I love this ad. Even though I no longer drink Coca-Cola, I always love their Polar Bears. I also admire their taste in music.
Cheers!
Monday, December 17, 2007
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Granddog #2
One of my granddogs lives here. Cathie's dog is Chewy, short for Chewbacca Brownie, a chocolate cocker spaniel. (Even her nose is brown.)
But now there is another.... yes, but not Leia or Luke. It is Mister Spock.
Eve and Aaron have adopted a beagle puppy. This video was when he was 11 weeks old. Eve says he is about twice this size, now that he is 18 weeks.
He isn't doing much in this video. But he's being little and cute, which is enough.
This may be the new house. I am not sure. It sure doesn't seem possible it could have been over 7 weeks since they moved. Wow!
But now there is another.... yes, but not Leia or Luke. It is Mister Spock.
Eve and Aaron have adopted a beagle puppy. This video was when he was 11 weeks old. Eve says he is about twice this size, now that he is 18 weeks.
He isn't doing much in this video. But he's being little and cute, which is enough.
This may be the new house. I am not sure. It sure doesn't seem possible it could have been over 7 weeks since they moved. Wow!
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Can you hear me now?
I think I need to start yelling at people.
No, I really hate that idea. It does something to my insides.
I purchased a card to send something to a friend of mind on Tuesday. She lives north of San Francisco. I live north of Nashville, TN, in a rather small town. But we do have a local art gallery. So I bought a card with a reproduction of a watercolor, an autumn scene in Kentucky. Very nice. I talked to the gallery director about the weather (here and in San Francisco), upcoming art shows, and the current requirements for art reproductions for sale.
I wrote a message to my friend inside the card. I labeled and sealed the envelope, and then I waited in line at the post office. There were liberty bell stamps and flag stamps in the vending machine, but I wanted something pretty and different for the card. My friend notices things like that. Thinking of the smile that would be on her face when she saw it made me smile, too.
"Can I help you?" said the woman at the counter, when it was my turn.
"I'd like to mail this card," I said, extending the envelope. "I didn't want to get one of the stamps from the machine. What kind of stamps do you have today?"
She punched a button swiftly, tore off the stamp that popped out, and slapped it on my card. I watched as the envelope disappeared into a slot. She looked back up at me.
"Anything else? You need a book of stamps or anything?" she asked me, obviously unaware I had been saying anything of importance.
"No, nothing," I said. I left.
The woman at the gallery must have better hearing or something.
No, I really hate that idea. It does something to my insides.
I purchased a card to send something to a friend of mind on Tuesday. She lives north of San Francisco. I live north of Nashville, TN, in a rather small town. But we do have a local art gallery. So I bought a card with a reproduction of a watercolor, an autumn scene in Kentucky. Very nice. I talked to the gallery director about the weather (here and in San Francisco), upcoming art shows, and the current requirements for art reproductions for sale.
I wrote a message to my friend inside the card. I labeled and sealed the envelope, and then I waited in line at the post office. There were liberty bell stamps and flag stamps in the vending machine, but I wanted something pretty and different for the card. My friend notices things like that. Thinking of the smile that would be on her face when she saw it made me smile, too.
"Can I help you?" said the woman at the counter, when it was my turn.
"I'd like to mail this card," I said, extending the envelope. "I didn't want to get one of the stamps from the machine. What kind of stamps do you have today?"
She punched a button swiftly, tore off the stamp that popped out, and slapped it on my card. I watched as the envelope disappeared into a slot. She looked back up at me.
"Anything else? You need a book of stamps or anything?" she asked me, obviously unaware I had been saying anything of importance.
"No, nothing," I said. I left.
The woman at the gallery must have better hearing or something.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
My daughter, the poet
No links here.
Sometimes I find things on the internet which I was never meant to read. Poems, short stories, stream-of-consciousness philosophy from my middle child. I dearly love all three of my children, but each of them has given me sorrow as well as joy -- even now, as adults.
Sometimes I feel so unworthy of her, and yet mortally wounded by her. When I read her words, so beautiful, pure, and terrible, that I cry. I have let her down. I have disappointed her. She was incredible, innocent, natural, and yet frighteningly intelligent. I feel stupid by comparison. And so unworthy.
I know that many of these pieces were written years ago, in her teens and her very early twenties, and yet they haunt me. So why do I read them? Because part of the child that she was speaks to me, and I crave the communication.
Her younger sister tells me I am the worlds's best mother, and that I have sacrificed everything to give each of them all the love and encouragement they needed. Listening to her, I could nearly start to feel like Rosie the Riveter or Wonder Woman... except... I know, in my heart, how many times I have failed.
I need to remind myself of the things that make me happy, and the reasons I feel I am lovable. Reading, writing, drawing... sleep is an elusive thing.
Sometimes I find things on the internet which I was never meant to read. Poems, short stories, stream-of-consciousness philosophy from my middle child. I dearly love all three of my children, but each of them has given me sorrow as well as joy -- even now, as adults.
Sometimes I feel so unworthy of her, and yet mortally wounded by her. When I read her words, so beautiful, pure, and terrible, that I cry. I have let her down. I have disappointed her. She was incredible, innocent, natural, and yet frighteningly intelligent. I feel stupid by comparison. And so unworthy.
I know that many of these pieces were written years ago, in her teens and her very early twenties, and yet they haunt me. So why do I read them? Because part of the child that she was speaks to me, and I crave the communication.
Her younger sister tells me I am the worlds's best mother, and that I have sacrificed everything to give each of them all the love and encouragement they needed. Listening to her, I could nearly start to feel like Rosie the Riveter or Wonder Woman... except... I know, in my heart, how many times I have failed.
I need to remind myself of the things that make me happy, and the reasons I feel I am lovable. Reading, writing, drawing... sleep is an elusive thing.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Watching the clock...
I'm waiting for time to head to the theater to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
Well, I still need to make supper. Just for me, tonight, though, since Gran is at my older brother's house, and Paul and Ian are hanging out with Paul's half-brother, Chris.
I'm getting caught up on a few online tasks before I change. I'm not taking a robe or a wand, just wearing this t-shirt -
- and possibly the cap that goes with it.
I used Fandango to try to get 11:59 PM tickets for tonight, but they goofed, and so I goofed. Now I have 11:59 PM tickets for the regular showing. Since IMAX's showing at that time is now sold out, I'll be changing the tickets for the 3:00 AM showing. The IMAX tickets cost a little more, but I know it will be worth it.
Some critics have said the yelling and angst in OotP are a little over the top, but I say you just can't expect to get everything in a movie that you do in a book. Make no mistake, I love movies. It's just that they and books are apples and oranges.
I am terrible about watching the Harry Potter movies and saying, "But in the book, this happened..." or "But they left this out! And it's important!" I recently made myself watch the earlier movies on DVD again, trying to free myself of expectations. They are still far and away better than most fanfics I've read! They are abbreviated versions of the books, with illustrations. Moving illustrations, like the paintings and photographs in the wizarding world. Yes, a few things annoy me, and a few things amuse me, about changes that are made. I am still saddened by Richard Harris' passing, because he will always be my Dumbledore. My Dumbledore is gentle, even though he is a force to be reckoned with. My Dumbledore would never shake Harry or any other student to get the truth. Dumbledore does not resort to violence to learn facts. He is the epitome of wisdom.
