I was sitting in the mostly empty waiting area of a doctor's office, staring at a lovely print of a meandering river flowing between a slumbering field and rolling autumnal hills, minding my own business, when I distinctly heard an argument taking shape. The raised voices seemed to be coming from a set of identical connected chairs just to my right.
"People do so like me more!" the chair farthest away from me proclaimed.
"No, they don't!" announced the chair closest to me. "I think we're chosen equally." (I was pretty sure I heard her mutter, "But, really, me more!")
"I heard that! And you've got a screw loose, I tell you!" the first chair declared. "I'm an aisle seat...obviously a prime location."
"Well, I'm next to a table - with magazines, I might add!" chair number two retorted haughtily. "You don't have a leg to stand on if you seriously think you're more popular."
"Take that back!" demanded the first seat. "I bet the next human chooses me, and then we'll just see!"
At that moment, a woman with two toddlers entered the waiting area. She plopped each one into one of the bickering chairs and went up to the counter to register. The tiny humans immediately began to slap one another, but repeatedly managed to stop just before their mother caught them in the act. The chairs let out what everyone else must have assumed to be a loud creak, but I'm sure I heard a syncronous, exasperated "You win!"
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Coffee Mug
I am a coffee addict. It is most definitely an addiction. I love coffee so much I even make earrings out of coffee beans. As a coffee lover, I have designated mugs for home and for work. My three work mugs hold between 28 ounces and 10 cups (yes, 10 cups - my daughter had a mug custom made for me as a Christmas gift). My home mugs average around 16-20 ounces. I drink out of a home mug while I'm getting ready for work, and take a work mug with me when I leave. One of my favorite home mugs (it's maroon with my favorite Disney character on it) was given to me by my son. Imagine my surprise when I sat down this morning to put on my eye make-up and heard Piglet's distinctive voice greet me:
G-G-Good morning! I hope I d-d-didn't startle you.
Oh, I'm just happy I didn't spill any coffee! (I suddenly realized that I was talking to my coffee cup!) Piglet???
I know I'm just a very small animal, b-b-but this is a rather large cup. I was afraid you w-w-wouldn't notice that I was here. (His hands were behind his back and his little chinny chin chin was practically touching his chest.)
Of course I know you're here, you silly little pig. (I heard him giggle.)
C-C-Christopher Robin calls P-P-Pooh "silly old bear." This is the f-f-first time I've ever been called "silly little p-p-pig!" Wait 'til I tell Pooh!
(He giggled again, and catching a glimpse of my mug through my eyelash curler, it almost seemed as if he shyly kicked out his left foot.) You don't mind being on such a large mug, do you?
Oh, no. N-N-Not at all. I'm on much b-b-bigger things than this. As a very small animal, I have to g-g-get used to mostly everything being bigger than m-m-me.
(I have Piglet pencils, Piglet candy tins, Piglet figurines - my favorite is him seated wearing a scarf, which I keep on my dashboard - and a small pink plastic outline of him on the back window of my van. I wondered if my van was one of the "bigger things" he was talking about. So, I asked him.) Is my van one of the bigger things you mentioned being on?
Oh, yes. Of c-c-course.
(I suddenly had quite a few questions for Piglet.) Oh, my gosh! What about when this mug goes in the dishwasher? What happens to you?
I just g-g-go somewhere else!
(I really had to ponder that for a moment.) Ummm...you go somewhere else? Uh, how? Where?
I don't know, but it's just like in the Hundred Acre W-W-Wood...sometimes I'm tidying up my little house, and then the n-n-next thing you know, I'm playing P-P-Pooh sticks with Pooh, Eeyore and Tigger!
(Having watched many episodes of Pooh, I knew exactly what he was talking about. I said "So long" to Piglet, placed the maroon mug on the counter next to the sink - someone else could put it in the dishwasher! - and headed out the door. While I was walking past the back of my van on my way into work, I could have sworn I heard a small voice say "S-S-So long!")
G-G-Good morning! I hope I d-d-didn't startle you.
Oh, I'm just happy I didn't spill any coffee! (I suddenly realized that I was talking to my coffee cup!) Piglet???
I know I'm just a very small animal, b-b-but this is a rather large cup. I was afraid you w-w-wouldn't notice that I was here. (His hands were behind his back and his little chinny chin chin was practically touching his chest.)
Of course I know you're here, you silly little pig. (I heard him giggle.)
C-C-Christopher Robin calls P-P-Pooh "silly old bear." This is the f-f-first time I've ever been called "silly little p-p-pig!" Wait 'til I tell Pooh!
(He giggled again, and catching a glimpse of my mug through my eyelash curler, it almost seemed as if he shyly kicked out his left foot.) You don't mind being on such a large mug, do you?
Oh, no. N-N-Not at all. I'm on much b-b-bigger things than this. As a very small animal, I have to g-g-get used to mostly everything being bigger than m-m-me.
(I have Piglet pencils, Piglet candy tins, Piglet figurines - my favorite is him seated wearing a scarf, which I keep on my dashboard - and a small pink plastic outline of him on the back window of my van. I wondered if my van was one of the "bigger things" he was talking about. So, I asked him.) Is my van one of the bigger things you mentioned being on?
Oh, yes. Of c-c-course.
(I suddenly had quite a few questions for Piglet.) Oh, my gosh! What about when this mug goes in the dishwasher? What happens to you?
