Wednesday, April 4, 2018

Copy Cats and Washing Machines


This has been a strange week and it might get even stranger as it goes along.  After all, it is only Wednesday.

There is a cat missing in our neighborhood.  Signs with pictures are everywhere around town, on our neighborhood site and up and down the bike path.  There is a $500.00 reward for this cat's return...our only problem at our house is that it looks exactly like our tortoiseshell cat, Patch.  Same age.  Same sex.  Same color.

This missing cat looks so much like our cat, that I had to do a double take.  I actually had to do more than a double take:  I had to analyze the picture while staring at our cat! 

This brought to mind a book that I read to the kids when they were little.  It was by Barbara Abercrombie and called  Charlie Anderson.  It is about a cat that lives at two houses, one during the day and one at night.  Neither family knew that they were in fact sharing a cat.  It had me thinking...

However, if you looked really closely, the cats were not a match.  However, I was looking with the trained eye of the owner, not as a person on the bike path hoping to make 500 bucks.  This did not occur to me to worry about until my husband chimed in and told me to keep her indoors for a while.

Of course, then she goes missing for a night.  Yes, I am the bad owner of a cat that lets the cat outdoors.  Our mostly outdoor cat is technically grandfathered in, she was an outdoor cat before all of the coyotes, foxes and giant raccoons invaded our suburban neighborhood.  Now it seems like cats go missing daily and a few are heard being devoured in the night.

I have curbed our cat care.  We keep them in the house most of the time, and usually, they stay on the patio.  Patch has been known to wander, but usually if you call her, she comes right back. 

She limped back in after her night away.  I made a vet appointment for the next day.  Later that night, I saw that she actually had two bleeding bite marks.  I called the vet first thing in the morning and moved her appointment up.

The vet said she would be fine, it looked like a fight with another cat.  They drained her wounds and gave her a cone.  We were to go back to the vet in 3 days.

I put her in our laundry room to keep her quiet and from jumping around.  Somehow, Patch wedged herself, cone and all, into a little nook under our cabinets.  Now, she has to come out somehow... The dimensions are not in her or our favor.  There is no way to reach her behind the laundry machine and in this little tube of a nook.

Her cone is basically keeping her from pushing through the opening.  My mind is thinking fire fighters right now.  Keep your fingers crossed for us.  She is due for pain meds in a couple of hours....

Tuesday, January 30, 2018

Tiny Handprints

I am now staring at a tiny handprint made by my daughter in December 2004--or so says the back of it.  That would make her a newly turned 3 year old at the time of the handprint.

It is green and glittery, I suppose it is a Christmas ornament with its red trimmed hanging loop.  That makes sense, a perfect holiday gift for the parents, made by the class.

As a teacher, this is brilliant.

However, years later, twelve-ish to be exact, I am sitting here, procrastinating paying the bills and staring at it.

I now know why exactly bronze baby shoes, foot prints and hand prints are so valuable--they are actual proof that your child was ever a tiny child.

I look at her now, 15 and ready to take on the world by automobile, and it is hard to believer that tiny hand print belonged to her ever.

And it is also hard to believe how that tiny hand print squeezes your heart, every day since the day her handprint was even tinier.

Wednesday, March 8, 2017

Day 2: London Sights









Here Comes Spring! April 2015




We find ourselves in spring.

Monday, October 19, 2015

Auctions Over Time: One More To Go!








Auf Wiedersehen, Frau Audi

Oh, Frau Audi, how we will miss you.  No one was ready to let go, but a window of opportunity appeared and we jumped out of it--or jumped in, depending on your point of view.

Frau Audi was a prankster.  If she felt like the occasion in the car needed music, she would turn it on herself.  Even as we tried to silence her, she kept putting it back on.

Every once in a while, she would make a weird mechanical sound, not let the center console light up or decide not to accelerate at the worst possible minute.  Just when you were sure we needed major repair shop intervention, she would magically go back to normal the next time you turned the key in the ignition.

The old gal was bought as a new gal, to combat the evils of the gasoline engine.  She was clean diesel.  She was 45 miles to the gallon on the highway.  She was forgetting which side the gas tank was on when you filled up at the station, because even after 5 years, the visits for gas were still so infrequent.

She was cutting edge German technology, until a few weeks ago, when poor Frau Audi became Faud-I.  All of the do-gooders with diesel engines at Volkswagon were branded with the scarlet F for fraud.  Not only were they not saving the Earth--they were killing it up to 40 times the legal emission limit.

The news spread far and wide, and you had to read the last paragraphs to realize that it was not only VWs, it was Audi's A3 TDI as well.  How were they going to fix this?  What effects would it have on the cars after they were fixed?  Would our zippy, little car be able to retain her zip?  Would she retain her astounding gas mileage?  Would she be branded a lemon and not be worth a dime, even after 5 years of loyal service.

Frau was the first car for both my son and daughter.  They learned the rules of the road.  They learned the rules at the gas station--green nozzle only.

She went in for her annual service.  The call came from the service department.  New tires, new brakes and new windshield wipers needed--to the tune of $1300.  The annual service itself was $799 if I bought a 2 package special.

Poor Frau, she had been rear ended, backed into when parked twice, and damaged straight off the boat.  She had a new windshield AND 4 new tires.  All in her short 5 year lifetime with us.  Her paint was sketchy, her rims were rashed but we loved her.  Actually, still do love her.

It was sad to see you parked beside your shiny, new replacement.  It was not because you weren't shiny, because you were looking damn good for a 5 year old.  It was because we were saying good bye to an era.

Frau Audi, I hope your next family will take good care of you.  I guarantee they will not have travel scrabble in the back seat secret compartment.  They probably won't have an affinity for the 80's channel on Sirius.  I hope they drive you slow and gently and at an angle over the speed bumps.  I hope they always keep you a little bit on the full side in the gas tank so you never know what it means to go empty.

Even though you are accused of being a bad car, a dirty diesel, you are not bad.  It is fitting to compare you to Frankenstein.  The evil engineers who put that fix on your emissions are the bad ones.  You have a good heart and soul, and we will keep our eyes on the lookout for you, cruising down the highway.


Sunday, October 4, 2015

Occupation: Stay At Home Mom

I am tired of filling out forms and coming to the line where I have to enter my occupation. When I write Homemaker, I feel like I'm dating myself to the tune of June Cleaver. It sounds so old fashioned and I am definitely not at home, in my apron, cooking a roast most days.

I also hate the term Stay At Home Mom (SAHM). That sounds like I'm just hanging out at my house and watching soap operas. If I use that term, I sound like an uneducated shut-in that never goes out because it is my job to Stay At Home. I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to go to the bank, I'm a Stay At Home Mom, not a Go To The Bank Mom.

I could just write Mom. But, as you all know, writing Mom doesn't really even hit the tip of the iceberg of my responsibilities or any mom's responsibilites for that matter. Many of us are mothers, many of us work outside the home AND do all of the stuff that a SAHM does, too.

Some of my friends are creatively cute and call themselves Domestic Engineers. I'm not very domestic, in fact, my husband really got cheated on having a domesticated type of woman in his life. I'm also not an engineer, you can ask any of my high school math teachers about that one. This term just doesn't apply to me.

Yet, I'm not stupid and I have no problem with keeping wildly busy all day every day. There is not any time for boredom in my chosen career. Lately, there has barely been time for blogging. I have lots of fodder, but no time to type it out.

From now on, I'm writing Mom Friday on that form.