Hermione is brilliant, but earnest, not snug. Ron doesn't realize that he is smart. He has a wealth of knowledge about the wizarding world. He's just been in the shadow of five uniquely resourceful brothers all his life. And Harry? He is no slouch. Almost everything we know comes through him. He is our eyes, our mind, and our heart.
Sorry. I'm getting too caught up in this again. I can't help it. I so love a good story.
Well, I still need to make supper. Just for me, tonight, though, since Gran is at my older brother's house, and Paul and Ian are hanging out with Paul's half-brother, Chris.
I'm getting caught up on a few online tasks before I change. I'm not taking a robe or a wand, just wearing this t-shirt -
- and possibly the cap that goes with it.
I used Fandango to try to get 11:59 PM tickets for tonight, but they goofed, and so I goofed. Now I have 11:59 PM tickets for the regular showing. Since IMAX's showing at that time is now sold out, I'll be changing the tickets for the 3:00 AM showing. The IMAX tickets cost a little more, but I know it will be worth it.
Some critics have said the yelling and angst in OotP are a little over the top, but I say you just can't expect to get everything in a movie that you do in a book. Make no mistake, I love movies. It's just that they and books are apples and oranges.
I am terrible about watching the Harry Potter movies and saying, "But in the book, this happened..." or "But they left this out! And it's important!" I recently made myself watch the earlier movies on DVD again, trying to free myself of expectations. They are still far and away better than most fanfics I've read! They are abbreviated versions of the books, with illustrations. Moving illustrations, like the paintings and photographs in the wizarding world. Yes, a few things annoy me, and a few things amuse me, about changes that are made. I am still saddened by Richard Harris' passing, because he will always be my Dumbledore. My Dumbledore is gentle, even though he is a force to be reckoned with. My Dumbledore would never shake Harry or any other student to get the truth. Dumbledore does not resort to violence to learn facts. He is the epitome of wisdom.
Hermione is brilliant, but earnest, not snug. Ron doesn't realize that he is smart. He has a wealth of knowledge about the wizarding world. He's just been in the shadow of five uniquely resourceful brothers all his life. And Harry? He is no slouch. Almost everything we know comes through him. He is our eyes, our mind, and our heart.
Sorry. I'm getting too caught up in this again. I can't help it. I so love a good story.
The bees' knees
Actually, I'm not sure bees have knees. But whatever they have, I'd appreciate them keeping them away from my family.
As I've said, Cathie married her childhood sweetheart last week. She's back at Fort Bragg, NC, now, until October. She will get to take leave again before then. In October, she gets reassigned to Fort Campbell. In the meantime, her husband is here in town.
Cathie left on Sunday. The hubby was checking out a bees nest that evening when he was struck by the irate inhabitants. He had stings from at least six or seven yellow jackets. One of them left a nasty trail down his arm as he tried to brush it from his skin. He thought he needed to rest afterward, and then he changed clothes for work. He spoke to Cathie on the phone, and she urged him to go have his injuries checked by a doctor. She's a medic, and his symptoms worried her more than they did him.
I had gone to sleep early after work, and I was a little slow on the uptake when Paul tried to wake me sometime after ten. He told me he'd talked to Cathie, and that we needed to go help Cathie's hubby, who had been stung by bees.
For some reason, my groggy brain "remembered" the fact that he was allergic to bee stings -- although in reality, I had never been told anything of the sort. It got my adreniline pumping, however, and I took Paul over to his house.
He wasn't there.
We drove to the ER, where we saw his car. We confirmed the fact that he was inside, and they were treating him. The clerk in reception told us they were running a few more tests on him.
We saw a couple of city police officers leave, but I didn't know them personally, and I suspected they wouldn't know me. It's been too long since my brother was on the local police force, and my ex-husband is retired from the state police, now.
We spoke with Cathie again. I agreed to stay, since Paul would have to work at 8:00 in the morning. One of the nurses came to get me a few minutes later. Since the waiting room temperature felt like it was just above freezing, I was even happier to leave it.
My guess is that Cathie's husband is unaccustomed to drugs. He says he doesn't even use Tylenol on a regular basis. The drugs he had been given to treat his condition had made him extremely groggy and disoriented. I wasn't even sure he recognized me.
Sometime between midnight and one, they moved him to a room. They asked him a lot of questions, checked his blood pressure, and did an EKG. His heart rate and blood pressure had been doing some odd things. And although he had never been allergic to bees, as far as he knew, he is now.
Once he was settled and asleep, I put the footrest out on the padded chair and read. I tried to stay awake for the doctor, but I found I'd drifted off sometime around five or six. The doctor's movement in the room startled me shortly before 7:00. I do remember speaking to him, at least, although he didn't.
It was a long day. My son-in-law did eat breakfast, and a little lunch. I left for a short time to eat and to change clothes. I was wearing capri pants with a short sleeved shirt and sandals, and I had resorted to retrieving two hooded jackets from my car. It was too cool in there for me.
He was still having pain in his arms and in his chest, and I was concerned about what he would do when he was discharged ... as well as when he would be discharged, since the doctor had said he would be.
We finally left. We went to the doctor's office to pick up his prescriptions and ask a few more questions, then took his off-work note to the police department before getting his prescriptions filled. He stayed at our house to eat with us before Paul took him home. Cathie had asked Paul to stay with him for a while.
Meanwhile, I crashed. I slept from about 6:30 or 7:00 PM until 2:00 AM. Then I couldn't get back to sleep. Urgh! I felt like the Incredible Grouch.
That was this morning. I'm more fully rested now. I have taken a lovely bath, and I feel pretty much like a human being. Great, because I'll be up all night, watching Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix at the IMAX theater at Opry Mills.
Just no more bees, please.
As I've said, Cathie married her childhood sweetheart last week. She's back at Fort Bragg, NC, now, until October. She will get to take leave again before then. In October, she gets reassigned to Fort Campbell. In the meantime, her husband is here in town.
Cathie left on Sunday. The hubby was checking out a bees nest that evening when he was struck by the irate inhabitants. He had stings from at least six or seven yellow jackets. One of them left a nasty trail down his arm as he tried to brush it from his skin. He thought he needed to rest afterward, and then he changed clothes for work. He spoke to Cathie on the phone, and she urged him to go have his injuries checked by a doctor. She's a medic, and his symptoms worried her more than they did him.
I had gone to sleep early after work, and I was a little slow on the uptake when Paul tried to wake me sometime after ten. He told me he'd talked to Cathie, and that we needed to go help Cathie's hubby, who had been stung by bees.
For some reason, my groggy brain "remembered" the fact that he was allergic to bee stings -- although in reality, I had never been told anything of the sort. It got my adreniline pumping, however, and I took Paul over to his house.
He wasn't there.
