I have a new phone at work.
I am not happy about this.
This phone is nice. It’s black and matches my décor much better than the old one. (To be honest, I don’t really have a “décor”. If I do, it would probably called Graveyard Eclectic. I should totally post some pictures of all the junk I have in here…) The phone blends well with the gargoyle pens. I am a total button geek and the new phone has many, many buttons for me to push, which is cool.
This phone is totally freaking me out, though. It has a huge display of the day and date. The number 7 is mysteriously blacked out anywhere it appears in the display. It’s odd. I reported it to the phone guy, but I’m sure he thought I was a total loony. I wasted a lot of time on Friday, the 27th, staring at the screen, waiting for the time to change to some sort of variant of seven, just to make sure I wasn’t nuts. I wasn’t, as I discovered at 7:35, 8:57 and 9:17.
The 7 thing is weird. Also weird is the fact that the computer-generated operator-voice is the same exact voice our old system had. Makes me think maybe there is some well modulated, out of work switchboard operator living in the storeroom next to my office.
But what really freaks me out is the fact that the phone displays my name. Not my full legal name, like in my signature, which would give it sort of a professional, impersonal feel. It simply says my name. My Name. It’s way too personal for a damn phone.
It’s sitting right in front of me, staring at me and making unauthorized use of my name. Every time it catches my eye, I can hear Anthony Hopkins’ voice.
“Clarice…”
Monday, April 30, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Friday Cemetery Blogging
This stone gives me the creeps. Bizarre Freudian creeps.
It makes me think this poor woman had a pale, unemployed, unhappy son living in her basement.
The next one, however, makes me think this guy was a ton of fun. Don't you wish you'd known this poor nut who couldn't make up his mind which nickname to use?
He probably died with his boots on.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
If you would like to make a call, please hang up.
The antediluvian town of Fugly McCreepyville, which is 30 miles to the north of here, got blown halfway away in a tornado Saturday night. The same storm smacked our office building with a huge electrical body slam.
A dozen valiant little surge protectors paid the ultimate price to keep our computers in mostly working order. Their charry remains sizzled and smoked a bit on Monday morning. The hotwater heater was a casualty, as were all the security cameras. The cameras were not much of a loss because all but one monitor had died of natural causes over the last couple of years. The one remaining monitor is somewhat off the beaten path, and therefore remains perennially unmonitored.
And then there was the good news: Our phone system was fried. Toasted. Cremated. Annihilated. It perished in the smite-yer-ass storm. Adios. Sayonara. Goodbye. Do not dial nine for an outside line.
And the really good news: Its going to be two weeks before we can get a new system installed!
In celebration of this most joyous occasion, I thought I would post a few pictures I took of my tulips a couple of weeks ago.
A dozen valiant little surge protectors paid the ultimate price to keep our computers in mostly working order. Their charry remains sizzled and smoked a bit on Monday morning. The hotwater heater was a casualty, as were all the security cameras. The cameras were not much of a loss because all but one monitor had died of natural causes over the last couple of years. The one remaining monitor is somewhat off the beaten path, and therefore remains perennially unmonitored.
And then there was the good news: Our phone system was fried. Toasted. Cremated. Annihilated. It perished in the smite-yer-ass storm. Adios. Sayonara. Goodbye. Do not dial nine for an outside line.
And the really good news: Its going to be two weeks before we can get a new system installed!
In celebration of this most joyous occasion, I thought I would post a few pictures I took of my tulips a couple of weeks ago.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Random Thoughts For Monday
I bought two books on Saturday: Dragon Art: How to Draw Dragons and Other Fantasy Creatures and Drawing Cutting Edge Comics. They are so cool! Especially the dragon book. I spent Sunday night drawing a nifty little dragon while watching Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves.
Katie had never seen that movie, or any Robin Hood movie. And she’s never read the book. Poor kid. That’s like growing up without ever going to Sunday School. (You think I’m kidding – I’m not. If I had to choose between the normal Sunday School claptrap and a great hero myth on film, the kid is totally going to the movies every time.) So, that, coupled with the fact that she also had never seen Alan Rickman in anything besides Harry Potter movies and can’t comprehend why I find him so ab-so-lute-ly divine, meant we needed to watch this movie.
I can’t stand Kevin Costner. I really can’t. He makes me want to hit him with my car. He just grates on my nerves something fierce. Unfortunately, I really like a lot of his movies. The aforementioned Robin Hood, (although he was the most god-awful wimp of a forest-dwelling outlaw that has ever graced the screen), Silverado, Bull Durham, and Open Range to name a few.
Anyway, I hadn’t watched this particular movie in years. Since sometime before 1999. It took on a whole new feel and was actually very timely. About halfway through the film, Katie said, “Hey! He said Allah! He’s a Muslim!” She was horribly surprised that he was a Muslim AND a good guy. Verrryyyy timely.
I planted my garden yesterday. I still have to go get tomato and pepper plants. I planted seeds for peanuts, black-eyed peas, sugar snap peas and bits of Yukon gold potatoes. I’ve never planted any these, other than the blackeyed peas, before. I totally ignored the planting advice and sowed ‘em all together in a tiny space. And I think the potatoes had molded. It will be interesting to see if this works.
My back is killing me.
That’s partly because of the gardening. And partly not.
Yesterday I discovered that good nylon rope only lasts three years when tied to a tree in my backyard.
