for young children are the boxes and paper that the gifts come in. Well, I was very relieved to know that my feet still enthrall a certain four year old even when he is surrounded by brand new toys. He even tried to plan out a way to cut off my feet so that he could keep them. (He offered the attic to me, should I not want to be too separated from my feet.) But all this is perfectly fine with me... it keeps him quiet, my feet warm, and leaves me available to play with his cool new toys.

Every Christmas my family is sent a picture of a brick wall. It is the same brick wall and it has the same five people standing in front of it and there is hardly any change from year to year except for perhaps the height of the people and the clothes they are wearing. This is one of those things that qualify as a grand ol' boring tradition. Now perhaps you think that I say this in disgust. You err. This is, after all, life in the slow lane. Now pardon what might appear to be a digression... I have heard that a piece of art put up on private property can, after several years, be "owned" by the public in the sense that the true owners cannot just take the art down at their whim. For instance, a fountain built in front of a place of business by the business may not be able to be taken down in five years. I don't know where I happened to hear that nor whether it has any basis in fact, but traditions have similar properties... they become owned and if yo...

A while back I saw a greeting card that had the top ten last minute gifts. It was stupid. The second most popular last minute gift, according to them, is something from the garage. The first is anything from last year. The card was almost enough to prompt me to quote Scrooge, "Humbug!" Instead I turned my head and politely gagged in the Hallmark aisle. But after giving this topic much thought over the last several weeks, I have decided that I inadvertently dared myself to come up with a better top ten list. So, without further ado (and hopefully without further gagging) I present: The Top Ten Last Minute Gifts for Christmas 10) A gift certificate for anywhere (The real gift here is the fact that you stood in line for three hours to buy it.). 9) A gift basket of food that includes pickled pig feet and any item of canned meat. (Okay, you can gag here.) 8) Christmas cookies (especially appropriate as a last minute gift if you rewrap cookies that several othe...

I got a coupon to "Save on Last Minute Shopping" that expired on the 18th. Whose bright idea was that? I have decided that the two reasons for Christmas cards are A) Updating your address book B) Finding an excuse to say "hi" Why do Christmas cookies taste so much better at Christmas? Songs sung at night as a group in the open air when it is very, very cold sound almost as good as songs sung by soloists in the shower. It seems that when it comes to Christmas songs, you either love them or hate them. How come the songs they play in shopping malls are the songs that I hate? Wishing for a white Christmas in New England and wishing for a white Christmas in the Central Valley do not carry the same warmth of feeling. Christmas is the perfect time to discover hidden routes to and from the mall and post office. Why haven't they invented a fire proof rotisserie chair? One that you can sit in near the fire without burning one side before the oth...

Have you ever played soccer with a four year old and lost? Even when you and he are on the same team playing against the dog? I don't feel quite so beat if I remember that we were on the dog's home field... marked according to his style, if you get my drift.

So after much thought on solving the world's problems, I have arrived at a solution for ending the evil of gambling. (If you aren't yet convinced that gambling is evil, let me try my fool proof argument out on you...something that lures millions of people into the middle of nowhere HAS to be evil. Right? Of course right!) The solution: The Personal Guaranteed Wins Slot Machine! This is how it works: The interested party inserts money into the machine and chooses a selection of numbers. If those numbers coincides with the computer generated random number, the party wins. If the numbers do not match up, the money simply stays in the machine and allows for a much bigger win in the future. Isn't this a great plan? That way, you aren't giving your money to some stranger who is likely to spend it on a car that will get reposessed plus you don't have to feel guilty about throwing your money away because you will eventually get the money back. Think of it as ...

Some days you're just running around the yard being chased by a remote control monster truck when Bam! You step in dog p**p.