We drove to the ER, where we saw his car. We confirmed the fact that he was inside, and they were treating him. The clerk in reception told us they were running a few more tests on him.
We saw a couple of city police officers leave, but I didn't know them personally, and I suspected they wouldn't know me. It's been too long since my brother was on the local police force, and my ex-husband is retired from the state police, now.
We spoke with Cathie again. I agreed to stay, since Paul would have to work at 8:00 in the morning. One of the nurses came to get me a few minutes later. Since the waiting room temperature felt like it was just above freezing, I was even happier to leave it.
My guess is that Cathie's husband is unaccustomed to drugs. He says he doesn't even use Tylenol on a regular basis. The drugs he had been given to treat his condition had made him extremely groggy and disoriented. I wasn't even sure he recognized me.
Sometime between midnight and one, they moved him to a room. They asked him a lot of questions, checked his blood pressure, and did an EKG. His heart rate and blood pressure had been doing some odd things. And although he had never been allergic to bees, as far as he knew, he is now.
Once he was settled and asleep, I put the footrest out on the padded chair and read. I tried to stay awake for the doctor, but I found I'd drifted off sometime around five or six. The doctor's movement in the room startled me shortly before 7:00. I do remember speaking to him, at least, although he didn't.
It was a long day. My son-in-law did eat breakfast, and a little lunch. I left for a short time to eat and to change clothes. I was wearing capri pants with a short sleeved shirt and sandals, and I had resorted to retrieving two hooded jackets from my car. It was too cool in there for me.
He was still having pain in his arms and in his chest, and I was concerned about what he would do when he was discharged ... as well as when he would be discharged, since the doctor had said he would be.
We finally left. We went to the doctor's office to pick up his prescriptions and ask a few more questions, then took his off-work note to the police department before getting his prescriptions filled. He stayed at our house to eat with us before Paul took him home. Cathie had asked Paul to stay with him for a while.
Meanwhile, I crashed. I slept from about 6:30 or 7:00 PM until 2:00 AM. Then I couldn't get back to sleep. Urgh! I felt like the Incredible Grouch.
That was this morning. I'm more fully rested now. I have taken a lovely bath, and I feel pretty much like a human being. Great, because I'll be up all night, watching Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix at the IMAX theater at Opry Mills.
Just no more bees, please.
Monday, July 09, 2007
You are invited to a wedding
Welcome to a wedding!
It's an odd story -- sweet and romantic, though.
Cathie is my army daughter. Though she is from a small town in southern Kentucky, she has been around the world and met many people, in her nine years of army life.
She has considered marriage in the past, but had trouble finding the right guy.
One guy was from a military family, and it looked like things would be great for them... for a while. But then they weren't. He was manipulative and controlling. I was happy when she finally said it was over.
The next man in her life was a little hard for me to warm up to. He was different, but he still seemed a little aloof.
Then they split up, but she hesitated to tell anyone. So we really didn't know what was going on. And when she ran into an old neighborhood buddy from back in the day, we were kind of confused.
So Cathie finally came clean that, yes, she and the other guy were history. And, yes, she was dating someone else. Who had lived across the street back, when, sixth grade? He's a police officer now. He still has the polite manners I remember from way back, but he's taller, now, and he wears a badge. It says, "to protect and to serve."
Cathie came home from Iraq a few months ago, only to find out she had to go right back. She tried to be optimistic about it, but she was really sad. She was also told that when she returned to the US, she'd be headed for a post in Washington state. (That's all the way over on the other side of the country, boys and girls.)The guy she was dating said not to worry. He said he could get a job there so they could still be together.
Then Cathie found out she could come home early, although she'll need to be in North Carolina for two more months. And instead of Washington, she'll be able to transfer to Fort Campbell again. Yay!
When Cathie got back to the US, she came home on a short leave.
"Mom, we're getting married. On Thursday," she announced.
No time for bridesmaids, rose petals, candles, and lace. Those will have to wait a few months. The couple chose rings from the jeweler's shop on the square. They were married in the judge's chambers in the historical courthouse, next to an American flag. Cathie had to be back in NC by Monday.
I took some pictures, some of which I posted on Flickr.
I also took my first ever video.
(It used to be here, but it's moved, so I've deleted it, as of 01-01-2013.
Well, I tried. Blogger has done some remodeling, so it may take a while for me to figure it out. Or maybe this will work....)
It's an odd story -- sweet and romantic, though.
Cathie is my army daughter. Though she is from a small town in southern Kentucky, she has been around the world and met many people, in her nine years of army life.
She has considered marriage in the past, but had trouble finding the right guy.
One guy was from a military family, and it looked like things would be great for them... for a while. But then they weren't. He was manipulative and controlling. I was happy when she finally said it was over.
The next man in her life was a little hard for me to warm up to. He was different, but he still seemed a little aloof.
Then they split up, but she hesitated to tell anyone. So we really didn't know what was going on. And when she ran into an old neighborhood buddy from back in the day, we were kind of confused.
So Cathie finally came clean that, yes, she and the other guy were history. And, yes, she was dating someone else. Who had lived across the street back, when, sixth grade? He's a police officer now. He still has the polite manners I remember from way back, but he's taller, now, and he wears a badge. It says, "to protect and to serve."
Cathie came home from Iraq a few months ago, only to find out she had to go right back. She tried to be optimistic about it, but she was really sad. She was also told that when she returned to the US, she'd be headed for a post in Washington state. (That's all the way over on the other side of the country, boys and girls.)The guy she was dating said not to worry. He said he could get a job there so they could still be together.
Then Cathie found out she could come home early, although she'll need to be in North Carolina for two more months. And instead of Washington, she'll be able to transfer to Fort Campbell again. Yay!
When Cathie got back to the US, she came home on a short leave.
"Mom, we're getting married. On Thursday," she announced.
No time for bridesmaids, rose petals, candles, and lace. Those will have to wait a few months. The couple chose rings from the jeweler's shop on the square. They were married in the judge's chambers in the historical courthouse, next to an American flag. Cathie had to be back in NC by Monday.
I took some pictures, some of which I posted on Flickr.
I also took my first ever video.
(It used to be here, but it's moved, so I've deleted it, as of 01-01-2013.
Well, I tried. Blogger has done some remodeling, so it may take a while for me to figure it out. Or maybe this will work....)
Monday, July 02, 2007
Getting CREATIVE for the holidays
I have had an ongoing grumble about shipping. I know any kind of shipping (any kind of **delivery** for that matter) is generally a pain in the tooshie, but UPS and I have this love-hate thing going on.
http://www.squidoo.com/road2CP/
As it happens, this year, July 4th falls on a Wednesday. Even if it didn't, Kentucky Downs Race Course would still be open. I work there as a parimutuels teller.
We asked Ryan, our GM, if we're allowed to wear patriotic t-shirts that day, and he said yes, that would be fine. This weekend, we found out they'd decided to have an actual contest.
Since I'm considered the creative, artistic one, there's pressure on me to do this.