I just g-g-go somewhere else!
(I really had to ponder that for a moment.) Ummm...you go somewhere else? Uh, how? Where?
I don't know, but it's just like in the Hundred Acre W-W-Wood...sometimes I'm tidying up my little house, and then the n-n-next thing you know, I'm playing P-P-Pooh sticks with Pooh, Eeyore and Tigger!
(Having watched many episodes of Pooh, I knew exactly what he was talking about. I said "So long" to Piglet, placed the maroon mug on the counter next to the sink - someone else could put it in the dishwasher! - and headed out the door. While I was walking past the back of my van on my way into work, I could have sworn I heard a small voice say "S-S-So long!")
Mirror
My husband and I went to London and Paris for our honeymoon. At the time, we had no living room furniture in our apartment and I remember having to justify our choice to my father (who thought we were nuts): "Furniture may come and go, but we'll have these memories forever." So, off we went - chairless, but happy. Thirty-six years and seven couches later, we still love reminiscing about that trip. I am actually reminded of it every single day, because at Miss Selfridge in London, I bought a little 5-inch plexiglass stand-up mirror (with a delicate hand holding a rose etched on it - it was 1976 - that kind of stuff was really cool then!). Imagine my surprise when I reached for that mirror and heard this:
Hullo, Duckie! (The mirror sounded exactly like Judi Dench - not as the royalty she portrayed in "Mrs. Brown" or "Shakespeare in Love," but as Jean Pargetter in "As Time Goes By.") Need any help with anything today?
I don't suppose you can do anything about the wrinkles? (She chuckled.) Well, anyway, I can't seem to get my eyebrows to match up this time. Don't you think the left one makes me look like I'm perpetually surprised?
Come a bit closer. (I leaned forward.) Hmmm. (She paused.) Yes, I see what you mean. Have you your tweezers?
(I quickly removed them from my sparse make-up basket. They were not hard to find.) Here they are!
Splendid! Now, see that hair smack in the center of your right eyebrow...no, not that one...over...over...that's it...remove that one.
(I did as the mirror instructed. Now I looked doubly surprised.) Ummm, I'm not sure that worked.
Oh, dear. Yes. I think you're right. Well, that can be easily mended. (She then had me pull a few hairs from the left, go back and pull a few from the right, and then back to the left. When she was done, my eyebrows were so thin they sort of looked like the pencil lines actresses in the 1930's sported instead of real eyebrows - and I still appeared perpetually surprised.) Oh, dear-oh-dear. I think you may have gone too far.
(I knew she meant no harm, so I couldn't very well blame her for my new, unexpected look.) Oh, well. No worries. Maybe I can start a new trend. (We both laughed, and I put her back in the basket.) See you tomorrow! (I headed right to my computer to Google how long it would take for eyebrows to grow back, and wondered whether I had enough sick days to cover it.)
-------------------
[Just a note on this one: I wrote this three days before the news of Judi Dench's macular degeneration was disclosed. Even though it is an object that would be useless without vision, this mirror absolutely had her voice. Even so, I seriously considered changing it to Maggie Smith. It just didn't work. It was, and always will be to me, definitely Judi Dench's Jean Pargetter.)
Hullo, Duckie! (The mirror sounded exactly like Judi Dench - not as the royalty she portrayed in "Mrs. Brown" or "Shakespeare in Love," but as Jean Pargetter in "As Time Goes By.") Need any help with anything today?
I don't suppose you can do anything about the wrinkles? (She chuckled.) Well, anyway, I can't seem to get my eyebrows to match up this time. Don't you think the left one makes me look like I'm perpetually surprised?
Come a bit closer. (I leaned forward.) Hmmm. (She paused.) Yes, I see what you mean. Have you your tweezers?
(I quickly removed them from my sparse make-up basket. They were not hard to find.) Here they are!
Splendid! Now, see that hair smack in the center of your right eyebrow...no, not that one...over...over...that's it...remove that one.
(I did as the mirror instructed. Now I looked doubly surprised.) Ummm, I'm not sure that worked.
Oh, dear. Yes. I think you're right. Well, that can be easily mended. (She then had me pull a few hairs from the left, go back and pull a few from the right, and then back to the left. When she was done, my eyebrows were so thin they sort of looked like the pencil lines actresses in the 1930's sported instead of real eyebrows - and I still appeared perpetually surprised.) Oh, dear-oh-dear. I think you may have gone too far.
(I knew she meant no harm, so I couldn't very well blame her for my new, unexpected look.) Oh, well. No worries. Maybe I can start a new trend. (We both laughed, and I put her back in the basket.) See you tomorrow! (I headed right to my computer to Google how long it would take for eyebrows to grow back, and wondered whether I had enough sick days to cover it.)
-------------------
[Just a note on this one: I wrote this three days before the news of Judi Dench's macular degeneration was disclosed. Even though it is an object that would be useless without vision, this mirror absolutely had her voice. Even so, I seriously considered changing it to Maggie Smith. It just didn't work. It was, and always will be to me, definitely Judi Dench's Jean Pargetter.)