There is a um... something named "The Ungame." It comes in a box that looks kind of like Monopoly and it has a board and "game" pieces, so I would be inclined to call it a game, but as its name is "The Ungame" if I called it "The Ungame game" everything would be cancelled out except for "The." Anyway, for many years, my family was lucky enough to own this "The" and then one blessed day my family was lucky enough to get rid of this "The" by donating it to a group garage sale. For those of you unfamiliar with "The" it is a classic 70s Christian game. There can be no winner and their can be no loser. Think "Truth or Dare" without the dare part and with pre-printed truth questions that you might find in a book entitled "1,000 Questions To Start Conversation"(Oh, and don't forget the ungame board and ungame pieces). So let's review. It has a box like a game, a board like a...

You might think that Hobbit Toes would come in handy during winter... to help keep your watermelon candy scented feet warm. But while the hair might contribute to warmer digits, they carry several displeasing side effects. For instance, the friction created by wearing socks can be quite painful in those hair folicles. And, for as many ways as you can conceive to get rid of those pesky hairs, you will arrive upon a solution no less painful than the problem.

Add one to the list. ~Dealing with dirty diapers ~Sticky fingers wherever ~Screaming, yelling, crying, tattling ~Dirt from shoes on clothes from holding children ~Biting, kicking, hitting ~Messed up hair ~Ketchup everywhere ~Sore back from having kids think you are a jungle gym ~Finger prints on glasses ~Drool wherever it happened to be convenient and saliva wherever it happened to be fun. ~Purse contents emptied and explored ~Apple-pie wide eyes from having a charge nearly strangle a baby ~Sore arms from lifting children at all angles and pushing them forever and a day on the swing ~Increased brain strain from trying to understand a two year old with his binky in his mouth ~Being taken in by a clever, lying child And all new... ~Having my foot held tightly in order to have it properly smelled... for TEN MINUTES by a child who insists that it smells like watermelon and candy. Strange child... and I was thinking his persistance in telling me to take off my socks ...

Today I was told "Cry him. Cry him in the banana." The great thing is it made perfect sense.

What follows is the transcript of an evening in my apartment in a bygone year. Which year and which apartment and who are the participants? Alas, for the sake of the dignity of all involved, I am forced to withhold that information. A person other than me: "You know... those nails around the kitchen look like the perfect place to hang underwear." "Hm... you're right." "We could make it festive, you know, decorate for Christmas." "Do you want to? We could, you know." "Let's" Later... Also a person other than me: "I've realized something else that I don't want to be when I grow up." "What's that?" "A food processor" (hand scrunching rice-crispies the whole while.) "You could have used the blender." "Oh." Later still... "Adding Hershey kisses in between the underwear makes it look so festive." "Yes, they are very sparkly and fun. Too ba...

It's official. It's that special time of year... The time of year when everyone pretends they are living in the slow lane and edges towards insanity trying to prove themselves right. Is this characteristic of you? I have made a simple quiz that you can take to determine whether you believe this of yourself or not. 1) Do you realize that Christmas is less than a month away? 2) Do you intend to celebrate Christmas? 3) Do you have things that you need to do before Christmas arrives that have nothing to do with Christmas? 4) Do you still need to find gifts to give at Christmas? 5) Do you intend to give gifts consisting of something other than your dirty laundry? 6) Do you intend to sleep between now and Christmas? 7) Do you intend to have a conversation of any sort with any human, animal, plant, car, and/or computer before Christmas? 8) Do you intend to wear clothes other than what you have on now between now and Christmas? If you answered yes to *0-2 q...

Today is a holiday that you won't hear much about. However, it is an important day to celebrate for many people through out these United States. What holiday is this? you ask. Today (or tomorrow or Wednesday, depending on your local trash day) is Clean Out Your Refrigerator in Preparation for Thanksgiving Leftovers Day. I have been in households where refridgerators are mere formalities. They have one item on the top shelf, three or four items in the middle, and a chunk of cheese and mustard, and then drinks on the door. The main reason they have refridgerators is for the freezer, which is packed with TV dinners and other frozen instant foods. If you live in one of those houses, then you are just out of luck in regards to this holiday. My recommendation for you is that you rent out the empty space in your fridge to others. For the rest of you, more normal, people, I have collected a small list of guidelines for cleaning out your fridge. 1. Don't do it aroun...