I looked up costumes. Pfft. Not really my cup of tea. (Sorry, Adam -- I had to say that.) I made wisecracks about perhaps showing up as a 1776-era Quidditch player. I don't think everyone got that. **sigh**
I looked up dresses online (pre-Regency era, with fitted waistlines and 3/4 length sleeves) and fabric types, but I don't really have the time to create my own dress. I even thought of dressing as a Native American, but I do really want to do the red-white-and-blue thing.
My original intention was to wear this t-shirt:
http://www.cafepress.com/americolors.85242846
It really does look cuter in person. I need to take a photo of it, too.
But I uploaded a new design using an older drawing of mine, last week, and I find that it has shipped. It was in Lexington (Lexington??), and it was due to arrive tomorrow. Maybe it will actually arrive in time for me to wear it Wednesday.
http://www.cafepress.com/lorilei.134173546
I wanted to get the red one, but I think I'd better go with black. I'm not sure how vivid a white Lady Liberty would be on the red shirt, honestly. I may experiment and try making her grey or a pale copper-green.
I also considered doing this shirt ~ http://www.cafepress.com/lorilei.145764524 ~
and using iron-on rhinestones and t-shirt paint to jazz it up. But I'll do that later. I'd never finish that by Wednesday.
Anyway, is that going to be creative enough? I'm afraid it pales in comparison to Kayla's appearance as the actual Statue of Liberty last July 4th. She's a statuesque young lady of 19 with long, wavy auburn hair, and her costume just really suited her.
This year Ryan suggested someone could come as Betsy Ross (which had also occurred to me, obviously!), but Kayla confessed that she doesn't remember who Betsy Ross was. It pains me to think how many things kids are not taught (or do not remember) from 12 years of school. :(
Anyway, presuming the new t-shirt does arrive and is in good shape, I think I'll wear it with white slacks and red/white/blue shoes I usually wear only on patriotic holidays. I also have star-shaped red and blue clippies I'll wear in my hair. They're great for keeping the hair out of my eyes when I'm punching tickets.
So, even if I'm not Betsy Ross or Lady Liberty, or Paul Revere... do you think that will be acceptable, taking into consideration the time restraints? Or is my reputation as the creative teller doomed?
Lorilei
http://americolors.us
http://www.squidoo.com/road2CP/
As it happens, this year, July 4th falls on a Wednesday. Even if it didn't, Kentucky Downs Race Course would still be open. I work there as a parimutuels teller.
We asked Ryan, our GM, if we're allowed to wear patriotic t-shirts that day, and he said yes, that would be fine. This weekend, we found out they'd decided to have an actual contest.
Since I'm considered the creative, artistic one, there's pressure on me to do this.
I looked up costumes. Pfft. Not really my cup of tea. (Sorry, Adam -- I had to say that.) I made wisecracks about perhaps showing up as a 1776-era Quidditch player. I don't think everyone got that. **sigh**
I looked up dresses online (pre-Regency era, with fitted waistlines and 3/4 length sleeves) and fabric types, but I don't really have the time to create my own dress. I even thought of dressing as a Native American, but I do really want to do the red-white-and-blue thing.
My original intention was to wear this t-shirt:
http://www.cafepress.com/americolors.85242846
It really does look cuter in person. I need to take a photo of it, too.
But I uploaded a new design using an older drawing of mine, last week, and I find that it has shipped. It was in Lexington (Lexington??), and it was due to arrive tomorrow. Maybe it will actually arrive in time for me to wear it Wednesday.
http://www.cafepress.com/lorilei.134173546
I wanted to get the red one, but I think I'd better go with black. I'm not sure how vivid a white Lady Liberty would be on the red shirt, honestly. I may experiment and try making her grey or a pale copper-green.
I also considered doing this shirt ~ http://www.cafepress.com/lorilei.145764524 ~
and using iron-on rhinestones and t-shirt paint to jazz it up. But I'll do that later. I'd never finish that by Wednesday.
Anyway, is that going to be creative enough? I'm afraid it pales in comparison to Kayla's appearance as the actual Statue of Liberty last July 4th. She's a statuesque young lady of 19 with long, wavy auburn hair, and her costume just really suited her.
This year Ryan suggested someone could come as Betsy Ross (which had also occurred to me, obviously!), but Kayla confessed that she doesn't remember who Betsy Ross was. It pains me to think how many things kids are not taught (or do not remember) from 12 years of school. :(
Anyway, presuming the new t-shirt does arrive and is in good shape, I think I'll wear it with white slacks and red/white/blue shoes I usually wear only on patriotic holidays. I also have star-shaped red and blue clippies I'll wear in my hair. They're great for keeping the hair out of my eyes when I'm punching tickets.
So, even if I'm not Betsy Ross or Lady Liberty, or Paul Revere... do you think that will be acceptable, taking into consideration the time restraints? Or is my reputation as the creative teller doomed?
Lorilei
http://americolors.us
Thursday, June 21, 2007
The time is drawing near....
Ah, yes, my dears, do gaze with me into the crystal orb -- or your monitor, if you don't have one.
Less than a month remains before the opening of "Order of the Phoenix," and then mere days until the last Harry Potter Book Party/release (**sniff**) for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
I've just finished reading this book from Mugglenet, which raises questions more than answering them -- as is their intention.
http://www.mugglenet.com/app/news/show/412
http://www.alivans.com/custom/cart/edit.asp?p=96324
Actually, I got my copy through Amazon, but it's also at Barnes & Noble and other bookstores.
I recently reread all the previous six books in the series, balking again in HBP in the Cave chapter. Things are just so very great between Harry and Dumbledore by this time, you hate to move on. But you have to. So even as you read what follows, and you pay tribute within your heart, your heart is breaking with the grief individual characters are feeling. I had flashbacks to Aslan in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, but that was C.S. Lewis's take on the magical world. There is no coming back in J.K. Rowling's world.
Anyway, I was in mourning when I finished. Knowing only bad things can come to some of my beloved characters, at least until the Horcruxes have been destroyed and Voldemort made mortal once more, I was feeling bereft. I know my heart will be broken again the weekend of July 21, 2007, while I read book 7.
I'm asking off work that weekend, because I know the people I work with just won't get it. Several of them really like the Harry Potter movies and books, but I'd beat them in a Harry Potter trivia contest like Hermione could beat Crabbe and Goyle at ... just about anything requiring a brain.
Do I think Harry will die? No, I don't. But I think he will be *willing* to die for his cause.
Probably, as much as anything else, I will be mourning the end of the series. I know it can't be like M*A*S*H, and run for years and years, but I can't stand the idea that it _will_ be_ over.
It's like finding out Jane Austen wrote *only* six books, and that the only sequels to "Pride and Prejudice" have been written by other Janites.
To console myself, I browsed through my copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them -
http://tinyurl.com/3782rr
The notes in the margins of Harry's textbook, alone, could make you laugh. The descriptions of various magical creatures, many of which we've met briefly in the series, are interesting and delightful. Based on what I have discovered there, I will make the assertion that Crookshanks isn't an ordinary cat, but at least partly Kneazle. The Kneazle is a cat-like creature, which can interbreed with cats, but has its own interesting powers. Included is the uncanny ability to detect "unsavoury or suspicious characters" (can you say, "Here, Scabbers"?), as well as the ability to guide its owner home safely if he or she becomes lost. (Will Crookshanks be instrumental in guiding our Trio in book 7?)