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Bracelet
I wear the same two chain bracelets on the same wrist every day. One was given to me by my college-attending son when he was in elementary school (it's silver) and the other was a Christmas gift from around the same time from my husband, daughter and son (it's gold). The only time I don't wear them is when I'm having a "don't leave the house" day. Last Spring, we went to Princeton's Communiversity Day and almost immediately after we arrived, I bought a black, copper and gold bangle bracelet from an organization raising money to help prevent river blindness in Africa. The bracelet is just my style - understated, very earthy, and meaningful. I wore it all the rest of the day, then tucked it into a drawer. I have not worn it since. It's not because I don't want to, but because I'm just so used to my two favorites that I can't bring myself to switch. Imagine my surprise when I opened the drawer this morning while getting ready for work and a lyrically melodious voice greeted me with these words: "Will you wear me today?" Somehow I knew it wasn't my perfume or a headband speaking.
Well, um, you see, today I thought....
Oh, I see. Another day you will choose not to wear me. (It sounded so dejected.)
Oh please don't think of it that way. I admire you every time I open this drawer (which was true!). I just imagine the clinking and clanging of your hitting my desk while I'm at work all day and then, oh dear, I...uh...I choose not to wear you. Oh, geez, I am sorry.
Quite right. But what about when you weren't going to work? What about when you went to New York to see "The 39 Steps" off-Broadway? (How did it know that?) Or when you went to Olive Garden for your daughter's birthday?
Hey, wait a second. How do you know about that stuff?
This is a drawer, remember? You put your theater stubs in and you took out the "Buy One Get One Free" coupon. And, not to be bold or presumptuous, but you could easily choose to wear me when you decide to use your Panera gift card, you know.
(My bracelet was absolutely correct. I had had many opportunities to proudly wear it, but instead chose not to. I decided then and there that at the next non-work opportunity, I would most definitely choose to wear that bracelet.) You are so right! How do you feel about a trip to the veterinarian on Thursday evening? And then maybe to drop my son off at school? Oh, this is going to be such fun!
(Maybe it was just the shape of the bangle, but I could have sworn that bracelet smiled. One thing, though, that I can't quite figure out is where the two tiny voices I heard in the car all the way to work that morning were coming from...one kept saying, "No, she won't" and the other kept rebutting, "Oh yes, she will." Oh well.)
Well, um, you see, today I thought....
Oh, I see. Another day you will choose not to wear me. (It sounded so dejected.)
Oh please don't think of it that way. I admire you every time I open this drawer (which was true!). I just imagine the clinking and clanging of your hitting my desk while I'm at work all day and then, oh dear, I...uh...I choose not to wear you. Oh, geez, I am sorry.
Quite right. But what about when you weren't going to work? What about when you went to New York to see "The 39 Steps" off-Broadway? (How did it know that?) Or when you went to Olive Garden for your daughter's birthday?
Hey, wait a second. How do you know about that stuff?
This is a drawer, remember? You put your theater stubs in and you took out the "Buy One Get One Free" coupon. And, not to be bold or presumptuous, but you could easily choose to wear me when you decide to use your Panera gift card, you know.
(My bracelet was absolutely correct. I had had many opportunities to proudly wear it, but instead chose not to. I decided then and there that at the next non-work opportunity, I would most definitely choose to wear that bracelet.) You are so right! How do you feel about a trip to the veterinarian on Thursday evening? And then maybe to drop my son off at school? Oh, this is going to be such fun!
(Maybe it was just the shape of the bangle, but I could have sworn that bracelet smiled. One thing, though, that I can't quite figure out is where the two tiny voices I heard in the car all the way to work that morning were coming from...one kept saying, "No, she won't" and the other kept rebutting, "Oh yes, she will." Oh well.)
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Pen
I love pens. I always have. I love the act of writing, even if most times I can't stand what my penmanship looks like (a cross between printing and cursive, and way too large!). Even in high school and college, I'd rewrite French vocabulary, or historic dates, or math formulas - not just as reinforcement for my brain but because I simply love to write. Tonight, while waiting at college for my not-yet-driver-licensed son's class to finish, I had four pens to choose from (I always carry multiple writing implements) and so this was written with a lovely silvery-grey PaperMate Flair - black ink, ultra fine point - with a long black cap and silver clip. It's really quite posh-looking for being so utilitarian. Imagine my surprise when I heard the unmistakable voice of Cary Grant (not the fast-paced exasperated Cary Grant of "His Girl Friday" or "Bringing Up Baby," but the mature, debonair Cary Grant of "Charade.")
Ahh. Isn't this a simply wonderful evening? Breathtaking sunset...gentle breeze...perfect Spring-like day, wouldn't you agree?
(I admit I was slightly taken aback by my pen speaking to me, especially since it sounded like Cary Grant. I also had to admit that it was, in fact, very Spring-like considering it was February in New Jersey!) Uh...well...yes, as a matter of fact, it is a lovely day. We're way over 50 degrees, I think.
What a perfect day for a stroll in the park, or a boat ride on the river. Why don't we leave this place and get some fresh air?
(Now, I'm slightly overweight [okay, a bit more than slightly] and I have a slight heart problem, and despite repeated promises to myself that I will begin exercising tomorrow, well, tomorrow just keeps on being tomorrow and so a walk, even with a pen that sounded just like Cary Grant, held no great appeal.) Couldn't we just stay cozy here in the van? It's only for another hour or so...
Why it's a shame to waste such a fine evening. After all, winter's fury has not yet shown itself and days like these may be few and far between. (He made a sort of "tsk-tsk" sound. With his accent, even the "tsk-tsk" lacked a truly reproachful tone.)