I’ve always wanted a hammock. I finally bought one four years ago. Since there is no way you’re going to find two hammock-suitable trees in any sort of close proximity out here, I sunk a random 4x4 post in the middle of my yard and twisted an eye-bolt into its side. I hooked one side of the hammock to that and the other to a really good bit of nylon rope, tied around a tree trunk. It was well with my soul.
Yesterday, I hopped on the hammock and the rope snapped. I crash-landed. It was ouchy. And now my back hurts.
Katie had never seen that movie, or any Robin Hood movie. And she’s never read the book. Poor kid. That’s like growing up without ever going to Sunday School. (You think I’m kidding – I’m not. If I had to choose between the normal Sunday School claptrap and a great hero myth on film, the kid is totally going to the movies every time.) So, that, coupled with the fact that she also had never seen Alan Rickman in anything besides Harry Potter movies and can’t comprehend why I find him so ab-so-lute-ly divine, meant we needed to watch this movie.
I can’t stand Kevin Costner. I really can’t. He makes me want to hit him with my car. He just grates on my nerves something fierce. Unfortunately, I really like a lot of his movies. The aforementioned Robin Hood, (although he was the most god-awful wimp of a forest-dwelling outlaw that has ever graced the screen), Silverado, Bull Durham, and Open Range to name a few.
Anyway, I hadn’t watched this particular movie in years. Since sometime before 1999. It took on a whole new feel and was actually very timely. About halfway through the film, Katie said, “Hey! He said Allah! He’s a Muslim!” She was horribly surprised that he was a Muslim AND a good guy. Verrryyyy timely.
I planted my garden yesterday. I still have to go get tomato and pepper plants. I planted seeds for peanuts, black-eyed peas, sugar snap peas and bits of Yukon gold potatoes. I’ve never planted any these, other than the blackeyed peas, before. I totally ignored the planting advice and sowed ‘em all together in a tiny space. And I think the potatoes had molded. It will be interesting to see if this works.
My back is killing me.
That’s partly because of the gardening. And partly not.
Yesterday I discovered that good nylon rope only lasts three years when tied to a tree in my backyard.
I’ve always wanted a hammock. I finally bought one four years ago. Since there is no way you’re going to find two hammock-suitable trees in any sort of close proximity out here, I sunk a random 4x4 post in the middle of my yard and twisted an eye-bolt into its side. I hooked one side of the hammock to that and the other to a really good bit of nylon rope, tied around a tree trunk. It was well with my soul.
Yesterday, I hopped on the hammock and the rope snapped. I crash-landed. It was ouchy. And now my back hurts.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Friday Cemetery Blogging
In honor of Presbyterian Gal's quest for the strange this week, I'm posting a strange stone for you. This is the side that faces the cemetery road:
At first glance, it appears to say "Young". But it really starts with a backwards J, followed by y, o, u, backwards n and g. The back side is equally enigmatic:
No names, just Father, Mother, and the date they died. In 1926. Any ideas?
At first glance, it appears to say "Young". But it really starts with a backwards J, followed by y, o, u, backwards n and g. The back side is equally enigmatic:
No names, just Father, Mother, and the date they died. In 1926. Any ideas?
Thursday, April 19, 2007
I feel like a character in West Side Story
So, I decided I wanted to start carrying my briefcase again. There is a reason why, but it is so convoluted and ultimately insignificant that it's not even worth explaining. Suffice it to say, I have spent the last three days making half-hearted attempts at finding the damn thing. Last night I came home determined to tear the house apart if need be to find it. I knew it was there somewhere - I just couldn't find it.
Turns out, it was in the last place I looked!
(Ain't that always the case?) (heh, heh.)
So, I opened it, expecting it to be a yawning chasm of empty space, pleading for me to fill it with accumulated crud. It wasn't empty.
Turns out, it was in the last place I looked!
(Ain't that always the case?) (heh, heh.)
So, I opened it, expecting it to be a yawning chasm of empty space, pleading for me to fill it with accumulated crud. It wasn't empty.
Do any of you who actually know me in surreal life recognize this knife? Seriously? I don't carry weapons, as a general rule. My theory is if you need a weapon, you're not talking fast enough. I don't remember this at all. Where did it come from? Why the hell is it in my briefcase?
Its old and the leather sheath is brittle and cracked. The knife is a little rusty but its still quite sharp. It has a comfortable heft and fits nicely in my hand. When I hold it, I have an almost overwhelming urge to stab things.
Jackson doesn't recognize it. No one I work with claims to know anything about it. In the most approved CSI fashion, I analyzed it carefully and determined that the rubber band is of a type found in my grandfather's rubber band stash. And the knife is impressively sharp like he would have kept it. However, the sheath and blade show evidence of having liquid spilled on them and he would never have let something like that happen. No sir!
So, my forensic investigation has gotten me no where.
I am clueless. This puzzle remains unsolved. Anyone else wanna take a stab at it?
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
He's a really nice guy, even if he is a poo doctor.
I took Katie to the doctor on Monday. She was out of school anyway, so we scheduled her semi-yearly checkup with the pediatric gastroenterologist.
Say that three times fast.
It must take some special sort of weirdo to want to be a pediatric gastroenterologist. Maybe that’s why Katie’s doctor is the only one of his ilk this side of Dallas. Gastroenterologists are basically poo doctors. When we entered the doctor's waiting room we were immediately greeted with the stench of dirty diaper. Ugh. Not much in the world smells worse.
Then some poor woman hauled in an amazingly pale, 8 or 9 year old boy, wrapped in a blanket. The kid was obviously unwell. As they signed in, she asked “Can we have a trash can please? It’s been a really rough morning.”