Then I reread the four chapters of the fanfic I started years ago, before I read HBP. That story took quite a different turn from book 6. But I think I'll be working on it again, anyway, because it's fun, and it's going to be therapeutic.
Even as Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth are still dancing and talking in my imagination, and Hawkeye and BJ are still sitting around the Swamp, so will these young wizards and witches always reside within my heart.
When I close book 7 next month, I won't be saying "nox," but "mischief managed."
Lorilei
*I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.*
Less than a month remains before the opening of "Order of the Phoenix," and then mere days until the last Harry Potter Book Party/release (**sniff**) for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
I've just finished reading this book from Mugglenet, which raises questions more than answering them -- as is their intention.
http://www.mugglenet.com/app/news/show/412
http://www.alivans.com/custom/cart/edit.asp?p=96324
Actually, I got my copy through Amazon, but it's also at Barnes & Noble and other bookstores.
I recently reread all the previous six books in the series, balking again in HBP in the Cave chapter. Things are just so very great between Harry and Dumbledore by this time, you hate to move on. But you have to. So even as you read what follows, and you pay tribute within your heart, your heart is breaking with the grief individual characters are feeling. I had flashbacks to Aslan in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, but that was C.S. Lewis's take on the magical world. There is no coming back in J.K. Rowling's world.
Anyway, I was in mourning when I finished. Knowing only bad things can come to some of my beloved characters, at least until the Horcruxes have been destroyed and Voldemort made mortal once more, I was feeling bereft. I know my heart will be broken again the weekend of July 21, 2007, while I read book 7.
I'm asking off work that weekend, because I know the people I work with just won't get it. Several of them really like the Harry Potter movies and books, but I'd beat them in a Harry Potter trivia contest like Hermione could beat Crabbe and Goyle at ... just about anything requiring a brain.
Do I think Harry will die? No, I don't. But I think he will be *willing* to die for his cause.
Probably, as much as anything else, I will be mourning the end of the series. I know it can't be like M*A*S*H, and run for years and years, but I can't stand the idea that it _will_ be_ over.
It's like finding out Jane Austen wrote *only* six books, and that the only sequels to "Pride and Prejudice" have been written by other Janites.
To console myself, I browsed through my copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them -
http://tinyurl.com/3782rr
The notes in the margins of Harry's textbook, alone, could make you laugh. The descriptions of various magical creatures, many of which we've met briefly in the series, are interesting and delightful. Based on what I have discovered there, I will make the assertion that Crookshanks isn't an ordinary cat, but at least partly Kneazle. The Kneazle is a cat-like creature, which can interbreed with cats, but has its own interesting powers. Included is the uncanny ability to detect "unsavoury or suspicious characters" (can you say, "Here, Scabbers"?), as well as the ability to guide its owner home safely if he or she becomes lost. (Will Crookshanks be instrumental in guiding our Trio in book 7?)
Then I reread the four chapters of the fanfic I started years ago, before I read HBP. That story took quite a different turn from book 6. But I think I'll be working on it again, anyway, because it's fun, and it's going to be therapeutic.
Even as Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth are still dancing and talking in my imagination, and Hawkeye and BJ are still sitting around the Swamp, so will these young wizards and witches always reside within my heart.
When I close book 7 next month, I won't be saying "nox," but "mischief managed."
Lorilei
*I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.*
Monday, June 11, 2007
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Untitled (because sometimes words just fail you)
Recently, a friend of mine posted about something in his blog. Moreover, he linked to it in our Yahoo group so we would all be aware of it.
I think I have freaked out a few people, though they've been giving me plenty of space. It's time to come clean, so to speak.
I'm one of those people you hear about. I have clinical depression. I'm really not that unusual, in that respect, either. In fact, for a long time, I thought I was so not-unusual that I chose not to act on it. Even though as a teenager, I was afraid I was mentally ill, crazy, or on the verge of -- something dreadful.
People who are depressed can also be happy, can fall in love, can live life. It's all just so much easier without the depression.
In the last few years, I finally sought help. I went to a family physician first. (It's amazing how many drugs I don't respond to, or am allergic to.) And then a friend told me about a study at a nearby university hospital. I've been going there for a while now. As I said, I have been feeling much better. Happier, stronger, more confident, less inclined to mood swings and emotional doldrums. I was more visibly the person I felt I really was on the inside.
Last month, I realized I was experiencing something new. Not only did my mood change drastically, but I became physically ill as well.
I really hated that trip to the dark side. I don't want to go there again.
I'm better, though not the same. I'm speaking to some folks in the study next week about a reevaluation. We'll see if I need to make adjustments, and what kind of changes I may need to make.
Meanwhile, I'm not as active online. I'm trying to take care of me.
I don't want my friends to feel I have abandoned them. I'm grateful they've given me some time.
I'll be back. And I might be the me you all think you know, or it might just be me.
I think I have freaked out a few people, though they've been giving me plenty of space. It's time to come clean, so to speak.
I'm one of those people you hear about. I have clinical depression. I'm really not that unusual, in that respect, either. In fact, for a long time, I thought I was so not-unusual that I chose not to act on it. Even though as a teenager, I was afraid I was mentally ill, crazy, or on the verge of -- something dreadful.
People who are depressed can also be happy, can fall in love, can live life. It's all just so much easier without the depression.
In the last few years, I finally sought help. I went to a family physician first. (It's amazing how many drugs I don't respond to, or am allergic to.) And then a friend told me about a study at a nearby university hospital. I've been going there for a while now. As I said, I have been feeling much better. Happier, stronger, more confident, less inclined to mood swings and emotional doldrums. I was more visibly the person I felt I really was on the inside.
Last month, I realized I was experiencing something new. Not only did my mood change drastically, but I became physically ill as well.
I really hated that trip to the dark side. I don't want to go there again.
I'm better, though not the same. I'm speaking to some folks in the study next week about a reevaluation. We'll see if I need to make adjustments, and what kind of changes I may need to make.
Meanwhile, I'm not as active online. I'm trying to take care of me.
I don't want my friends to feel I have abandoned them. I'm grateful they've given me some time.
I'll be back. And I might be the me you all think you know, or it might just be me.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
mood changes
This is probably not an appropriate place for this. But here goes.
I am frustrated. I feel inadequate. I feel like I'm covering something up -- and part of it is anger.
I don't want to direct that anger towards anyone else, especially anyone I care about. Neither do I want to hold it in, because that is not good for me.
For the last few years, I've been taking part in a study on depression at an area research facility. I have been doing well, and I'm in a transitional phase. For a month and a half, I have been off the medication I was taking. It is rough, at times. But right now, it's -- worse.
There's a lot of change occurring in my personal life right now. It's a little overwhelming. So I may be around, online, or I may not be. If I'm not, it's probably because I feel like I'm going to blow up. Or I'm just too busy.
