November 22, 2006

Keeping memories alive

It’s almost Thanksgiving, which means I should have started Christmas shopping already. I do have lists. I just haven’t gotten to it yet. That’s one way that I’m definitely not like my mother. She always became rather secretive around September, shortly after the new clothes and school supplies to outfit four kids had been taken care of. I have distinct memories of seeing her slip boxes under her bed, and those boxes having disappeared before the next time I was able to slip into her room undetected. By the time the Thanksgiving turkey bones had been consigned to the stew pot Mom was already nagging Dad to “get Christmas out of the attic.” Come December first or thereabouts, we’d have our tree decorating night. Dad would have spent several hours de-tangling strings of multi-colored lights, checking all the bulbs, then draping each strand just so. I always wanted to hang the faded tin bells that had been purchased the first year of our parent’s marriage. Little brother usually handled the miniature wooden toys and figurines. Sis liked to find special places for all of the new Christmas Decorations that Mom sometimes allowed us to help her select at the post-Thanksgiving sales. And older brother was adamant that the tree topper must always be his duty. I have pictures of that ceremony that span the years. In the oldest of these, Dad holds him up to the uppermost branches as he reaches out to fasten the silver star with the twinkling lights in the middle. A few short years later, Dad is almost out of the picture, one hand reaching out to catch him should he tumble from the wobbly wooden ladder that helped him reach that all-important top spike. Later still, his own height is almost equal to the tree on which he is placing the angel with spun fiberglass hair that replaced the brittle star.

Things are different now, but much is the same. I have my own ornaments that have been lovingly hung each December for several decades. Miniature stuffed animals my grandmother made for my son’s first Christmas. A small wooden train that circles the base of the tree. A few new Christmas decorations added each year. An angel tree topper with a fluffy mass of curly hair. And every year, the picture in my mind of Big Brother reaching up to impossible heights.

November 21, 2006

Progress report

I feel okay about what’s been accomplished, but I’m not jumping up and down for joy. I’ve registered and released several boxes of books. There are no more boxes in my office and I can start bringing books out from under my bed to process. My pantry remains much more orderly. UCP received another box of my “stuff” this week, which will be put to good use elsewhere. I’ve “almost” developed the habit of disposing of junk mail instead of tossing it on the counter to deal with later. (Except for all those lovely holiday catalogs. I’m not going to shop from them. I know what I need to do. Just wish they weren’t so full of pretty, shiney stuff.)

Plodding along. Slow and sure wins the race?

So Mr. “If I Did It” lost the deal.

Gee, what a shame.

November 20, 2006

Disclosure policy

I’ve been approved by payperpost to write about products and services for them. This is very cool. Since I’m here talking about stuff, and they pay people to talk about stuff, it seems like a win/win situation to me. They’ve even provided me with a nifty tool so that I can make sure that you, my vast reading public, understand that sometimes I will be paid for blogging. Here’s my disclosure policy:

This policy is valid from 20 November 2006

This blog is a personal blog written and edited by me. This blog accepts forms of cash advertising, sponsorship, paid insertions or other forms of compensation.

This blog abides by word of mouth marketing standards. We believe in honesty of relationship, opinion and identity. The compensation received may influence the advertising content, topics or posts made in this blog. That content, advertising space or post will be clearly identified as paid or sponsored content.

The owner(s) of this blog is compensated to provide opinion on products, services, websites and various other topics. Even though the owner(s) of this blog receives compensation for our posts or advertisements, we always give our honest opinions, findings, beliefs, or experiences on those topics or products. The views and opinions expressed on this blog are purely the bloggers’ own. Any product claim, statistic, quote or other representation about a product or service should be verified with the manufacturer, provider or party in question.

The owner(s) of this blog would like to disclose the following existing relationships. These are companies, organizations or individuals that may have a significant impact on the content of this blog. We are employed by or consult with: PayPerPost. We blog about people to whom we are related. The most interesting such people are: my son, a gambler/casino dealer.

To get your own policy, go to http://www.disclosurepolicy.org

There now! Do we all understand each other? Seems very clear to me, but you may have questions. If so, post a comment on the current days post and I’ll answer it.

All of my payperpost blog posts will be tagged as such, just like this one.

November 19, 2006

They’re in cahoots!

This is not a pet blog. That was never my intent. But, ya know, there are just some things that have to be shared.

Buddy, my old guy, has had surgery on one hip and has arthritis in the other. He can’t get up on his hind legs. So when I came home a few days ago and found a chewed-up antacid bottle on the floor, I knew that Lance was the culprit who had stretched up to the third shelf up from the bottom to pull it down. I thought at first that it was the nearly empty bottle, so, while frustrated at Lance’s behavior, I was not concerned. As I cleaned up the mess (there was also a box of tissues involved) I discovered the “sealed-for-your-safety” disc, not quite intact, but recognizable. My initial assumption was proven wrong. Lance had not bothered with the soon-to-be-discarded target, but had nudged it aside and helped himself to the brand new, 96-count bottle of extra-strength, assorted berry-flavored antacid tablets. Not a crumb of the pink or purple chalkiness was to be found in the debris. Why he would have selected a sealed bottle that could not have smelled of anything other than petroleum products remains a mystery.

I did some quick math. 30720 mg of calcium and 960 mg of magnesium goes into 30 lb. canine … oh, not good. Not good at all. The recommended dose (for an average adult human) is less than a tenth of that per day. A google search assures me that poisoning is not a problem, but an impacted gut might be. A quick trip to the drug store assures that I have supplies on hand should things not work out naturally.