Today I baby sat an 18 year old. I've done something similar for a 42 year old child before, so I thought there would be no surprises. And there weren't, except for the cheese ball and chocolate covered raisins for lunch and the near strangling of a passer'sby child. I'm not sure if my heart has quite gotten back to its normal two step yet. The two of us had been out on the town for two hours and nothing alarming had happened. We wandered through a book store where she pulled out lots of kid's books, flipped through them and put them back on the shelf and because there had been so little cause to worry, I figured going to Walmart would be an okay stop to make. And it would have been, if it hadn't been for this mother and child who passed us on our way in. "Baby!" said my charge. "Yes, there's a baby. Come on, let's go inside..." I looked over my shoulder to make sure she was right behind me and she had her hands wrap...

...dragging a half dead mouse in its teeth. This post has nothing to do with mice or cats. As a matter of fact this post has nothing to do with creeping or death, either. This post is about FOG And how this particular fog doesn't seem to have anything in common with cats or creeping. What happens is this: Scene: A little valley in the middle of nowhere. It is autumn. The leaves that have dared to change color have, and those that were too timid to do so are thinking about making their journey to the ground where leaf blowers can blast at them and dogs can p**p on them. Act one: The people of the little valley come out of their houses and offices. The people: Isn't it fabulous and beautiful outside? The sky is so blue and the air is so crisp and clean and clear. Oh, I just hate to be inside on a day like today. Act two: The people of the little valley look out their windows and squint to see if they can see their neighbor's house. They then open th...

Here is a comic. I want to know how the little girl stole my idea.

Today I had opportunity to be some what pleased with my progress in learning how to use chopsticks. With two flimsy little wood skewers, I was able to get ahold of one dead fish at the bottom of the tank and bring it out. I only lost a grip on it once. However, I find it nearly impossible to pull the other dead fish from the tank with said skewers. For one, I am speaking of the many, many grape seed fish. I am incapable of picking up single grains of rice on chopsticks when they are on a plate in front of me, so trying to get rice kernals at the bottom of five gallons of water would be quite a task. Secondly, these little sweet hearts of grape seeds decided to burrow into the rocks at the bottom of the acquarium before they decided to die. So I can see four smushed up against the glass, and that leaves about ten in random crevices throughout the rock garden. Anybody have a rock vaccuum cleaner I could borrow? Or is anybody especially proficient with chopsticks?

I thought I had outsmarted the fishy math, but I guess I didn't. This morning there were at least ten little grape seed-sized fish in addition to the four that I bought. (I guess when they say "gives live birth" they weren't kidding.) But now, I only see three little grape seeds, and I'm not sure that they are alive at all. Cleaning up tiny dead fish was not in my plan.

Today, with my trash, I bought four fish. Hopefully, the fish will not soon wind up in the trash. If they make it to day 2, I will name them. When I originally planned on using money from turning in recycleable things to buy fish, I thought that I would buy myself one beta fish, for aproximately $3.50. When I received $7, I was excited because I figured I could get two betas. But then I remembered that beta mathematics is not like traditional mathematics. One beta plus one beta does NOT equal two betas. If you are lucky, it equals one beta. If you are unlucky it equals zero betas. I might still end up with zero fish, but at least this way everyone involved has a better chance.

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I am amazed by the power of referrals. In theory, I always knew they worked well, but never before have I seen them work with such fervor. Let me illustrate. Mom A recommends me to Moms B-H. Mom I recommends me to Mom J Mom J recommends me to Mom K and L. Mom M recommends me to Mom N. Then Mom H recommends me to Mom O over at the country club and Mom O asks me if I would like to be a full time nanny for her daughter. It takes me aproximately .23 seconds to decline, as I have just made an arrangement to babysit regularly for Mom L. Later, Mom A calls and says "I recommended you to Mom O through Mom H, but I really didn't want to because I wanted you to stay available for me." And so dear friends, it has come to this: Which house are the kids allowed to play in Mom and Dad's room and which one is to be doubled or triple locked? And what are the names of the dogs and cats that I need to yell at if they bark too loud or barf too often? And which kid needs ...