My younger daughter is home for two weeks before she returns to Iraq until October. I probably will see very little of her while she's here, but I'm used to it.
Even now, it's time for me to leave for work. I'm just not ready. So -- I'll see you around. Maybe.
I am frustrated. I feel inadequate. I feel like I'm covering something up -- and part of it is anger.
I don't want to direct that anger towards anyone else, especially anyone I care about. Neither do I want to hold it in, because that is not good for me.
For the last few years, I've been taking part in a study on depression at an area research facility. I have been doing well, and I'm in a transitional phase. For a month and a half, I have been off the medication I was taking. It is rough, at times. But right now, it's -- worse.
There's a lot of change occurring in my personal life right now. It's a little overwhelming. So I may be around, online, or I may not be. If I'm not, it's probably because I feel like I'm going to blow up. Or I'm just too busy.
My younger daughter is home for two weeks before she returns to Iraq until October. I probably will see very little of her while she's here, but I'm used to it.
Even now, it's time for me to leave for work. I'm just not ready. So -- I'll see you around. Maybe.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Bunnies, bunnies...
My daughter Eve needs to see these. So I have decided to embed them here.
Eve has a warped sense of humor, so I think she will like this video. Then she should click on the link to go see Lisa's other videos, because they are also very weird.
I hope she'll laugh so much, there'll be tears in her eyes.
Eve has a warped sense of humor, so I think she will like this video. Then she should click on the link to go see Lisa's other videos, because they are also very weird.
I hope she'll laugh so much, there'll be tears in her eyes.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Dog Blogging!
It's a bird...
it's a plane...
it's another cool video with animals!
This one was posted by my friend Mary from evisionarts. The featured store is listed there.
Happy Easter, or whatever joyous event you may celebrate.
it's a plane...
it's another cool video with animals!
This one was posted by my friend Mary from evisionarts. The featured store is listed there.
Happy Easter, or whatever joyous event you may celebrate.
Monday, April 02, 2007
Insanity on a Stick
Arggggh!
I am going to run away.
I don't know when I will be back.
I'm taking everything with me. Except my computer.
I've been a moderator on the CafePress board since 2002. I rarely take a break from it. Sometimes -- no, often, I neglect my stores and my feeble attempts at marketing because I get so much into the behind-the-scenes stuff.
When I wasn't there, I was nurturing my group for CP-addicts and others.
Then, one day, all you-know-what broke loose at the CP board. There were changes afoot, and many people would be affected. No one was happy. No one could agree on answers to questions. Solutions were questionable. People were in an uproar.
And then someone mentioned my group.
Suddenly, hoards of disgruntled CP folk were applying for membership. I was approving new members, but keeping them on no-post moderated-only status.
My email filled up with approval emails for memberships and for posting. The posting had already gone haywire from the regular members. Now it was worse. I abandoned hope of catching up on old posts and tried to stay on top of new ones, still watching the fires burning on the CP board.
During March, we had 2,913 posts, breaking our old monthy post count record from November 2002. Today is April 2, and there have been 251, so far this month. It appears that it is slowing down a bit.
I love my group. But it isn't my "happy place" right now.
I was staying up for hours at night to read, edit, moderate, and post, but I was not enjoying myself. I was neglecting my stores, my life, and myself. So I decided to take a break.
Only I can hear it calling to me. No, I'm not. I'm not going to go there. They can calm down a bit and read. It'll do them good.
I'm going to work on stores and art. I'm going to expand my horizons and further educate myself. I'm going to relax.
But I'm going to be itching to get back to the peaceful, happy place. I hope they haven't blown it up by the time I get there.
I am going to run away.
I don't know when I will be back.
I'm taking everything with me. Except my computer.
I've been a moderator on the CafePress board since 2002. I rarely take a break from it. Sometimes -- no, often, I neglect my stores and my feeble attempts at marketing because I get so much into the behind-the-scenes stuff.
When I wasn't there, I was nurturing my group for CP-addicts and others.
Then, one day, all you-know-what broke loose at the CP board. There were changes afoot, and many people would be affected. No one was happy. No one could agree on answers to questions. Solutions were questionable. People were in an uproar.
And then someone mentioned my group.
Suddenly, hoards of disgruntled CP folk were applying for membership. I was approving new members, but keeping them on no-post moderated-only status.
My email filled up with approval emails for memberships and for posting. The posting had already gone haywire from the regular members. Now it was worse. I abandoned hope of catching up on old posts and tried to stay on top of new ones, still watching the fires burning on the CP board.
During March, we had 2,913 posts, breaking our old monthy post count record from November 2002. Today is April 2, and there have been 251, so far this month. It appears that it is slowing down a bit.
I love my group. But it isn't my "happy place" right now.
I was staying up for hours at night to read, edit, moderate, and post, but I was not enjoying myself. I was neglecting my stores, my life, and myself. So I decided to take a break.
Only I can hear it calling to me. No, I'm not. I'm not going to go there. They can calm down a bit and read. It'll do them good.
I'm going to work on stores and art. I'm going to expand my horizons and further educate myself. I'm going to relax.
But I'm going to be itching to get back to the peaceful, happy place. I hope they haven't blown it up by the time I get there.
Friday, March 16, 2007
There's something in the BLOG....
Since we've been talking about blogs in my online group lately, I thought this article might be interesting to anyone just now sticking their toes into the bog -- uh -- *blog* pool.
I subscribe to the SiteProNews newsletter, and I actually read most of the articles. Sometimes they contain information I have the ability to use. Sometimes they just give me some goals to work toward.
http://www.sitepronews.com/archives/2007/mar/16.html
"How to Create Your First Blog" (by Donna Gunter)
The title of this article sounds embarrassingly elementary, but the artictle itself is filled with information that might be good for even the experienced blogger to take into consideration.
When I started my first actual blog, I called it an online journal. It was a LiveJournal account, courtesy of my daughter Eve. I experienced some heavy-duty writer's block and froze up. I still have the account, but I don't think I've posted there in... years. It was sort of like when I joined the "serious" writers in a class at WKU as a dewy-eyed seventeen year old. (One class in, I panicked and dropped the creative writing class.)
Now I'm not quite as scared. The experience-hardened, mean-looking, carnivorous fellow creative writers aren't criticizing my looks and/or age, belittling my views on life, or chewing up my work.
At worst, my blog may get ignored. But sometimes people find it while searching for something we have in common. They often click through to my store after reading what I've written. How cool is that?
I'm bookmarking Ms. Gunter's list to remind me what to keep trying to do with my blogs.
Then I'm going to take off with the creative writing for Painters Bluff. -- They don't allow those writer types from the WKU class there.
Besides, now *I* have been published, too. Take that, you old meanies! :Þ
(Wow. This post was so much fun, I'm blogging it, too.)
Lorilei
http://lorilei-tees.com
I subscribe to the SiteProNews newsletter, and I actually read most of the articles. Sometimes they contain information I have the ability to use. Sometimes they just give me some goals to work toward.
http://www.sitepronews.com/archives/2007/mar/16.html
"How to Create Your First Blog" (by Donna Gunter)
The title of this article sounds embarrassingly elementary, but the artictle itself is filled with information that might be good for even the experienced blogger to take into consideration.