I’ll take stinky felons over puking kids any day.
Katie gets really nervous about her doctor’s appointments – it’s somewhat embarrassing for her. So, one day I told her not to worry about it – bo-bos are his business. She found that hysterically funny and it’s become her new doctor visit mantra: Bo-bos are his business. (Can I just point out – I usually don’t use obnoxious kiddie-words for body parts, but somehow ‘asses are his assets’ didn’t work as well.)
I think I may be the one who’s a little nervous about her doctor’s appointment next time. You can’t believe all the stuff they expect you to know about the kid. You have to squirt out her date of birth without even thinking. I know the month and day, but hell, I hadn’t even met her father until a nearly three years after she was born. She was three when we got married, so it takes me a second to do the math and figure out the year.
By the time I got it figured out (with the help of Katie blurting out “1996!”) the nurse was quizzing me about her medications. I thought I was doing well to remember the names of them, but she wanted to know dosages as well. What’s up with that? It’s a green pill and a brown pill. That’s all I know. ‘Hell, y’all prescribed ‘em. Figure it out yerself,’ I thought. I tried to play it off with a ‘talk to the kid – she’s your patient, not me’ attitude. I don’t think she really bought that though, and I’m fairly sure there were some comments about incompetent adult supervision added to the file.
Witch.
Seriously – I am way behind the curve on this responsible adult business. The doctor told me her weight and height are on track. She’s starting to stretch out, he said. That I got. Then he went on with some schmaltz about her being in the 75th percentile. What is that about? Is she doing poorly on some sort of intestinal achievement test? Does she need glasses? Remedial reading? What?
I think I need a t-shirt that says something about “Not Officially a Parent”.
Somebody at church asked me a couple of weeks ago about when I was going to adopt her. Not if, when. If I’d known her better, I would’ve said “Well, hell! I never even thought about that!” Adopt her? Why? Is there something I don’t know?
I always sign her permission slips and medical forms and all sorts of other things that require a parent or guardian. No one ever questions it. And if they do, who cares? What are they gonna do, take away my PTA card? As if!
I like things the way they are. We’re on a first name basis – I call her Katie, she calls me Rachel. She sends mother’s day cards to her grandmothers. That’s cool with me.
She scares the crap out of me way too early in the morning by yelling “It’s EASTER!!” right into my sleeping face. And she gives me a bite of all her blizzards. I’m cool with that, too.
I’ve never wanted to be a mother and I’ve done my part by not contributing to global over-population. (My boss often leaves my office, shaking his head and telling anyone who will listen, “well, at least she never reproduced.” High praise, in my book.) I much prefer the role of bodyguard, chauffeur and official denier/granter of permission to do stupid stuff.
As we were leaving Big Flat City yesterday, we passed a few less-than-respectable joints. I asked her if she wanted to stop at one of them and get a tattoo. I told her I’d even pay for it.
She declined.
This time.
Say that three times fast.
It must take some special sort of weirdo to want to be a pediatric gastroenterologist. Maybe that’s why Katie’s doctor is the only one of his ilk this side of Dallas. Gastroenterologists are basically poo doctors. When we entered the doctor's waiting room we were immediately greeted with the stench of dirty diaper. Ugh. Not much in the world smells worse.
Then some poor woman hauled in an amazingly pale, 8 or 9 year old boy, wrapped in a blanket. The kid was obviously unwell. As they signed in, she asked “Can we have a trash can please? It’s been a really rough morning.”
I’ll take stinky felons over puking kids any day.
Katie gets really nervous about her doctor’s appointments – it’s somewhat embarrassing for her. So, one day I told her not to worry about it – bo-bos are his business. She found that hysterically funny and it’s become her new doctor visit mantra: Bo-bos are his business. (Can I just point out – I usually don’t use obnoxious kiddie-words for body parts, but somehow ‘asses are his assets’ didn’t work as well.)
I think I may be the one who’s a little nervous about her doctor’s appointment next time. You can’t believe all the stuff they expect you to know about the kid. You have to squirt out her date of birth without even thinking. I know the month and day, but hell, I hadn’t even met her father until a nearly three years after she was born. She was three when we got married, so it takes me a second to do the math and figure out the year.
By the time I got it figured out (with the help of Katie blurting out “1996!”) the nurse was quizzing me about her medications. I thought I was doing well to remember the names of them, but she wanted to know dosages as well. What’s up with that? It’s a green pill and a brown pill. That’s all I know. ‘Hell, y’all prescribed ‘em. Figure it out yerself,’ I thought. I tried to play it off with a ‘talk to the kid – she’s your patient, not me’ attitude. I don’t think she really bought that though, and I’m fairly sure there were some comments about incompetent adult supervision added to the file.
Witch.
Seriously – I am way behind the curve on this responsible adult business. The doctor told me her weight and height are on track. She’s starting to stretch out, he said. That I got. Then he went on with some schmaltz about her being in the 75th percentile. What is that about? Is she doing poorly on some sort of intestinal achievement test? Does she need glasses? Remedial reading? What?
I think I need a t-shirt that says something about “Not Officially a Parent”.
Somebody at church asked me a couple of weeks ago about when I was going to adopt her. Not if, when. If I’d known her better, I would’ve said “Well, hell! I never even thought about that!” Adopt her? Why? Is there something I don’t know?
I always sign her permission slips and medical forms and all sorts of other things that require a parent or guardian. No one ever questions it. And if they do, who cares? What are they gonna do, take away my PTA card? As if!