Oh, I know. Really I do. (Darn those tomorrows!) But we could play a game instead. Would that be okay?
A game? Hmmm. You don't say? My dear, I think you've got something!
(So, my pen and I played the game where you see how many words you can make out of another word. We ended up with 119 words from "ARCHIBALDLEACH" and had a simply marvelous time!)
Here are the words: are, arc, arch, arid, acrid, ace, ache, ale, aid, ade, a-ha, acid, air, ail, area, bald, bide, bid, bed, bad, bade, bale, bail, bar, beach, bear, bare, bled, birch, brace, bride, bridle, bard, blade, bill, ball, bleach, belch, bread, car, cad, cab, call, caller, called, care, cadre, clear, child, crab, crib, chair, chalice, cradle, chill, chide, char, chiller, card, dear, dire, dial, die, dice, dab, dale, deal, crab, dill, drill, ear, each, era, hear, heard, hard, herald, hair, hare, hail, held, heal, hill, hide, head, hall, ice, ire, ill, idle, idea, led, lad, lid, lice, lace, lied, lie, lair, lard, ladle, label, lab, liar, libel, liberal, lead, lea, rice, race, raid, rail, real, reach, rich, ribald, read, red and rid. Whew!!
Ahh. Isn't this a simply wonderful evening? Breathtaking sunset...gentle breeze...perfect Spring-like day, wouldn't you agree?
(I admit I was slightly taken aback by my pen speaking to me, especially since it sounded like Cary Grant. I also had to admit that it was, in fact, very Spring-like considering it was February in New Jersey!) Uh...well...yes, as a matter of fact, it is a lovely day. We're way over 50 degrees, I think.
What a perfect day for a stroll in the park, or a boat ride on the river. Why don't we leave this place and get some fresh air?
(Now, I'm slightly overweight [okay, a bit more than slightly] and I have a slight heart problem, and despite repeated promises to myself that I will begin exercising tomorrow, well, tomorrow just keeps on being tomorrow and so a walk, even with a pen that sounded just like Cary Grant, held no great appeal.) Couldn't we just stay cozy here in the van? It's only for another hour or so...
Why it's a shame to waste such a fine evening. After all, winter's fury has not yet shown itself and days like these may be few and far between. (He made a sort of "tsk-tsk" sound. With his accent, even the "tsk-tsk" lacked a truly reproachful tone.)
Oh, I know. Really I do. (Darn those tomorrows!) But we could play a game instead. Would that be okay?
A game? Hmmm. You don't say? My dear, I think you've got something!
(So, my pen and I played the game where you see how many words you can make out of another word. We ended up with 119 words from "ARCHIBALDLEACH" and had a simply marvelous time!)
Here are the words: are, arc, arch, arid, acrid, ace, ache, ale, aid, ade, a-ha, acid, air, ail, area, bald, bide, bid, bed, bad, bade, bale, bail, bar, beach, bear, bare, bled, birch, brace, bride, bridle, bard, blade, bill, ball, bleach, belch, bread, car, cad, cab, call, caller, called, care, cadre, clear, child, crab, crib, chair, chalice, cradle, chill, chide, char, chiller, card, dear, dire, dial, die, dice, dab, dale, deal, crab, dill, drill, ear, each, era, hear, heard, hard, herald, hair, hare, hail, held, heal, hill, hide, head, hall, ice, ire, ill, idle, idea, led, lad, lid, lice, lace, lied, lie, lair, lard, ladle, label, lab, liar, libel, liberal, lead, lea, rice, race, raid, rail, real, reach, rich, ribald, read, red and rid. Whew!!
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Sweet
A few weeks ago I was innocently sitting at my desk in the den, alone in the house (well, except for our two cats), when I distinctly heard my name being called. The voice was sweet and smooth, rich and silky. I wasn't even scared, the voice was so calming. Imagine my surprise when I tracked the sound down to the chocolate bar sitting on the half-wall next to my desk.
Excuse me, but were you calling my name?
Ohhh...I certainly was. (The chocolate bar's words flowed in a kind of Peggy Lee-ish, Mel Torme-ish, Nat King Cole-ish kind of way. I found myself mesmerized by its rhythmic cadence.) I was afraid you forgot I was here. Usually I'm not around for such a long, long time. (Really, it was only on the wall for about a week, and being a confirmed chocoholic, I was a little surprised when I found myself not immediately indulging.)
Ummm...well...I'd really love to, but....
But?! (There was a slight hint of shock and surprise in the candy's otherwise dulcet demeanor.) Am I not appealing? (It was a chocolate hazlenut bar from IKEA...my favorite!)
On the contrary, you are most appealing! It's just that, well...
You're not on a diet again, are you?
Oh gosh, no.
Well, then, come on! What's stopping you? (Then it sort of started singing.) Choc-o-late...hazle-nut...yum-yum-yum.
(It was torture. Finally I had to blurt out the truth.) I have a toothache! I can't even eat real food, much less chocolate! I knew you were there! I looked at you every single day! (I scooped up the candy bar and shoved it in a kitchen drawer.) I'm so sorry...
(A few weeks later, after having tooth #31 extracted and the gap having healed over, I opened the drawer to get the gravy ladle and there, glowing - yes, glowing and with angelic music playing - appeared my candy bar. I had forgotten all about it! So, that night after dinner, my dessert was the most delicious, creamy-nutty, smooth - and did I say delicious? - chocolate hazlenut candy bar!)