When I started my first actual blog, I called it an online journal. It was a LiveJournal account, courtesy of my daughter Eve. I experienced some heavy-duty writer's block and froze up. I still have the account, but I don't think I've posted there in... years. It was sort of like when I joined the "serious" writers in a class at WKU as a dewy-eyed seventeen year old. (One class in, I panicked and dropped the creative writing class.)
Now I'm not quite as scared. The experience-hardened, mean-looking, carnivorous fellow creative writers aren't criticizing my looks and/or age, belittling my views on life, or chewing up my work.
At worst, my blog may get ignored. But sometimes people find it while searching for something we have in common. They often click through to my store after reading what I've written. How cool is that?
I'm bookmarking Ms. Gunter's list to remind me what to keep trying to do with my blogs.
Then I'm going to take off with the creative writing for Painters Bluff. -- They don't allow those writer types from the WKU class there.
Besides, now *I* have been published, too. Take that, you old meanies! :Þ
(Wow. This post was so much fun, I'm blogging it, too.)
Lorilei
http://lorilei-tees.com
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Adventures in Lorileiland
Bleah. I am sooo glad tomorrow is Monday! You must keep in mind that actual weekends are busy days for me, and Monday and Tuesday are my weekend.
My son Paul had army reserve drill this weekend. He drives to Nashville very early on Saturday and Sunday morning, on drill weekends, coming home at night. So I was all prepared for working without him at the track on Saturday night.
But before I could get my money and login to my machine, just before 5:00, my phone rang. (It's the Nokia ring, like Allison Dubois' on Medium.) Since I almost never get calls on my cell phone, especially when I'm at work, I felt anxious. It was Paul calling.
His car was losing power going up the long hill between White House and Millersville (Tennessee) on I-65. I told him to pull off the road in as safe a place as possible and I'd come get him. One of my assistant managers agreed with my plan, and I left.
Outside, the wind was blowing almost sideways, hurling giant fluffs of snow that, thankfully, were not sticking to the ground. But the sun was dropping, and so was the air temperature.
Rather than go back to exit 2 for gas, I headed down 31W (running nearly parallel to the interstate) to the first Portland exit to get gas before continuing south. Wow! The gas had been $2.249/gal at the Franklin (KY) Flying J at exit 2, but it was even worse, $2.379/gal, at the Portland exit. So I put in just $5 worth (slightly over two gallons) and got on I-65.
The Kentucky/Tennessee line is a bit north of the 121 mile marker. Paul confirmed that he was at the bottom of the 104 exit ramp, on the shoulder, so I would have to drive to the next exit past him and turn north in order to be on his side of the road. So I drove to exit 98, Millersville.
I could say several mean things about Millersville, but it wouldn't be nice. However, I may drop one or two of them into this story at some point. I'm only human.
Paul was wearing his work uniform. They used to call them BDUs or cammis, but now they have another name. They are kind of an urban camoflage print. He also had his brown combat boots and his wool hat. His blue eyes were rimmed with redness, showing evidence of his long day.
Okay, I'm his mom. I have to show him off a bit. (Isn't he cute?) This is a pic of him inside a tank, when he was still regular army. (He has shaved off the mustache since then, too.)
Anyway, back to my story.
We called for roadside service to come tow the car. The car had been smoking from under the hood as he pulled over, and Paul was afraid the head gasket had blown.
We took a quick side trip to one of the exit 104 truck stops to use the restroom and get something to drink before returning to the stalled car. Naturally, we had to drive back to exit 98 to get to the northbound lane where the Grand Am was parked. The 98 exit has to be one of the worst intersections of 31W and I-65 which I have ever seen. There is one lane for you to turn left, one to turn right, several options in each direction, and too much traffic trying to get into too few places. Whenever I come home from Nashville, I avoid the right lane in that vincinity, because traffic waiting at that intersection is usually backed up into the interstate -- yes, into traffic that should be flowing about 70 miles an hour.
Okay, I have to say it. I can't resist. I once commented on the fact that Millersville was starting to get some actual buildings, because it used to be one giant trailer park. That isn't entirely true, since there have been lots of tiny houses for years now. But when I used to deliver Domino's Pizza around White House in 1998, Millersville was the kind of skanky area to deliver to. Most of the places in White House and Goodlettsville were quite upscale by comparison.
That's one of the reasons I referred to Millersville as Redneck Central, as we watched Nascar Wannabees zoom past us. I later ammended the name to Redneck Alley, after an unfortunate Thoroughbred by the same name.
The tow truck driver found us and loaded the car on the flatbed. We led him back home, to the garage where the car will be worked on Monday morning. Then Paul and I headed back to the house. I called the track, thinking surely they wouldn't ask me to come back in at 7:30 at night. I was wrong.
So I changed into a warmer coat, since it had become much colder. I stopped at Flying J on the way and put $20 worth of gas in the car. It was running on fumes, again, after my 71 mile excursion. When I reached the track, it was 8:00. We closed shortly after 10:00. Meghan and Kayla had made tons of tips. I worked two hours and had made about forty cents in tips. {{sniff}}
Since Cathie is currently stationed in Iraq, her truck was at my brother Bobby's house. Paul will be driving it until he is able to drive the other car again. I'd let Paul use the Honda, but the manual transmission would be hard on his knee. He reinjured his knee during the previous drill weekend. He's off his crutches now, but still using an elastic knee brace. More about that at another time.
Fortunately, Paul didn't need me to wake him Sunday morning. Bobby and I had brought the truck over after work Saturday. I took Mom to church and got ready for work. (Hadn't I just left there?)
In addition to khaki pants, a turtleneck, and my black KD ranch polo shirt, I wore a green velour zippered hoodie, and a festive bow in my hair. Why? you may ask. Because it's March 4th, less than two weeks before St. Patrick's Day, and Kentucky Downs was having its 2006 Christmas party Sunday night after closing. Woo-hoo!
Yes, it is a bit late. We had the 2005 Christmas party in February, last year.
I'm recommending that we wait until Halloween 2008, for this year's Christmas party. We could hold it on the third floor, and wait to see if any actual ghosts show up....
Life at KD is too weird, to say the least. I'll skip over most of the details of the six hour shift. There were some odd occurances, but now is not a good time to get into all that.
Paul didn't stop by for the party. He has class in the morning, and he needed sleep. Bobby had to work security till 3:00 AM. But I did attend the Kentucky Downs party for over an hour, and I hobnobbed with coworkers for a bit. The two major pasttimes promised to be (1) dancing to (or watching others dance to) music and (2) drinking. There was food, but it was mostly food that was guaranteed to set my digestive tract on fire.
I don't drink, and I don't care for the popular mix of music. It was being played by Scooter Davis, a sort of famous area deejay. There was a strong possibilty of bouts of karaoke, as well.