Height does make a difference. The change in altitude from sitting in a car to sitting in a bus changes a city from something familiar to a foreign country. Granted, the fact that the languages spoken on Greyhound frequently are not English and the skin colors displayed from the old bus seats are not what I see when I look in my rear view mirror might also affect this general sensation of a foreign country. But also, Greyhound travel is foreign in the various interactions that I don't believe ever would have happened on a plane or in an airport. Can you imagine a strange man offering to help a young mother with her four month old son and then later she leaves her son with him for a few minutes? Can you imagine the rioting if another man asked a teenaged girl to watch his bag and then took off on an extended walk through the neighborhood? I have discovered that there is a very miniscule line between friendly and creepy, and Greyhound culture seems to straddle it. So while l...

Those of you who are faithful fans of my blog, may have noticed that I have not posted as much as I have been wont to do. Well, I am pleased to announce that the reason for my less frequent postings was born this morning at 5:17, as beautiful as can be. Perhaps I am biased, but I am the best sort of biased. That is, if my point of view is correct.

As most of you undoubtedly know, Blogger is sponsoring a write-a-thon for all of the wannabe novelists of the cyber universe. The idea is that during the month of November, the writer blogs daily and by the end of the month voila, s/he has a novel. *cue bad pun about that being a novel idea* Now naturally, one of the first questions that enters my mind is "Why November?" Perhaps because November is the month where cold weather begins in earnest and so you spend most of it in doors. Perhaps because November is 30 days long and so is an easy number for mathematician writers to calculate how many words per day they should write. (Yes, there are such things as mathematician writers. At least I think so.) Or perhaps because November is the month of Thanksgiving and we can all give thanks that most novelists do not write an entire novel in a month. Regardless of the reason, I encourage all of you to sit down and write that novel. Maybe it will turn into a best sel...

So for homework this week, I am supposed to create greeting card ideas from idioms. One example I was given was: Happy are the flexible for they shall never be bent out of shape. (This was written by the great Sandra M. Louden.) But I seem to be having some trouble with a few of the idioms. Take "speaking out of both sides of one's mouth" for example. Um... Outside: You'll be speaking out of both sides of your mouth in no time. Inside: Wishing you a speedy recovery from your stroke. What do you think? or "Lending an ear" Outside: visual of Van Gogh Inside: Thanks for lending me your ear. So, you see... I am having some greeting card trouble.

Okay, I thought I was going to limit myself to one post today on weird fashion trends, but I was minding my own business when suddenly Bam! A pop-up advertisment telling me to go Shabby Chic and get the style I've always wanted. I'm having trouble just saying that without getting the sounds all mixed up. How could I even try to create the look and not expect to get it all mixed up? The problem with walking the tight rope of what is in is that all you need is one little wobble in the wrong direction and you are completely out. One accidental dent, and you need to go through making equally sized dents at regular intervals. One unfortunate mar in the surface, and you have to get distructive with careful precision.

Today I read that nouveau granny is in. I like to sit here and think about all that could possibly mean. Think "nouveau". Now think "granny". Now I wonder, can grannies be nouveau? Or is this just another instance of youth walking into the closets of our elders and saying "You know, this could be totally cool if you took this off and changed this to bright blue and added glittery things and if you wore it so that you showed off your... no cancel that. It would be cool if I wore it to show off my..." So for the entire three weeks that nouveau granny is in, grandmothers will wonder why they can't find any of their favorite things in stock. Then in a year, when their grandchildren are getting ready to take a box of clothes to good will, Grandma will say "Why are you giving this away? It is still brand new! Here, let me take it." And then her grandchildren will die a slow death of mortification everytime they think of Grandma weari...

At what point should you begin to worry when a creature bites you without reason so as to nearly draw blood? Does it affect your answer to know that the particular creature in question is a three year old female child? Now I have begun to wish that she would just stick to checking to see if I am wearing big girl pants rather than experimenting with how live flesh feels between her teeth.