I like things the way they are. We’re on a first name basis – I call her Katie, she calls me Rachel. She sends mother’s day cards to her grandmothers. That’s cool with me.
She scares the crap out of me way too early in the morning by yelling “It’s EASTER!!” right into my sleeping face. And she gives me a bite of all her blizzards. I’m cool with that, too.
I’ve never wanted to be a mother and I’ve done my part by not contributing to global over-population. (My boss often leaves my office, shaking his head and telling anyone who will listen, “well, at least she never reproduced.” High praise, in my book.) I much prefer the role of bodyguard, chauffeur and official denier/granter of permission to do stupid stuff.
As we were leaving Big Flat City yesterday, we passed a few less-than-respectable joints. I asked her if she wanted to stop at one of them and get a tattoo. I told her I’d even pay for it.
She declined.
This time.
Friday, April 06, 2007
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Then it played La Vie En Rose, which always makes me laugh...
I have switched from Yoga to riding the exercise bike at five-freakin'-twenty in the morning. Yoga was really good for the blood pressure, but not so much for the cholesterol. It's not that I'm all concerned about my health or anything, it's just the M2 and I both have high cholesterol and I don't want her to beat me at the numbers game.
We tend to be a bit competitive around here, heh, heh. We compete over who has the lowest delinquency rate (she always wins that one) or who can put the most members of a certain pathologically obnoxious family in jail for Christmas or who can collect the most urine or make the most people cry in one week, etc. etc. I'd be ticked if she got her cholesterol lower than mine.
I have a recumbent exercise bike that works out pretty good. You don't actually have to be awake to ride it. I just set the timer, and snooze while my feets do all the work.
The only problem is that I like to listen to the I-Fraud while riding. (Hat tip to Cheesehead and her T-Faux.) I've really got to do something about the music on that thing. When it plays the theme song from Speed Racer (Go Speedracer! Go Speedracer! Go Speedracer! Go! Go!) right before Barbra Streisand singing "Papa, Can You Hear Me?" it makes it tough to keep any sort of consistency going in the workout.
And it makes you weird.
We tend to be a bit competitive around here, heh, heh. We compete over who has the lowest delinquency rate (she always wins that one) or who can put the most members of a certain pathologically obnoxious family in jail for Christmas or who can collect the most urine or make the most people cry in one week, etc. etc. I'd be ticked if she got her cholesterol lower than mine.
I have a recumbent exercise bike that works out pretty good. You don't actually have to be awake to ride it. I just set the timer, and snooze while my feets do all the work.
The only problem is that I like to listen to the I-Fraud while riding. (Hat tip to Cheesehead and her T-Faux.) I've really got to do something about the music on that thing. When it plays the theme song from Speed Racer (Go Speedracer! Go Speedracer! Go Speedracer! Go! Go!) right before Barbra Streisand singing "Papa, Can You Hear Me?" it makes it tough to keep any sort of consistency going in the workout.
And it makes you weird.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Friday Cemetery Blogging
My muse had her tonsils removed a couple of weeks ago. She's milking it for all she's worth and refuses to come back to work yet. Oh well, her sick leave will run out soon.Until then...
Monday, March 26, 2007
You wanna know what I love?
I love and adore the Geico commercial with the caveman in the airport. You know the one - he's on the moving sidewalk, listening to the muzak and he sees the billboard out of the corner of his eye.
I love that commercial so much, it's embarrassing.
And my favorite part? That damn tennis racket.
Cracks. me. up.
I love that commercial so much, it's embarrassing.
And my favorite part? That damn tennis racket.
Cracks. me. up.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
I don't even like Steven Seagal.
Last night I wandered into the living room. Jackson was watching TV.
"Whatcha watchin'?"
"Rent and the Weather Channel."
"At the same time?! I'd really like to see Rent, but preferably in its entirity."
"Ok." He switched the channel to CSI-New York. "Let's watch this and you can live vicariously through them and pretend you're an FBI agent."
"Why the heck would I wanna do that?"
"Ok, fine. You can live vicariously through Steven Seagal, then."
"Steven Seagal?? What the hell!?"
"Well," he said, then switched into his best Hannibal Lector impersonation. "How about Clarisssse?"
At that point, I got up and left. He went back to watching whatever he wanted.
Which was probably exactly what he had in mind.
"Whatcha watchin'?"
"Rent and the Weather Channel."
"At the same time?! I'd really like to see Rent, but preferably in its entirity."
"Ok." He switched the channel to CSI-New York. "Let's watch this and you can live vicariously through them and pretend you're an FBI agent."
"Why the heck would I wanna do that?"
"Ok, fine. You can live vicariously through Steven Seagal, then."
"Steven Seagal?? What the hell!?"
"Well," he said, then switched into his best Hannibal Lector impersonation. "How about Clarisssse?"
At that point, I got up and left. He went back to watching whatever he wanted.
Which was probably exactly what he had in mind.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Just Another Manic Monday
...and I've nothing, really, to say.
But honestly, when has that ever stopped me?
I took some time off last week and recharged my batteries a bit. That was good. Once again I've been struck by the baseball bat of epiphany and remembered that my attitude is what shapes my reality. Therefore I went back at work with a bit of renewed attitude today.
They hired a new secretary last week while I was away. She hasn't started yet, but I'm excited about it. We never have any 'new blood' here. No one ever leaves. Occasionally they die, or retire or even get arrested, but no one never just quits to take another job elsewhere. Our rookie officer has been here for five years. This is really good, because it means we generally all get along. It can also be really stifling because we all know every tiny little detail of our co-workers lives and we act like a big disfunctional family at times. There is a lot of the 'boarding house reach' here and occasionally someone takes an elbow to the nose. So, it will be nice to have a new face and a new perspective.