Excuse me, but were you calling my name?
Ohhh...I certainly was. (The chocolate bar's words flowed in a kind of Peggy Lee-ish, Mel Torme-ish, Nat King Cole-ish kind of way. I found myself mesmerized by its rhythmic cadence.) I was afraid you forgot I was here. Usually I'm not around for such a long, long time. (Really, it was only on the wall for about a week, and being a confirmed chocoholic, I was a little surprised when I found myself not immediately indulging.)
Ummm...well...I'd really love to, but....
But?! (There was a slight hint of shock and surprise in the candy's otherwise dulcet demeanor.) Am I not appealing? (It was a chocolate hazlenut bar from IKEA...my favorite!)
On the contrary, you are most appealing! It's just that, well...
You're not on a diet again, are you?
Oh gosh, no.
Well, then, come on! What's stopping you? (Then it sort of started singing.) Choc-o-late...hazle-nut...yum-yum-yum.
(It was torture. Finally I had to blurt out the truth.) I have a toothache! I can't even eat real food, much less chocolate! I knew you were there! I looked at you every single day! (I scooped up the candy bar and shoved it in a kitchen drawer.) I'm so sorry...
(A few weeks later, after having tooth #31 extracted and the gap having healed over, I opened the drawer to get the gravy ladle and there, glowing - yes, glowing and with angelic music playing - appeared my candy bar. I had forgotten all about it! So, that night after dinner, my dessert was the most delicious, creamy-nutty, smooth - and did I say delicious? - chocolate hazlenut candy bar!)
Sunday, October 2, 2011
My Dashboard
My fourteen year old Dodge Grand Caravan (which I've only known for nine of those years) has made four round trips from New Jersey to Disney World (well, 3-1/4 really), countless excursions to New York City, numerous forays to IKEA (in Elizabeth, NJ and our favorite in Conshohocken, PA) and has experienced neverending railfanning escapades. Except for major surgery in 2007 in Richmond, Virginia (yes...we had to leave it there for a new transmission and rent a van for the rest of the trip to Disney), it's been a real trooper. Naturally, though, along with our weary finances, the poor van has had to suffer through minor aches and pains without remedy. One of the most inconvenient maladies is the hit-or-miss dashboard. Sometimes it works, most times it doesn't. I am now a pro at judging my speed to within 2 mph. And, though I've come too close for comfort a few times, I have not yet run out of gas (knock wood!). This morning, after two full weeks in the dark, my dashboard finally decided to show itself again. Imagine my surprise when I received a response to my "Well, where have you been?"
Oh my. Have I been absent again? Dear, dear, dear. (The dashboard's voice was most definitely that of Edward Everett Horton, very much as he sounded in "Top Hat" with Fred and Ginger - see TCM.com)
It's been two weeks this time. I thought you were going for a new record.
Oh, heaven's no! Well, was it really two weeks? My, my, my. I simply can't imagine it's been that long. Two weeks, you say?
Uh-huh. (I happened to notice that an emergency stop at the nearest gas station was in my immediate future.)
Imagine that. Well, I simply have no recollection of it being that long. Certainly not. No recollection at all.
You do realize this has been going on for almost a year, don't you? And you're gone for longer periods of time than you're here!
Not really! You don't say? Well...what do you know? Hard to believe. Yes, yes. Just simply too hard to believe!
Apparently it's a huge job to fix, too. Any idea why you do it, or why you just can't stay on?
Oh no, none at all. Out of my control, I should imagine. Yes, that's it. Out of my control. Why, I don't even know when it happens. Comes from right out of the blue. Dear-oh-dear...right out of the blue!
If I ask nicely, can't you please stay a bit longer this time?
Love to. Yes, indeed, I'd simply love to. But, you see, I have nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. I'm here and then I'm not. Just like that. Here, and then not.
(I pulled into the gas station and turned off the ignition, hope-hope-hoping that when I turned it back on Mr. Horton would still be there. As my luck would have it, the rest of the ride to work as absolutely silent. But, as least now instead of being frustrated that my dashboard doesn't work, I look forward to those rare occasions when Edward Everett Horton accompanies me for the ride. Oh yes, indeed!)
Oh my. Have I been absent again? Dear, dear, dear. (The dashboard's voice was most definitely that of Edward Everett Horton, very much as he sounded in "Top Hat" with Fred and Ginger - see TCM.com)
It's been two weeks this time. I thought you were going for a new record.
Oh, heaven's no! Well, was it really two weeks? My, my, my. I simply can't imagine it's been that long. Two weeks, you say?
Uh-huh. (I happened to notice that an emergency stop at the nearest gas station was in my immediate future.)
Imagine that. Well, I simply have no recollection of it being that long. Certainly not. No recollection at all.
You do realize this has been going on for almost a year, don't you? And you're gone for longer periods of time than you're here!
Not really! You don't say? Well...what do you know? Hard to believe. Yes, yes. Just simply too hard to believe!
Apparently it's a huge job to fix, too. Any idea why you do it, or why you just can't stay on?
Oh no, none at all. Out of my control, I should imagine. Yes, that's it. Out of my control. Why, I don't even know when it happens. Comes from right out of the blue. Dear-oh-dear...right out of the blue!
If I ask nicely, can't you please stay a bit longer this time?