I have met what must be the world's most annoying cat. His name is Ferdy. Usually I find myself to be quite charitable towards felines. Usually I find them cute or entertaining or companionable. But usually they are not chewing on my hair at every chance. Or jumping up on the kitchen counter while I am making dinner. Or stealing the baby's toys from the bath tub. Or running outside at every opportunity so that they must be chased and brought inside. Or fishing under the oven and batting out broken pieces of glass. Or eating the dog's food. Or tearing apart the shower curtain. Or falling into the bath tub and then running through the house streaming water and then climbing on me. I almost figured I should charge more for not having tied him up while I was babysitting.

I realized today why Californians are so much more open with strangers than say... New Englanders. Perhaps I can illustrate how it has come to be. What is the best topic to bring up with a stranger? The weather. A person who lives in a place that gets weather actually has a topic that can last for some time. Californians, however, usually cannot. Thus, Californians desperate to think of some other topic besides weather, say something about the thing that is always on their minds: Themselves. And over time, this has become so normal that it isn't unusual to be told by an utter stranger their sordid history of health, marital, or emotional problems. "Whew! It's hot out there!" "It sure is. It reminds me of the time that I had warts all over my knees and my mom made me walk around with plastic wrap over them so that they wouldn't spread."

Besides being very glad that I am not a dentist or any other person who makes their living from looking in mouths, I find two things that I think about everytime I find myself in the funny recliner trying not to accidentally bite gloved hands. The first thing: Is my nose clean? Looking in mouths is one thing, happening to look in noses is a lot worse. The second thing: How do I spit the flouride out without having it dribble down my chin or get all over me? I obviously wasn't enough of a tom-boy to learn how to spit properly–– because I make a mess everytime. How embarrassing.

I am glad that I am not writing a large cookbook on baking cakes and so must bake at least one cake a day and sample it to see whether it needs improving. I think after two days I would be dangerously close to not wanting to see a cake for a good many years. Besides, I don't think I could ever just manage to do what the ice cream tasters do and only taste and not swallow. Something about sampling cake and then spitting it back out would end my desire to take a bite of anything. But I suppose doing that method with cake would be better than, say, doing the same with casseroles.

I am very excited. Today I have officially entered the business world. How have I done that? you ask. I purchased myself not one, but TWO address stamps (the kind that inks itself). And today I got them in the mail. Now perhaps you wonder why something as small as an address stamp proves that I am now part of the business world. But let me tell you that it signifies how important I am in that it is proof that I have to write my address lots and lots of times. Every time I use that address stamp instead of hand writing my address or using one of those freeby return address labels people sometimes send out, I am proclaiming to the world "This woman is so important that she should not waste her time and hand strength on something so trivial as an address." And obviously, anyone whose time is so valuable must be part of the working world. I think the next step is writing myself pay checks from my checking account.

So this little kid was crying tonight because someone stole his toy and because he was speaking in Spanish, I was called upon to figure out what was wrong, but because he was crying, I couldn't understand him and so we couldn't fix the problem. Poor kid. I hope he isn't scarred for life. I hope I'm not scarred for life.

About a year ago I signed up to receive weekly sleep alert bulletins from the National Sleep Foundation. And about once a week, as I check my email and see the NSF alert waiting for me I think "I should unsubscribe." But then I read it and there is always one thing in it that just makes me very glad that I read it and I wish I could copy it and send it to everyone who I ever knew. But then I realize that then people would probably wish that they could unsubscribe from getting my emails. So instead I will try and limit the cool news to just this small little space on my blog. Here it is: Sleep is good for you! If you get enough sleep you will be happy, healthy, and in a good mood! The test participants (healthy college students) went from saying they needed about 7 hours nightly to over 8 hours nightly after participating in the study. So this is my conclusion: Get lots of sleep! Get saturated on sleep! And then keep it up!

There are two types of people to a three year old, those who wear "Big Girl Pants" and those who don't. There are two types of three year olds, those who check to see whether you are wearing "Big Girl Pants" and those who don't.