Someday I'll tell you about who died and who got arrested. Those are good stories.
Jackson is convinced I have some form of raging tuberculosis. He's already planning how to spend the life insurance money. I am clinging to life just to spite him. And the cough is getting better.
Rose returned a couple of books today that I loaned her months ago. I had totally completely forgotten about them. Which is way weird, because I am a complete nazi about loaning books. Surely I'm not getting all mellow about this. Strange...
Its beginning to feel like spring here. The trees are budding. My damn daffodils have managed to survive long enough to have some decent blooms. (I really hate those flowers.) And the tulips have grown enough that they aren't of interest to the rabbits. I need to get out the seed catalogue tonight and place my order. Gonna try to grow some peanuts this year. Just for laughs.
That's what I know. What do you know?
But honestly, when has that ever stopped me?
I took some time off last week and recharged my batteries a bit. That was good. Once again I've been struck by the baseball bat of epiphany and remembered that my attitude is what shapes my reality. Therefore I went back at work with a bit of renewed attitude today.
They hired a new secretary last week while I was away. She hasn't started yet, but I'm excited about it. We never have any 'new blood' here. No one ever leaves. Occasionally they die, or retire or even get arrested, but no one never just quits to take another job elsewhere. Our rookie officer has been here for five years. This is really good, because it means we generally all get along. It can also be really stifling because we all know every tiny little detail of our co-workers lives and we act like a big disfunctional family at times. There is a lot of the 'boarding house reach' here and occasionally someone takes an elbow to the nose. So, it will be nice to have a new face and a new perspective.
Someday I'll tell you about who died and who got arrested. Those are good stories.
Jackson is convinced I have some form of raging tuberculosis. He's already planning how to spend the life insurance money. I am clinging to life just to spite him. And the cough is getting better.
Rose returned a couple of books today that I loaned her months ago. I had totally completely forgotten about them. Which is way weird, because I am a complete nazi about loaning books. Surely I'm not getting all mellow about this. Strange...
Its beginning to feel like spring here. The trees are budding. My damn daffodils have managed to survive long enough to have some decent blooms. (I really hate those flowers.) And the tulips have grown enough that they aren't of interest to the rabbits. I need to get out the seed catalogue tonight and place my order. Gonna try to grow some peanuts this year. Just for laughs.
That's what I know. What do you know?
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Friday Cemetery Blogging
Harley Davidson meets Rolls Royce*
This is my all-time favorite cemetery angel, so far. My friend C.Wright found this in Palestine. Palestine, Texas. When I made a pilgrimage to her place last month, this was one of the cemeteries on my list that I was dying to visit.
I don't know who the sculptor is. His/her signature is engraved on the teal-colored base of the statue. I couldn't read it and wasn't able to get a good photo of it in the fading light. The statue doesn't mark any single grave and there is no plaque giving credit for its placement to the Order of the Eastern Star or The Ali-Babba Temple of the Shrine. It's just there.
At the edge of the cemetery, at the end of a star shaped sidewalk (don't ask - its hard to explain and even harder to photograph) which leads to the statue, there is this stone:
Art for art's sake. We could use more of that.
Thanks to Miss Kitty for the title this week. She captured the exact feel of this rusting chrome angel.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Grandmother's Send Off
We had my grandmother's funeral today. She was a cool grandmother who'd lived a long life. A couple of weeks ago she decided she was tired of being here.
So she died.
And that's ok.
My mother and uncle chose to have a graveside service. Early in the morning we gathered around the open grave, huddled together in the rain and mist, singing Amazing Grace a capella.
That's my idea of a good funeral. It was a scene to make Edward Gorey proud.
I learned a couple of things from this particular funeral experience. The first thing I've come to accept is that I have become a social hugger. I'm not proud of that fact, but that makes it no less true.
I am not a touchy-feely person. Its just not my thing.
But this is the the south, and I'm a woman and certain things are just expected. Over the years I've given up on trying to avoid the contact while avoiding hurting someone's feelings. Now I tend to initiate it to try and get it over with. Especially at funerals.
Sunday afternoon we had a big ol' hug-fest at the funeral home, while the family received visitors. I thought I was prepared. I had my fake huggy-smile all cued up and ready to go. While this was certainly a somber occasion, it was not unexpected and not at all angst-filled or wretched. Unfortunately, the first person to see me when I came in the door was Aunt Louise.
Now, y'all all have an Aunt Louise. I know you do. Aunt Louise has a penchant for TV preachers and Eva Gabor wigs. She's as tall as I am and pretty thin and spry. And she is a hugger deee-lux.
I saw her coming and was ready to go with a quick, mid-stride side hug. Its a good opening gambit and a way to breeze through the feely formalities while not lingering with someone who tends to count the hooks in your bra.
I seriously underestimated Aunt Louise. She was in full tragedy mode.
She snuck in under my outstretched arm and grabbed me by the armpits, throwing me into her chest. I had to break stride to keep from falling on top of her. She bear hugged me so hard I gasped out loud and the reflexive inhale caused me to choke on my cough drop. She interpreted my subdued gagging as proof of my emotional upheaval and she hung on for dear life.
I managed to catch my breath and gave her a friendly end-of-hug pat on the back. Then I stepped back.
She stepped with me as if we'd been doing the tango together for years. She was saying something about how tragic all of this was and how she knew I'd miss my grandmother and whatever would we do without her beatific presence in our sordid lives.
