Everyone Loves a Parade

I would have thought that by the time I had reached the age I am now, I would be able to walk through my own house without much fanfare, and certainly without chaperones. But apparently, I was wrong. Sometimes I feel as though I need a parade leader’s scepter…you know, something befitting the pomp and circumstance that is the journey to my refrigerator, or bathroom, or laundry room, or anywhere since I can’t seem to move without an entourage.

 

 

 

 

Hello Karma – Nice to Meet You

The other day my dog, Rufus, took a little spill off the bottom step that goes out my back door. It was such a short distance that I knew right away he was okay. Still, bless his heart, I think he was upset that I didn’t help him up quicker (not from lack of effort on my part, trust me).  Seriously, he fell all of a little bit and even then, he landed on a bag of soft potting soil, you know, the good kind that is mostly air and fluff anyway. I’ll admit, a quickly stifled giggle did escape when I saw him lying there on my gardening supplies gazing up at me with his big, brown eyes. Despite knowing there was just no way he could be hurt, and further knowing that had he wanted to, he could have simply gotten up on his own, I nonetheless dropped my end of the leash that was hooked to his harness and rushed over to placate his pride.

Despite my loving assistance, I guess he was offended by how long it still took me to get there, because he gave me a stricken look me as if to say, “Are you seriously moving that slow? Oh, the betrayal.” I picked him up, brushed him off, snuggled with him, and then he was off doing whatever it is he wanted to do in the yard as if nothing happened. I even gave him an unexpected snack when we went back into the house. No harm, no foul.

Or so I thought.

On Monday, I fell face-first from the TOP step of a 4-step staircase right onto a concrete patio. No rhyme. No reason. No one pushed me. I didn’t trip. My feet just didn’t work. Go figure. I didn’t land on my face, thank the gods that be, but I definitely messed up my hands, wrists, and knees. So yeah. Hello there, karma. Nice to meet you. My bad for not taking Rufus’ misstep a bit more seriously.

I thought the fall was the worst part, but there’s been a ripple effect of delayed pain that’s been even worse. The day after the fall my back decided to get into the game too. Maybe I twisted it funny. Although really, whoever thought it was funny should have their head examined.

To top it all off, guess who was walking around the yard without a care in the world while I was trying (and failing) to get back up on my feet. You guessed it…Rufus. There I am, flailing around on the ground, unable to get up, and after a while, starting to give serious thought to, “Gee, maybe I should just stay outside for today,” and there’s Rufus idly traipsing around, sniffing the grass, and looking for squirrels, leash dragging behind. Not one ounce of concern for his ailing mom, no sir. I’m not going to say I deserved his cold shoulder, but damn, that was a reality check. Thankfully I still had Petra, who stayed glued by my side worried about me and whining. Guess who got a snack that day when we finally made it back in the house!?

There’s always a silver lining, regardless of how bad a situation is. The blessing in all of this was ultimately my laziness. Yes, you read that right. Laziness. You see, all of this happened on Monday. Well, on Sunday, I never finished the laundry, so I was out of shorts. Hey, don’t roll your eyes at me. It was just one of those weekends. So, anyway, even though it was certainly hot enough outside to warrant shorts, I was in fact wearing pants. It was a good thing too or my knees, which took the brunt of the fall, would be scraped to hell in addition to being just swollen. Fun science fact: concrete is hard. Who knew? Another fun fact: old concrete is jagged and crumbly. Even worse.

The lesson I’ve learned here is that laziness is not always a bad thing after all. But not being able to move as fast as The Flash to grab your pet when he missteps to save his pride? That can be a serious problem.

Petrified Petra on the Prowl

As I watch my dim cute dog barking ferociously from her position in the middle of the front yard, feet planted firmly, neck hair duly raised in alarm, I can’t help but hang my head in humorous frustration. For you see, it’s Sarah, my daughter, standing by the car in all her yellow-haired innocence that’s causing this canine uproar. Sarah. The one thing Petra loves more than food.

Knowing Sarah was out there, I let Petra out to ummm…you know…and rather than run to Sarah, as expected, when she was finished her business, she instead took up an “I must guard the house from this hitherto unknown and completely strange human person” stance. And I’m left standing here in the doorway thinking WTF? Once she braved the few feet to investigate the offending creature further, Petra was overjoyed to find it was her dear friend and nap pal, the purveyor of French fries.

I’m awed by the fact that Petra was brave enough to check out something that frightened her as she never would’ve done that when we first got her. I’m equally concerned that her eyesight is apparently becoming such that she couldn’t distinguish her friend no more than 10 feet away. Something that wasn’t a concern before.