How many times can you apply the five second rule to one piece of food?

How many gallons of boiling water do you think I would need to pour into the pool in order to raise the temperature from 70 degrees to 85?

With the recent change in weather from blistering to cool 80's, I have shifted my focus from getting cool at any cost, to remembering where I hid all of my blankets. And along with thoughts of blankets, brings thoughts of rabbits. I once remember reading the question "How many rabbits does it take to heat a three bedroom house?" or some such thing. This of course got me thinking about how you can usually tell whether an animal is used to warm climes or cool by the size of their ear, since the more surface area of the ear, the longer blood has to cool off before going back to the warmth of the heart. Which got me thinking about humans, who don't have very large ears at all (then there is also the question of why do human ears keep on growing? Does that mean that as you age you need more time to cool off?). And then I considered the fact that humans lose the most heat through their head and their feet. So maybe, the bigger your head and feet are, the more yo...

I think I may try writing lyrics for children's shows, if nothing else works out for me. I was greatly impressed by the creativity of lyrics for some of these shows, most especially "The Wiggles-they make me giggle!" For those of you who have not had the opportunity to watch such high-quality performances, I have included some of my favorite song lyrics below. I'm sorry I am unable to convey to you the equally creative motions and score. HOT POTATO Hot potato, hot potato, hot potato (x4) Cold spaghetti, cold spaghetti, cold spaghetti (x4) Mashed banana, mashed banana, mashed banana (x4) Hot potato, hot potato, hot potato (x4) ROLLING DOWN THE SAND HILL Rolling down the sand hill (x8) Running up the sand hill (x8) FRUIT SALAD, YUMMY, YUMMY Fruit salad, yummy, yummy (x8) THE FLOWER SONG And the flowers were yellow bapadapa and blue bapadapa and red bapadapa and purple, too. (repeat 14 times) bridge: Yellow! and Blue! and Red! and Purple...

Someone recently suggested that I borrow a few techniques from business life for my own personal life. Which techniques might those be? Those of A) keeping track of small victories B) posting signs to communicate For example, perhaps like McDonalds I should hang a sign that says "Over 99 Billion Served" (and no, I'm not talking about the 99 Billion ants.) I could merely count how many individual cat food pellets I pour out and I could reach the 99 Billion in no time. Or perhaps like Walmart I could make T-shirts everytime I reach a record for length of time Accident Free. "Accident Free for three hours!" Or, like those businesses in the midst of remodeling, I could say "Please pardon my dust, I am busy to serve you better." But I wouldn't have to stop there. I could hand letter signs that say "Over 7,000 breakfasts eaten before lunch!" or "This chair reserved for associate of the month." And I think I woul...

For those of you who live to invent some new contraption that will catch mice better than ever, I have a brilliant idea I will offer you free of charge. You know those tabs on trashcans that allow you to open them by just stepping on the tab? Why on earth has no one invented something similar for opening doors? Think about all of the wonderful uses: On the refridgerator door for when you need to put a large casserole dish away. On the door to the nursery when you are carrying a sleeping child you don't want to disturb. On the front door when you need to carry in two armloads of groceries. Not only would this invention limit the waste of energy (Mom said never to leave the door open) but it would also save your elbows, hips, and everything else you use on occasion to try and open a door. Hey, if someone has invented dish soap with hand moisturizers, how come no one has figured out this much more necessary invention?

Oh kitty cat upon my chin Please do not bite my nose I know it doesn't look like yours, but that is how it grows! Oh kitty cat between my feet You cuddle as you please The only thing that makes you stop Is your cozy batch of fleas Oh kitty cat up by my ear you lick my forhead clean You sprawl across my open mouth and sit upon my spleen. Oh kitty cat upon my ribs you soften up my bones you knead and turn and knead some more and infringe on no claw zones Oh kitty cat oh kitty cat I hear you purr and meow You do it soft and do it loud you want to teach me how But kitty cat, Oh kitty cat, I really thought you knew I love you dearly, but its true I'm not a cat like you.