I knew it wasn't worth it to explain that although I will certainly miss the person my grandmother was, she was ready to go and the greater tragedy by far would have been for her to have been confined to a bed in a nursing home for any length of time. I just smiled and nodded.
Of course she couldn't see me smile because her chin was still digging into my shoulder and her wig was getting in my teeth.
She finally released the bear hug, but clung to my arm and directed me around the room to the rest of the mourners. Thankfully, most of them were satisfied with a handshake.
I may have to rethink my social hugger strategy. Maybe it would be easier if I contracted leprosy.
Now, that is not really the story I intended to tell you.
I really wanted to tell you about English Pea Salad.
My family and I have always been connoisseurs of funeral food. In small towns out here, the preacher is always expected to eat with the family when there is a funeral meal. And there is always a funeral meal. In the small towns I grew up in, the population was aging rapidly and it was not at all uncommon for us to have two and three funerals a week. The only way my brother and I got lunch was by partaking with the mourners, too.
There are some certainties to southern funeral food. There are only three dignified meat choices: Fried Chicken, Ham and Roast. BBQ is fine for a wedding or a revival meeting or at a booster club fundraiser before the football game, but its generally considered bad form at a funeral meal. All funerals have at least two of those meat choices and any really good send-off will have all three.
There is always one lady in the church who is unofficially designated to bring deviled eggs. She is generally the one who received one of those deviled egg platters as a wedding gift back in '52.
There will be a prodigious amount of mashed potatoes, yet this will always be the first dish to run out.
Hot rolls reign supreme. Some of the more hoity-toity churches have women who will make them from scratch. The down-home congregations use brown-n-serve.
Then there are the side dishes. There are two side dishes that are present at each and every memorial meal. English Pea Salad and Carrot and Raisin Salad. Evidently, no one but a godless communist would consent to be buried without their family partaking of these death salads. They are an ever-present harbinger of loss, feeder of grief, and satiate to those who remain.
I've been espousing the merits and short-comings of funeral food for years. My friends have smiling put up with my exhaustive diatribes on the subject. I even like to go through the line at Furr's cafeteria and tell the server I want some 'funeral salad' to see which one they pick.
At Grandmother's funeral, I was reminded that I have some really good friends. C. Wright lives way out on the other side of the state. When she heard that my grandmother died, she immediately contacted DW, another good friend who put up with me as her office jester for the four years while I was in college.
I didn't see DW until we were about to eat. She snuck up beside me with a big grin on her face.
"C.Wright told me your grandmother died. We got together and made sure you had enough salads."
Sure enough, when it was my turn to wind my way down the pot-luck table, I saw their two dishes sitting side by side - Carrot and Raisin Salad and English Pea Salad.
We got our burying done right.
So she died.
And that's ok.
My mother and uncle chose to have a graveside service. Early in the morning we gathered around the open grave, huddled together in the rain and mist, singing Amazing Grace a capella.
That's my idea of a good funeral. It was a scene to make Edward Gorey proud.
I learned a couple of things from this particular funeral experience. The first thing I've come to accept is that I have become a social hugger. I'm not proud of that fact, but that makes it no less true.
I am not a touchy-feely person. Its just not my thing.
But this is the the south, and I'm a woman and certain things are just expected. Over the years I've given up on trying to avoid the contact while avoiding hurting someone's feelings. Now I tend to initiate it to try and get it over with. Especially at funerals.
Sunday afternoon we had a big ol' hug-fest at the funeral home, while the family received visitors. I thought I was prepared. I had my fake huggy-smile all cued up and ready to go. While this was certainly a somber occasion, it was not unexpected and not at all angst-filled or wretched. Unfortunately, the first person to see me when I came in the door was Aunt Louise.
Now, y'all all have an Aunt Louise. I know you do. Aunt Louise has a penchant for TV preachers and Eva Gabor wigs. She's as tall as I am and pretty thin and spry. And she is a hugger deee-lux.
I saw her coming and was ready to go with a quick, mid-stride side hug. Its a good opening gambit and a way to breeze through the feely formalities while not lingering with someone who tends to count the hooks in your bra.
I seriously underestimated Aunt Louise. She was in full tragedy mode.
She snuck in under my outstretched arm and grabbed me by the armpits, throwing me into her chest. I had to break stride to keep from falling on top of her. She bear hugged me so hard I gasped out loud and the reflexive inhale caused me to choke on my cough drop. She interpreted my subdued gagging as proof of my emotional upheaval and she hung on for dear life.
I managed to catch my breath and gave her a friendly end-of-hug pat on the back. Then I stepped back.
She stepped with me as if we'd been doing the tango together for years. She was saying something about how tragic all of this was and how she knew I'd miss my grandmother and whatever would we do without her beatific presence in our sordid lives.
I knew it wasn't worth it to explain that although I will certainly miss the person my grandmother was, she was ready to go and the greater tragedy by far would have been for her to have been confined to a bed in a nursing home for any length of time. I just smiled and nodded.
Of course she couldn't see me smile because her chin was still digging into my shoulder and her wig was getting in my teeth.
She finally released the bear hug, but clung to my arm and directed me around the room to the rest of the mourners. Thankfully, most of them were satisfied with a handshake.
I may have to rethink my social hugger strategy. Maybe it would be easier if I contracted leprosy.
Now, that is not really the story I intended to tell you.
I really wanted to tell you about English Pea Salad.