Love to. Yes, indeed, I'd simply love to. But, you see, I have nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. I'm here and then I'm not. Just like that. Here, and then not.
(I pulled into the gas station and turned off the ignition, hope-hope-hoping that when I turned it back on Mr. Horton would still be there. As my luck would have it, the rest of the ride to work as absolutely silent. But, as least now instead of being frustrated that my dashboard doesn't work, I look forward to those rare occasions when Edward Everett Horton accompanies me for the ride. Oh yes, indeed!)
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Iron
My mother does her laundry on Fridays and her ironing on Sundays. It's been like that ever since I can remember. I, on the other hand, do laundry when the hamper is full or when we nearly run out of towels, or if I need a particular dress for work. I iron - in a hurry - only on the mornings that I want to wear that particular dress. This morning was such an occasion. First I tried to quietly raise my deafeningly loud metal-on-metal screeching ironing board so as not to wake my entire sleeping family, and then I plugged in the iron so it could get hot while I brushed my teeth. I thought I heard a voice (other than the NPR host on the radio), so I turned off the water to see if someone was trying to tell me to hurry out of the bathroom. The voice, however, was coming from INSIDE the bathroom - specifically from the iron.
Oooooh. I just love the way this feels, don't you? (Imagine my surprise when, at 6:58 a.m., I distinctly heard Jean Arthur's cute little voice [see TCM.com] coming from my iron!)
You ean ow it's all ot? (Well, I did have a mouthful of toothpaste....)
Exactly...yes...well...that's just what I mean. You see, I just love that all-over warm feeling.
(What a perky appliance for so early in the morning! I swooshed the toothpaste out of my mouth, dried my face and turned to the iron.) Gee, it's too bad you're my iron. You don' t get many opportunities to be anything but cold.
Oh, I don't mind. Really I don't. I'd much rather be warm a few times during the week than to get really hot all in one day. Besides, I've never been one to get all steamed up over things. I'd say I'm pretty even-tempered.
Well I do mostly only use the setting right in the middle....
Oh yes, yes, I have noticed that. You know, I've started to encourage the ironing board to take life's ups and downs a little less seriously and I think I may have finally succeeded in raising his spirits.
That's wonderful! Do you think he'll groan less when I'm done this morning?
Well...(she wrinkled her brow and gave me a kind of innocent, clueless look), it's a little hard to say, really. He sort of keeps his emotions covered up.
(I finished pressing my dress and admit I was reluctant to unplug my sweet iron. Before reaching for the socket, I promised her that I'd wear my black flowered dress the next day - the one that absolutely needed to be ironed. And I swear that my ironing board did not creak as loudly when I lowered it!)
Oooooh. I just love the way this feels, don't you? (Imagine my surprise when, at 6:58 a.m., I distinctly heard Jean Arthur's cute little voice [see TCM.com] coming from my iron!)
You ean ow it's all ot? (Well, I did have a mouthful of toothpaste....)
Exactly...yes...well...that's just what I mean. You see, I just love that all-over warm feeling.
(What a perky appliance for so early in the morning! I swooshed the toothpaste out of my mouth, dried my face and turned to the iron.) Gee, it's too bad you're my iron. You don' t get many opportunities to be anything but cold.
Oh, I don't mind. Really I don't. I'd much rather be warm a few times during the week than to get really hot all in one day. Besides, I've never been one to get all steamed up over things. I'd say I'm pretty even-tempered.
Well I do mostly only use the setting right in the middle....
Oh yes, yes, I have noticed that. You know, I've started to encourage the ironing board to take life's ups and downs a little less seriously and I think I may have finally succeeded in raising his spirits.
That's wonderful! Do you think he'll groan less when I'm done this morning?
Well...(she wrinkled her brow and gave me a kind of innocent, clueless look), it's a little hard to say, really. He sort of keeps his emotions covered up.
(I finished pressing my dress and admit I was reluctant to unplug my sweet iron. Before reaching for the socket, I promised her that I'd wear my black flowered dress the next day - the one that absolutely needed to be ironed. And I swear that my ironing board did not creak as loudly when I lowered it!)
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Wallet
Ever since my finances took a nose dive several years ago, my poor wallet has not seen the light of day too often. It spends days, sometimes a whole week, nice and cozy in a zippered compartment in the sack I use as a pocketbook. Gone are the daily stops at Dunkin Donuts for morning coffee on my way to work, I pay my bills online, and I sometimes only go to the ATM for cash once every two weeks or so. I assumed my wallet was now accustomed to being cash less, without currency of any kind - even coins. Imagine my surprise when I went to place a ten and a five dollar bill in the paper money section and I heard the following shriek:
Oww!! What in the world are you doing? (My wallet sounded very much like Ruth Hussey - sassy as when she was in "The Philadelphia Story," not skeptical as she was in "The Uninvited" - see TCM.com. My reaction was to immediately pull the cash out of the wallet.)
Oh, I beg your pardon. Did I startle you?
Startle? I think shock is a better word. You can't just suddenly shove a foreign object in my mouth and expect no reaction. After all, I'm only...
Human? I hate to break it to you, but you're not human. Just because you can speak...
Please don't put words in my mouth. For your information, I was going to say that I'm only used to you feeding me once or twice a month. This was totally unexpected! (She was absolutely right. This really was way off schedule. I found myself offering an explanation to my wallet.)