It is a good thing I don't believe in reincarnation, otherwise I might give up. As you all know, the small black ants have been gone for over a week now. This morning, however, tiny brown ants converged on my kitchen sink. I've never seen ants like these and I would prefer if I never saw them again, but I have some questions. Questions: If I kill these ants, will they come back as teeny tiny off-white ants? If I used all of the poisons I knew to use on the black ants and they didn't keep the brown ants away, what can I posibly use on the brown ants? Do you think I could turn this around for my benefit and sell ant farms to people? How come the things I really want to kill I have such ill luck with?

Today marks a week from the last time ants ruled our kitchen. I can now continue on with life, not feeling guilty for the many times I sang "Yo quiero tener un millon de hormigas, asi mas fuerte poder gritar." I will scream plenty loud enough, should I care to, with out the help of a million ants. Today also is the anniversary of "we will never forget." May those who died rest in peace. May those who live learn ever more what it means to truly live.

Apparently, the illustrious town in which I live has an optimist club which gets a little bored. In order to curb this boredom, they plan stealth operations. These operations consist of borrowing the services of the police and watching the license plates of passersby. As soon as they spot an out of state license, they turn on the siren and speed after the car. The poor, frightened foreigner, once pulled over, is then greeted with a warm welcome and the offer to eat dinner here in town, curtesy of the optimist club. I suspect that only an optimist club would think that this was the best way to welcome people.

Today I discovered a bar of soap that smelled like stale cigarette smoke in a motel room. I hadn't realized there was a market for that scent.

When one is busy and must cart laundry a fair distance to use a laundromat, it makes sense to save up several loads worth. (Usually this results in doing you laundry in your "laundry day outfit" which consists of anything you would be mortified to be caught wearing by anyone you know.) However, when one is not overly busy, has no need to cart laundry a fair distance to the single washer and dryer in house, it makes absolutely no sense to save up several loads worth to do all at once. But herein lies a problem. How do you manage to wash colors with like colors when you only have a week's worth of laundry? I have been musing on this difficulty for some time and I have arrived at a few solutions. 1) Make your wardrobe all of one color. This works especially well with black or grey. 2) Wear like colored clothing all week long. Thus, after a week of wearing "gentle, light colors" you could wash those and move on to "denim, dark colors in warm w...

You know those advertisements that have an exclamation point after every sentence? I got a ten page advertisement that subscribed to the theory that everything should end in ! because it is all so exciting. It wore me out. It was some of the most difficult ten pages I have read in a while. While I am on the subject of annoying ads, any ad that is so bad that I could make one better should be immediately disqualified and the maker should be sent to mandatory classes on how to sell things. Okay, I think I am done ranting for now.

There is something so aesthetically pleasing about a field of freshly baled hay. I don't know what it is exactly. It isn't the fresh mowed look, because I'm not fond of the buzz cut field. It might be the neat little "boxes" spaced at even intervals but I've seen hay wrapped in white plastic in the shape of huge wheels that I find fun to look at, too. Perhaps it is the simple fact that the bundled hay is proof of work accomplished and it gets to sit so that everyone can see it. Most things that people do disappear. The whole question of "Why should I make my bed" springs from that uncomfortable knowledge. But with bales of hay, you do the work and let it sit there all by itself and everyone can see that YOU have done your work and are just waiting for the sun and the air to finish it and while you wait, things look nice and clean and neat. Then again, maybe I just like fields of freshly baled hay because it looks nice and clean and neat.

Did you know that Hallmark is looking for greeting card writers? They have a little PDF exercise you can download from their website to see if you are cut out for the job. The only real problem is you have to relocate to Kansas City. This set me to thinking. The first thought is: What is it about Kansas City that makes a good writer for greeting cards? Also, I imagine that you could only be a card writer for about 10 months before all of your inspiration disappears and you are stuck writing cheesy poems about flowers and love. Thirdly, I think I want to start my own line of non-cheesy greeting cards. I already have some ideas. Outside: The man in the moon smiled in his sleep The stars by his side dreamed wondrous things The wind rolled over in its bed, the trees Inside: Because they were all too far away to hear your #$!!!!@!###!!!!!!! dog bark all night. Shoot it or boot it. Love, your neighbor. or Outside: On the occassion of you making dinner, I'd like to o...