My family and I have always been connoisseurs of funeral food. In small towns out here, the preacher is always expected to eat with the family when there is a funeral meal. And there is always a funeral meal. In the small towns I grew up in, the population was aging rapidly and it was not at all uncommon for us to have two and three funerals a week. The only way my brother and I got lunch was by partaking with the mourners, too.
There are some certainties to southern funeral food. There are only three dignified meat choices: Fried Chicken, Ham and Roast. BBQ is fine for a wedding or a revival meeting or at a booster club fundraiser before the football game, but its generally considered bad form at a funeral meal. All funerals have at least two of those meat choices and any really good send-off will have all three.
There is always one lady in the church who is unofficially designated to bring deviled eggs. She is generally the one who received one of those deviled egg platters as a wedding gift back in '52.
There will be a prodigious amount of mashed potatoes, yet this will always be the first dish to run out.
Hot rolls reign supreme. Some of the more hoity-toity churches have women who will make them from scratch. The down-home congregations use brown-n-serve.
Then there are the side dishes. There are two side dishes that are present at each and every memorial meal. English Pea Salad and Carrot and Raisin Salad. Evidently, no one but a godless communist would consent to be buried without their family partaking of these death salads. They are an ever-present harbinger of loss, feeder of grief, and satiate to those who remain.
I've been espousing the merits and short-comings of funeral food for years. My friends have smiling put up with my exhaustive diatribes on the subject. I even like to go through the line at Furr's cafeteria and tell the server I want some 'funeral salad' to see which one they pick.
At Grandmother's funeral, I was reminded that I have some really good friends. C. Wright lives way out on the other side of the state. When she heard that my grandmother died, she immediately contacted DW, another good friend who put up with me as her office jester for the four years while I was in college.
I didn't see DW until we were about to eat. She snuck up beside me with a big grin on her face.
"C.Wright told me your grandmother died. We got together and made sure you had enough salads."
Sure enough, when it was my turn to wind my way down the pot-luck table, I saw their two dishes sitting side by side - Carrot and Raisin Salad and English Pea Salad.
We got our burying done right.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Friday Cemetery Blogging
Ok, so its only Thursday. But I couldn't wait.
Be sure to turn the music on when the titles start.
Be sure to turn the music on when the titles start.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Triviality
Stole this from Reverendmother:
What time do you get up in the morning?5:15ish. My alarm is set for 5:40, but I usually get up earlier and do yoga or something.
Diamonds or pearls? Neither, really. Diamonds if I had to chose one.
What was the last film you saw at the cinema? I can't remember! And that ticks me off, because there is nothing better than movies in the theatre. I gotta work to change that, and today I'm taking Katie to see Bridge to Terabithia. (school holiday today.)
What is your favorite TV show? Dirty Jobs or pretty much anything on food network. I don't cook, but I love to watch people do it on TV!??!
What do you normally have for breakfast? Cereal or a breakfast burrito.
What is your middle name? Lei.
What is your favorite cuisine? Tex-Mex
What food do you most dislike? Institutionally prepared chicken breast.
What is your favorite chip? BBQ potato chips
What is your favorite CD at the moment?
What kind of car do you drive? Ford F150
What is your favorite sandwich? Roast, mashed potatoes and black-eyed peas with lots of mayo. Yeah, I'm a picture of cardio health.
Qualities I despise most in other people are? Giving in to baseless fears.
What are your favorite clothes? jeans and t-shirts
If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it be? Europe
What color are your eyes? Hazel. Usually.
What is your favorite brand of clothing? don’t have one
Where would you want to retire? East Texas. Or the mountains. Or maybe Costa Rica.
What is your favorite time of day? Any time that I don't have anything I have to do.
Where were you born? West Texas
What is your favorite sport to watch? Football. I don't like watching any other sport on TV, but enjoy watching them in person. I like watching football in person, but its actually better on TV.
Sock Sock, Shoe Shoe or Sock Shoe, Sock Shoe? Changes from day to day.
Cash, credit card or debit card? Debit Card!!! I love, love, love debit cards.
Pepsi or Coke? Don’t care.
Cats or Dogs? Cats. Although I would like to have a grey hound someday.
Are you a morning person or a night owl? Morning.
Pedicure or manicure? Meh. whatever. or neither.
Do you prefer funny or mushy cards? Funny, of course. I'd like to hit that Helen Rice woman with my car.
Any new and exciting news you’d like to share with everyone? Not yet.
What did you want to be when you were little? FBI Agent
What do you have in your trunk right now? A sack of shoes I need to donate to the
Salvation Army and Jimmy Hoffa.
What is your best childhood memory? I have no idea. Lots of good stuff.
What are some of the different jobs you have had in your life? Fireworks seller, Grocery store flunky, Secretary, Probation Officer.
What is your favorite holiday? Halloween.
What is your favorite dessert? Cobbler with Ice Cream
Where is your favorite get-away? Mountains
Have you ever been to Africa? Nope.
Glasses or contacts? Contacts, especially now that I have double vision when I'm not wearing them. Yes, the eye doctor is running tests to try to figure that out.
Have you ever been toilet papering? Nope. Did plenty of other stuff, though.
Have you ever been in a car accident? Never, ever. (Knock on wood!)
What is your favorite day of the week? Right now its Sunday afternoon. We are trying really hard to have absolutely nothing we have to do on Sunday afternoons.
What is your favorite restaurant? Mi Mexico in Fake Cow County and Johnny Carino's in Big Flat City.
Favorite flower? Calla Lily
Favorite movies? Philadelphia Story, Bringing up Baby, The Maltese Falcon, oh, heck, this list could go on for pages before I even reach the 21st century.