Later that evening, while doing some additonal tidying, I did discover the tell-tale pink and purple crumbs. In Buddy’s bed. Buddy’s territory that Lance will not violate under any circumstances. I considered this proof-positive that Lance had supplied the fruits of his labor to his favorite companion. Maybe there’s a dog psychologist who can explain this bizarre act of partnership. I’m baffled. My dogs do not share food. At feeding time, Lance is placed on the lanai while Buddy dines inside. Hostilites would otherwise ensue. Yet neither dog is injured, there are no puddles of blood , no avoidance or agression is in evidence. If sharing was protested, there must have been only a token act of resistance.

The details of the next day are not something you want to read about with your morning coffee. Buddy’s belly was quite firm when compared to Lance’s. I followed them outside and observed their normal canine morning constitutional. Buddy’s demenor and output (output is a good word, yes?) seemed normal. After their evening kibbles, Buddy produced technicolor proof of his unauthorized snack. I took the little bottle from the drug store out of it’s box, twisted on the spiffy little nozzle and proceeded to convince Buddy that there are fates worse than death. Persuading him to test that premise was the hard part. Especially the next morning, the second time around.

Life seems to have returned to normal at the skeet house. Everything labeled “keep out of the reach of children” is now out of the reach of the impish beagle, who is now kenneled during my absences. Buddy is relaxing on Hawaiian-print pillow-bed, tummy suitably relaxed.

Still, my suspicions have been aroused. What exactly goes on in the darkest recesses of their minds when I’m not watching? Do I need to be concerned about future acts of collusion? Can old dogs learn new tricks?

** Blogger doesn’t seem to want me to share photos today. Otherwise you would be looking at Lance’s sad face through chain-link fencing and Buddy in his cushy comfort.

November 17, 2006

Buddy

In the interest of equal time, here’s my other furkid. He’s old. He’s had hip surgery & gets anti-inflammatory meds. His eyes are clouded and he can’t hear at all. He’s a real sweetheart who was abused as pup but has had a pretty good life the last ten years or so. The other picture should perhaps be titled “The Things We Do For Love.”

Adventures in radioland

I think I did okay. The producer/engineer/techie guy had to signal me once, after the first time I spoke, to bring the mike a little closer. That was the only thing resembling a reprimand during the entire hour. He didn’t have to throw things to get my attention, though I told him before we started that he could if he needed to. He was cute. Said he enjoyed the program and that he learned a lot of things that he didn’t know he didn’t know, then asked for my card.

I got a little panicky two times, losing my train of thought, but Glenn managed graceful, face-saving segues each time, so I think our vast listening public probably didn’t notice. The live-stream link I gave to a few friends was a dud, so it’s unlikely that it was heard by anyone who will offer feedback about the alien synthesizer. The cute producer/engineer/techie guy gave Glenn a disc, which will be copied to me. I may or may not share it.

Progress: The box of books I carried out to the car a few days ago is almost empty, the books having wandered off in search of new friends. None of them have written home yet. I’ll reload the box and get busy registering more for the next refill. UCP truck came by yesterday & relieved me of some shoes, scarves and other bits and pieces. Actually, I think the box may have been stolen, as has happened before, because UCP didn’t leave a receipt as per usual. I’m not seeing a huge reduction in clutter, but still … progress.

November 16, 2006

Will I ever learn to just say no?

My friend and client, Glenn, has a weekly radio show. He’s a realtor and this is his outlet for educating the public about various aspects of buying and selling a home. He’s a pretty savvy guy and brings in experts like mortgage lenders and escrow officers to discuss their specialties. I’m tonight’s expert.

I’ve heard my voice on the radio. There’s a local talk show that encourages listeners to call in if they see happenings that the general public might need to know, usually traffic situations. I called in the day that I watched a truck with a crane knock a chunk out of an overpass and onto the freeway below. Another time I let folks know that the “stuff” all over the freeway was boxes of slippers (flip-flops to some of you) and there was no need to swerve in panic like the idiot who almost hit me. When I heard my messages played on the air, I didn’t sound like me. My voice sounded low and growly. My southern accent was thick enough to spread on toast. The voice I hear in my head is soft and sexy with a sultry but sophisticated southern drawl. I wonder if there’s an alien synthesizer implanted in my head, converting my real voice into a parody? If the voice I heard on the radio is what people really hear, I’d really rather not send it out there for people to snicker at over their dinner tonight.

Glenn is a good client. He’s sent a lot of business my way over the years. Tonight should be good for his business and mine. I wanted to say no, but the alien voice said yes before I could stop it. It frequently blurts out things that I don’t want to say.

Maybe I should warn him about the alien synthesizer before it’s too late.

November 15, 2006

Lance is not a happy puppy

I carried a box of books out to my car this morning. Books that are registerd and ready to release as I traipse about the island. Books that will no longer be a part of my clutter. Books that had been serving a convenient function for Lance the beagle.

Now if I can just remember to buy Lance a pillow while I’m out!

November 14, 2006

And further out …

I thought I went fully public yesterday. I was wrong. My good friend Denise has shared my quirky little secret with the world.

I live in Hawaii. It gets hot. I don’t like prickly heat rash on my butt. Wouldn’t you go with white cotton panties, too? The fact that I’m a prudish old maid type with no romantic life has nothing to do with it.

At least I don’t go commando like she does.