Oh, I see. It's just that I didn't get to the bank for allowances and stuff until this week end. I had a few extra dollars in the account, so I thought, well, it might be nice to actually have some extra cash for me...maybe treat myself to coffee. Know what I mean?
Well, why didn't you just say so? I know you've been wearing your belt a little tighter this winter, so a little unexpected treat for us both is really quite nice. Well done! (Just as I was about to place my windfall in the wallet, my son informed me that he will going to the Junior Prom in two weeks. Two weeks! There will have to be some serious juggling with my account, and that $15 will simply have to go for the prom.)
Well, it was nice while it lasted, huh? I promise to be more receptive next time.
Next time? (I replaced the empty wallet back in my sack.) I don't think I'd count on it!
Oww!! What in the world are you doing? (My wallet sounded very much like Ruth Hussey - sassy as when she was in "The Philadelphia Story," not skeptical as she was in "The Uninvited" - see TCM.com. My reaction was to immediately pull the cash out of the wallet.)
Oh, I beg your pardon. Did I startle you?
Startle? I think shock is a better word. You can't just suddenly shove a foreign object in my mouth and expect no reaction. After all, I'm only...
Human? I hate to break it to you, but you're not human. Just because you can speak...
Please don't put words in my mouth. For your information, I was going to say that I'm only used to you feeding me once or twice a month. This was totally unexpected! (She was absolutely right. This really was way off schedule. I found myself offering an explanation to my wallet.)
Oh, I see. It's just that I didn't get to the bank for allowances and stuff until this week end. I had a few extra dollars in the account, so I thought, well, it might be nice to actually have some extra cash for me...maybe treat myself to coffee. Know what I mean?
Well, why didn't you just say so? I know you've been wearing your belt a little tighter this winter, so a little unexpected treat for us both is really quite nice. Well done! (Just as I was about to place my windfall in the wallet, my son informed me that he will going to the Junior Prom in two weeks. Two weeks! There will have to be some serious juggling with my account, and that $15 will simply have to go for the prom.)
Well, it was nice while it lasted, huh? I promise to be more receptive next time.
Next time? (I replaced the empty wallet back in my sack.) I don't think I'd count on it!
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Flashlight
We've been having some incredibly intense thunderstorms this season and our power has gone from flickerings to brown outs to black outs, which rarely ever used to happen. Since it seems to be our natural state of affairs to always be unprepared, this last power outage found us fumbling around by candlelight looking for the one and only flashlight we own - which was supposed to be in the kitchen on the bookcase next to the fridge. Naturally, it wasn't there. As a joke, I started calling: "Here flashy-flashy-flashy...here flashy-flashy." Imagine my surprise when I heard the following feeble reply:
Over here. I-I'm over here.
The voice had a distinct German accent and I don't know why, but I immediately thought of Albert Einstein. I headed over toward the junk drawer near the sink (as opposed to the junk drawer under the coffee-maker counter) and waved the candle over the contents. I caught a glimmer of its shiny silver aluminum casing and triumphantly pulled it from under a blanket of pens, pencils and half-crayons. "I found it!!" I proclaimed while waving it victoriously in the air.
Ohhh...(he implored in a whisper)...please don't move me about like that. The motion and the velocity are making me queasy.
Oh, I am so sorry. You just have no idea how happy we are to have found you! (I pushed the switch, hoping to flood the room with light, but it seemed to illuminate no better than the candle.) Uh, I think it needs batteries. (I shone the golden glow back into the junk drawer and miraculously discovered two "AA" batteries. The transformation in the flashlight was instantaneous.)
Ah! I feel so...so...so full of energy! ( A window rattling thunder clap caught me off guard and I very nearly dropped the flashlight. By now, my family was gathered together in the den, waiting impatiently for the flashlight and I to join them.)
We'd better go shed some light on the situation.
Yes, yes...to be sure (the flashlight concurred). After all, light from a candle or light from a flashlight...it's all relative!
Over here. I-I'm over here.
The voice had a distinct German accent and I don't know why, but I immediately thought of Albert Einstein. I headed over toward the junk drawer near the sink (as opposed to the junk drawer under the coffee-maker counter) and waved the candle over the contents. I caught a glimmer of its shiny silver aluminum casing and triumphantly pulled it from under a blanket of pens, pencils and half-crayons. "I found it!!" I proclaimed while waving it victoriously in the air.
Ohhh...(he implored in a whisper)...please don't move me about like that. The motion and the velocity are making me queasy.
Oh, I am so sorry. You just have no idea how happy we are to have found you! (I pushed the switch, hoping to flood the room with light, but it seemed to illuminate no better than the candle.) Uh, I think it needs batteries. (I shone the golden glow back into the junk drawer and miraculously discovered two "AA" batteries. The transformation in the flashlight was instantaneous.)
Ah! I feel so...so...so full of energy! ( A window rattling thunder clap caught me off guard and I very nearly dropped the flashlight. By now, my family was gathered together in the den, waiting impatiently for the flashlight and I to join them.)
We'd better go shed some light on the situation.
Yes, yes...to be sure (the flashlight concurred). After all, light from a candle or light from a flashlight...it's all relative!
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Fly
I was sitting on a cushioned bench outside of the college testing center waiting for my 11-days-away-from-being-sixteen year old son to complete the final exam for his fifth college course (yes, I am most definitely bragging!) when a noisy fly decided it was her obligation to keep me company. My wild flailing and signs of annoyance indicated no discouragement to her. Finally, I just shouted, "Oh, go a-way!" and was shocked when I heard a whimpering reply.