So now I’m wondering…is it as my mother believes – that Petra was being a tattle-tale and telling on Sarah for being outside when, according to Petra’s sense of the rules, she shouldn’t have been? Or, did Petra really not recognize her? Or perhaps seeing Sarah out of her usual context sort of threw Petra off her game? OR is it more sinister than all of that?

Perhaps Petra saw the shell that we all believe to be Sarah but which has been taken over by an alien spore, demonic entity, or wayward ghost looking for a new home? Maybe I’m underestimating Petra’s keen powers of observation. Is it possible Petra can sense the evil lurking within? Now I just don’t know what to believe.

I mean, isn’t this how all the best horror movies start?

Failed Negotiations

Three of the four major powers came together today to declare a temporary truce. The fourth and strongest of these combatants declared the treaty, however tentative and short-lived, a farce, and refused outright to participate in any peace talks. Despite the cautious optimism raised by this show of solidarity among the three lesser sovereigns, the coalition quickly collapsed, and within hours any hopes for long-term stability were dashed.

 

Procrastinators, Unite! Tomorrow…

Procrastination:  The fine art of avoiding easy and ordinary chores until they become insurmountable and you need bottles of wine to tackle them.

You all may remember Petra, my beloved burrowing Chihuahua.   I have had to post Lost and Found signs around my house this week.  The last I saw of her, she had chased a ball into my laundry room.  I haven’t seen her since.  I suspect she is trapped under the mountains of socks, towels and sheets awaiting the eager, empty washing machine.  I have taken to throwing treats under the clean piles that I refuse to put away, in the hopes of drawing her out.  I did see a shirt moving last night, and I can only hope it was Petra under there.

I think we can all relate to the Dishwasher Conundrum.  We have dishwashers, beautiful, work saving dishwashers.  It should be as easy as: put dirty dishes in, hit button, remove clean dishes.  I think we all know that is laughable.  The reality is far more sinister.  Let’s review:

  1. Load dishwasher with every spoon, fork and dish we are too lazy to rinse off. Don’t judge me, I know you are guilty of stirring your coffee and putting your spoon in the dishwasher.
  1. Rearrange the now overflowing dishwasher contents to fit in Just One More Cup.
  1. Now that there is no room whatsoever left, finally hit the power button.
  1. Enjoy that unique smell of hot water and detergent. It will be the last time you go near that thing for days.
  1. Place a dish in the sink, with the full intention of emptying the dishwasher the next time you go in the kitchen. You’re far too busy now.
  1. Place a cup, carefully filled with water, atop the dish in the sink. You’ll get to the dishwasher later.
  1. Continue placing dishes in the sink. At this point, you no longer even try to lie to yourself. Those clean dishes are staying in the dishwasher until you move.
  1. Dish Jenga has become the new favorite sport in your house. You now have dishes piled to the ceiling in the sink, overflowing onto the counters, and have been hiding them under the couch cushions.  You consider moving so you don’t have to feel the guilt of the clean dishes crying forlornly in the dishwasher.
  1. Give in, and put the dishes away. At this point, you realize the dishes have aged to the point that they are considered “antique.”  You call the Antiques Roadshow, but they can’t get anyone out to evaluate your dishes; all their personnel are busy balancing dinner dishes in the sink.

My house has several stages of clean, while we’re talking about procrastination.  There is “me” clean, where I write the grocery list in the dust on the desk.  Then, there is “friend” clean, where I at least pick up empty bags of chips and throw away soda cans.  Then, there is the “I’m having a party, oh crap” clean.  Sometimes I throw a party just to have an excuse to vacuum the rugs.  I don’t clean up as soon as I plan the party, though; heck, no.  I perform best under pressure.  Give me thirty minutes with a houseful of people expected, and I will deliver you the cleanest house you’ve ever seen.  Just don’t open the closets.

Procrastination has been on my mind lately, as I realize I don’t always keep up with my fellow bloggers nearly as well as I should, instead tending to read days worth of entries in one evening, sending off a flurry of “likes” to show my appreciation for your talent and dedication to blogging.  I enjoy your writing so much, and I hate that I get so behind.  To all of you who are ready to disown me because you get a week’s worth of alerts in ten minutes, I do humbly apologize. And to be completely honest, it’s not procrastination, between work and a life filled with crazy, I just can’t seem to stay on top of things. To be clear, though, you guys are not “chores,” you are rays of light in my hectic, chaotic life.  I thank you all for making me laugh, think, and sometimes get a little misty.

And you know, I really had more to add to the subject of procrastination, but I’ll tell you later.