Today I made fig jam. I have never made fig jam before. I have never made jam before. But today I made a small batch and arrived with approximately 5 pints of fig something. Whether it is jam is still to be determined. The good news is that today I only used a third of our fig harvest, so I will have the opportunity to try again. But since we will never be able to use it all, I plan on just passing the jars on to my neighbors with the instructions to just keep on passing on whatever they won't be able to use. You should be getting some shortly.

The other day I discovered a riveting section of the newspaper. It is in the Sports section and is entitled "Fishing." It lists different fishing places in the area and lists what kind of bait people are using at what time to catch what type of fish. Personally, I thought this was what old men gossiped when they were hanging out in the bait shop, too cold to actually get out on the water. I never imagined that I could eavesdrop on the notes of their talk while crunching my cereal in the comfort of my own home.

I once tried the supposed surefire trick of tying a string around my finger to remember an important event. I never figured out how it was supposed to be effective. I switched to making lists and notes. The problem now becomes the abreviations that I use. I have a note, right where I always look for my to do list, that says "Figure out AA." I have run through a list of possible explantions, and none of them fits. So, until I remember what "AA" stands for, I am doomed to never accomplishing my to do list. What a horrible lot in life.

I have purchased many books on line in my life. I have never purchased music on line. So I took a gander (not the male goose) at what Amazon might recommend to me in music based on my book purchases. It caused me to think deep thoughts about how someone might be able to create "Amazon Personalities" like Myers-Briggs, etc. I'm done thinking deep thoughts now.

Women are supposed to be nurturers. If that is so, how come I have a long line of accidental deaths behind me? The impossible to kill plants, which I so easily killed. The scores of fish who lived longer when I didn't look after them. The koi I pet sat, two of whom ended up in the freezer. And the most recent tragedy. Today I found a worm from our worm farm, squished because of my neglegence. Poor thing. It didn't even have a chance to fight back. We used to have 500 worms, give or take a few, and because of me we now only have 499 worms, give or take a few. So today, be good to a worm for my sake.

Today I walked my trash to the curb. Some people walk dogs. I don't have a dog. Some people walk babies. I don't have a baby. Some people walk cats. I have a cat, but I don't particularly feel like walking in place while my cat sprawls on the cement, as I have seen this method modeled. I do have trash. So I walk my trash. It actually has great benefits. If I pull it behind me, the faster I go, the less I smell it. If I push it in front of me, it provides great motivation for an anaerobic work out. It also does a pretty decent job of fulfilling the role of a rotweiler: it keeps people at bay. Maybe someday I will write a new diet and weightloss plan and call it "Getting Rid of the Garbage." The only problem I forsee is that Trash Day comes only once a week.

Grape arbors seem so romantic, a part of sunny days where the owner sits on his tiled porch, overlooking the hills of grape vines and sipping wine as a breeze plays with his graying hair. Unfortunately, someone has to pick the silly grapes. And double unfortunately, that someone is me. I once received training so that I could work in the fields here in California. I think my certification has expired now, but no matter. The grapes I have to pick aren't in a field. They are on a vine climbing up the side of my house. All I need is a good ladder and someone who wants to climb it so that I don't put myself in harms way. I'll just hold the ladder steady. Or maybe I will hold the ladder while the supporting joint unlocks and knocks me underneath my nose. Don't ask my how exactly it happened. Suffice it to know that it did. And I have the bruise to prove it. It extends from cheek to cheek and from the roof of my mouth up into my forehead. This event has brou...

Grandpa, you're driving too fast. I'm not in a rush to get anywhere. But I'm still on the freeway. I had better let those people pass me. Because I'm just sitting here, cruise control set at 50. Oh, hey. I like your bumper sticker. Don't mind me. I'm in the slow lane.