Favorite Pastime? Reading, Painting, Drawing, Gardening
Favorite ice cream? Anything but chocolate, as long as it has something crunchy in it.
Favorite fast food restaurant? Taco Bell, Sonic
How many times did you fail your drivers test? Ouch. I failed it the first time. The dude made me parallel park first thing and that didn't go well. heh.
From whom did you get your last email? From Garrison Keilor. Yeah. We're buds. He emails me every morning. Sends me poetry and stuff. I know y'all are jealous.
Sandals or tennis shoes? tennis shoes
Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? Amazon.com
If the speed limit is 60, what is the fastest you normally drive? 65
What is your bedtime? 10:30ish
Last person you went to dinner with? Jackson
What are you listening to right now? A documentary about some woman who bumped off her wealthy husband.
What is your favorite color? Deep, Dark, By God-Purple. And Black
How many tattoos do you have? None. I know what I want, but I can't make up my mind where to put it.
Smooth or crunchy peanut butter? CRUNCHY!
What is your favorite drink? Margarita.
What time do you get up in the morning?5:15ish. My alarm is set for 5:40, but I usually get up earlier and do yoga or something.
Diamonds or pearls? Neither, really. Diamonds if I had to chose one.
What was the last film you saw at the cinema? I can't remember! And that ticks me off, because there is nothing better than movies in the theatre. I gotta work to change that, and today I'm taking Katie to see Bridge to Terabithia. (school holiday today.)
What is your favorite TV show? Dirty Jobs or pretty much anything on food network. I don't cook, but I love to watch people do it on TV!??!
What do you normally have for breakfast? Cereal or a breakfast burrito.
What is your middle name? Lei.
What is your favorite cuisine? Tex-Mex
What food do you most dislike? Institutionally prepared chicken breast.
What is your favorite chip? BBQ potato chips
What is your favorite CD at the moment?
What kind of car do you drive? Ford F150
What is your favorite sandwich? Roast, mashed potatoes and black-eyed peas with lots of mayo. Yeah, I'm a picture of cardio health.
Qualities I despise most in other people are? Giving in to baseless fears.
What are your favorite clothes? jeans and t-shirts
If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it be? Europe
What color are your eyes? Hazel. Usually.
What is your favorite brand of clothing? don’t have one
Where would you want to retire? East Texas. Or the mountains. Or maybe Costa Rica.
What is your favorite time of day? Any time that I don't have anything I have to do.
Where were you born? West Texas
What is your favorite sport to watch? Football. I don't like watching any other sport on TV, but enjoy watching them in person. I like watching football in person, but its actually better on TV.
Sock Sock, Shoe Shoe or Sock Shoe, Sock Shoe? Changes from day to day.
Cash, credit card or debit card? Debit Card!!! I love, love, love debit cards.
Pepsi or Coke? Don’t care.
Cats or Dogs? Cats. Although I would like to have a grey hound someday.
Are you a morning person or a night owl? Morning.
Pedicure or manicure? Meh. whatever. or neither.
Do you prefer funny or mushy cards? Funny, of course. I'd like to hit that Helen Rice woman with my car.
Any new and exciting news you’d like to share with everyone? Not yet.
What did you want to be when you were little? FBI Agent
What do you have in your trunk right now? A sack of shoes I need to donate to the
Salvation Army and Jimmy Hoffa.
What is your best childhood memory? I have no idea. Lots of good stuff.
What are some of the different jobs you have had in your life? Fireworks seller, Grocery store flunky, Secretary, Probation Officer.
What is your favorite holiday? Halloween.
What is your favorite dessert? Cobbler with Ice Cream
Where is your favorite get-away? Mountains
Have you ever been to Africa? Nope.
Glasses or contacts? Contacts, especially now that I have double vision when I'm not wearing them. Yes, the eye doctor is running tests to try to figure that out.
Have you ever been toilet papering? Nope. Did plenty of other stuff, though.
Have you ever been in a car accident? Never, ever. (Knock on wood!)
What is your favorite day of the week? Right now its Sunday afternoon. We are trying really hard to have absolutely nothing we have to do on Sunday afternoons.
What is your favorite restaurant? Mi Mexico in Fake Cow County and Johnny Carino's in Big Flat City.
Favorite flower? Calla Lily
Favorite movies? Philadelphia Story, Bringing up Baby, The Maltese Falcon, oh, heck, this list could go on for pages before I even reach the 21st century.
Favorite Pastime? Reading, Painting, Drawing, Gardening
Favorite ice cream? Anything but chocolate, as long as it has something crunchy in it.
Favorite fast food restaurant? Taco Bell, Sonic
How many times did you fail your drivers test? Ouch. I failed it the first time. The dude made me parallel park first thing and that didn't go well. heh.
From whom did you get your last email? From Garrison Keilor. Yeah. We're buds. He emails me every morning. Sends me poetry and stuff. I know y'all are jealous.
Sandals or tennis shoes? tennis shoes
Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? Amazon.com
If the speed limit is 60, what is the fastest you normally drive? 65
What is your bedtime? 10:30ish
Last person you went to dinner with? Jackson
What are you listening to right now? A documentary about some woman who bumped off her wealthy husband.
What is your favorite color? Deep, Dark, By God-Purple. And Black
How many tattoos do you have? None. I know what I want, but I can't make up my mind where to put it.
Smooth or crunchy peanut butter? CRUNCHY!
What is your favorite drink? Margarita.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)