It was a bad sign when I oohed over the beginning notes of the Beatles song "Let It Be," and after only one verse, Scooter turned it off in favor of some 80s-90s-esque crap. It was like no one could understand how THAT had ended up on the speakers. (Incidentally, this is no reflection on Mr. Davis. He was the one who brought the Beatles along. Apparently the bar-huggers gave my heroes the instant thumbs-down and told Scooter to stop playing that kind of music.)
"You're going? Already?" others were asking me as I began making my goodbyes.
"I have reached my Fun Quota for the night," I said with a grin. "I've had all I can stand."
So I came home, talked to my mom, fed the dogs, took out the trash, made something to eat, and got online.
Ah, now this is my idea of fun.
Party on, dudes!
My son Paul had army reserve drill this weekend. He drives to Nashville very early on Saturday and Sunday morning, on drill weekends, coming home at night. So I was all prepared for working without him at the track on Saturday night.
But before I could get my money and login to my machine, just before 5:00, my phone rang. (It's the Nokia ring, like Allison Dubois' on Medium.) Since I almost never get calls on my cell phone, especially when I'm at work, I felt anxious. It was Paul calling.
His car was losing power going up the long hill between White House and Millersville (Tennessee) on I-65. I told him to pull off the road in as safe a place as possible and I'd come get him. One of my assistant managers agreed with my plan, and I left.
Outside, the wind was blowing almost sideways, hurling giant fluffs of snow that, thankfully, were not sticking to the ground. But the sun was dropping, and so was the air temperature.
Rather than go back to exit 2 for gas, I headed down 31W (running nearly parallel to the interstate) to the first Portland exit to get gas before continuing south. Wow! The gas had been $2.249/gal at the Franklin (KY) Flying J at exit 2, but it was even worse, $2.379/gal, at the Portland exit. So I put in just $5 worth (slightly over two gallons) and got on I-65.
The Kentucky/Tennessee line is a bit north of the 121 mile marker. Paul confirmed that he was at the bottom of the 104 exit ramp, on the shoulder, so I would have to drive to the next exit past him and turn north in order to be on his side of the road. So I drove to exit 98, Millersville.
I could say several mean things about Millersville, but it wouldn't be nice. However, I may drop one or two of them into this story at some point. I'm only human.
Paul was wearing his work uniform. They used to call them BDUs or cammis, but now they have another name. They are kind of an urban camoflage print. He also had his brown combat boots and his wool hat. His blue eyes were rimmed with redness, showing evidence of his long day.
Okay, I'm his mom. I have to show him off a bit. (Isn't he cute?) This is a pic of him inside a tank, when he was still regular army. (He has shaved off the mustache since then, too.)
Anyway, back to my story.We called for roadside service to come tow the car. The car had been smoking from under the hood as he pulled over, and Paul was afraid the head gasket had blown.
We took a quick side trip to one of the exit 104 truck stops to use the restroom and get something to drink before returning to the stalled car. Naturally, we had to drive back to exit 98 to get to the northbound lane where the Grand Am was parked. The 98 exit has to be one of the worst intersections of 31W and I-65 which I have ever seen. There is one lane for you to turn left, one to turn right, several options in each direction, and too much traffic trying to get into too few places. Whenever I come home from Nashville, I avoid the right lane in that vincinity, because traffic waiting at that intersection is usually backed up into the interstate -- yes, into traffic that should be flowing about 70 miles an hour.
Okay, I have to say it. I can't resist. I once commented on the fact that Millersville was starting to get some actual buildings, because it used to be one giant trailer park. That isn't entirely true, since there have been lots of tiny houses for years now. But when I used to deliver Domino's Pizza around White House in 1998, Millersville was the kind of skanky area to deliver to. Most of the places in White House and Goodlettsville were quite upscale by comparison.
That's one of the reasons I referred to Millersville as Redneck Central, as we watched Nascar Wannabees zoom past us. I later ammended the name to Redneck Alley, after an unfortunate Thoroughbred by the same name.
The tow truck driver found us and loaded the car on the flatbed. We led him back home, to the garage where the car will be worked on Monday morning. Then Paul and I headed back to the house. I called the track, thinking surely they wouldn't ask me to come back in at 7:30 at night. I was wrong.
So I changed into a warmer coat, since it had become much colder. I stopped at Flying J on the way and put $20 worth of gas in the car. It was running on fumes, again, after my 71 mile excursion. When I reached the track, it was 8:00. We closed shortly after 10:00. Meghan and Kayla had made tons of tips. I worked two hours and had made about forty cents in tips. {{sniff}}
Since Cathie is currently stationed in Iraq, her truck was at my brother Bobby's house. Paul will be driving it until he is able to drive the other car again. I'd let Paul use the Honda, but the manual transmission would be hard on his knee. He reinjured his knee during the previous drill weekend. He's off his crutches now, but still using an elastic knee brace. More about that at another time.
Fortunately, Paul didn't need me to wake him Sunday morning. Bobby and I had brought the truck over after work Saturday. I took Mom to church and got ready for work. (Hadn't I just left there?)
In addition to khaki pants, a turtleneck, and my black KD ranch polo shirt, I wore a green velour zippered hoodie, and a festive bow in my hair. Why? you may ask. Because it's March 4th, less than two weeks before St. Patrick's Day, and Kentucky Downs was having its 2006 Christmas party Sunday night after closing. Woo-hoo!
Yes, it is a bit late. We had the 2005 Christmas party in February, last year.
I'm recommending that we wait until Halloween 2008, for this year's Christmas party. We could hold it on the third floor, and wait to see if any actual ghosts show up....
Life at KD is too weird, to say the least. I'll skip over most of the details of the six hour shift. There were some odd occurances, but now is not a good time to get into all that.
Paul didn't stop by for the party. He has class in the morning, and he needed sleep. Bobby had to work security till 3:00 AM. But I did attend the Kentucky Downs party for over an hour, and I hobnobbed with coworkers for a bit. The two major pasttimes promised to be (1) dancing to (or watching others dance to) music and (2) drinking. There was food, but it was mostly food that was guaranteed to set my digestive tract on fire.
I don't drink, and I don't care for the popular mix of music. It was being played by Scooter Davis, a sort of famous area deejay. There was a strong possibilty of bouts of karaoke, as well.
It was a bad sign when I oohed over the beginning notes of the Beatles song "Let It Be," and after only one verse, Scooter turned it off in favor of some 80s-90s-esque crap. It was like no one could understand how THAT had ended up on the speakers. (Incidentally, this is no reflection on Mr. Davis. He was the one who brought the Beatles along. Apparently the bar-huggers gave my heroes the instant thumbs-down and told Scooter to stop playing that kind of music.)
"You're going? Already?" others were asking me as I began making my goodbyes.
"I have reached my Fun Quota for the night," I said with a grin. "I've had all I can stand."
So I came home, talked to my mom, fed the dogs, took out the trash, made something to eat, and got online.
Ah, now this is my idea of fun.
Party on, dudes!
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Purr-fect Timing
You've got to love this video!
I'm sending it to my older daughter, who suffers from acute kitty-withdrawal.
I'm sending it to my older daughter, who suffers from acute kitty-withdrawal.
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