Gee whizzzzz. I wazzzzz only trying to be pleazzzzzant. (She sniffed indignantly as she landed on the wall between my bench and the empty one closest to me.)
Well, maybe if you just stopped buzzing by my ears I wouldn't mind so much.
But that'zzzzz how I wazzzzz taught to get attention.
Didn't anyone ever tell you that's also a great way to get killed?
You mean people kill fliezzzzz? Why, I simply can't believe it. You mean to say that you actually think I'm annoying?
Look, I don't mean to be mean, but flies are...well...very dirty.
But I clean myzzzzzelf conzzzzztantly! (It was true. She was rubbing her, uh, hands together that very moment.)
What I mean is that you carry germs from one place to another to another. Every time you land somewhere....
But...(Her little body began to shake. I wasn't sure if it was due to her whimpering or because she was, well...leaving germs.) I...I never intend any harm. I just go about my own businezzzzz.
(I generally despise flies, but this one just seemed so different than the average run-of-the-mill fly. I found myself examining her for reassurance that she wasn't like the fly in the movie, "The Fly" -- you know, fly body/human head. She was all fly. By now, though, she was visibly sobbing.)
I eat (sob)...I nap (sob)...I...I...I fly (wail). And people are alwayzzzzz swatting at me. I just want to be friendzzzzz! (I suddenly remembered a verse from the song, "Human Fly" that goes: "I cry 98 tears from 98 eyes." Oh, I felt so sad for that little forlorn fly!)
Uh, if you promise not to land on me or my coffee cup, I'd be happy to be your friend....
(But before another word could be spoken, a guy with a jelly doughnut and a soda sat down on the bench next to mine. The little fly took off like a bullet towards the goodies and as I walked away to join my son, I saw the guy flailing his arms and yelling, "Oh, just go a-way!")
Gee whizzzzz. I wazzzzz only trying to be pleazzzzzant. (She sniffed indignantly as she landed on the wall between my bench and the empty one closest to me.)
Well, maybe if you just stopped buzzing by my ears I wouldn't mind so much.
But that'zzzzz how I wazzzzz taught to get attention.
Didn't anyone ever tell you that's also a great way to get killed?
You mean people kill fliezzzzz? Why, I simply can't believe it. You mean to say that you actually think I'm annoying?
Look, I don't mean to be mean, but flies are...well...very dirty.
But I clean myzzzzzelf conzzzzztantly! (It was true. She was rubbing her, uh, hands together that very moment.)
What I mean is that you carry germs from one place to another to another. Every time you land somewhere....
But...(Her little body began to shake. I wasn't sure if it was due to her whimpering or because she was, well...leaving germs.) I...I never intend any harm. I just go about my own businezzzzz.
(I generally despise flies, but this one just seemed so different than the average run-of-the-mill fly. I found myself examining her for reassurance that she wasn't like the fly in the movie, "The Fly" -- you know, fly body/human head. She was all fly. By now, though, she was visibly sobbing.)
I eat (sob)...I nap (sob)...I...I...I fly (wail). And people are alwayzzzzz swatting at me. I just want to be friendzzzzz! (I suddenly remembered a verse from the song, "Human Fly" that goes: "I cry 98 tears from 98 eyes." Oh, I felt so sad for that little forlorn fly!)
Uh, if you promise not to land on me or my coffee cup, I'd be happy to be your friend....
(But before another word could be spoken, a guy with a jelly doughnut and a soda sat down on the bench next to mine. The little fly took off like a bullet towards the goodies and as I walked away to join my son, I saw the guy flailing his arms and yelling, "Oh, just go a-way!")
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Smoke Alarm
Last night when I went to bed, a Nor'easter was predicted for our area: high winds, flooding rains - perfect weather to snuggle under our cozy comforter. I slept soundly through the night...no rattling windows, howling wind or heavy downpours could rouse me from my sweet slumber. No, that was left to the smoke detector. Exactly one hour before the alarm clock was to sound, the smoke detector in our bedroom decided to announce that it needed a new battery. Beep (pause) beep (longer pause) double beep (pause and repeat). I thought of putting the pillow over my head, but then I was afraid I wouldn't hear the clock - in the highly unlikely event that I would actually fall back asleep, that is. Frustrated, I sat on the edge of the bed and glared at the smoke detector.
You couldn't wait just one more stupid hour, could you?
Oh, no. Naturally not. Certainly not. (The voice was most assuredly that of Alastair Sim--though not as he sounded when he was playing mean, crotchety Ebenezer Scrooge in the only really good film adaptation of Dickens' "A Christmas Carol," but rather as the softer, wiser Scrooge after his spirited evening.) If it had indeed been me, that is.
(I must admit it was I who most closely resembled the nasty, ill-tempered miser at the moment.) One hour! I could have been cozy for one whole hour longer! Why, oh why, couldn't you have just waited?
Oh, dear me, no. (A sudden gust of wind literally shook the rafters.) It would have been inexcusable. Simply inexcusable. If it had indeed been me, that is.
(By now it registered to my sleepy brain that our bedroom smoke detector was denying that it had beeped. But then, there it was again: beep [pause] beep [longer pause] double beep [pause and repeat].) A-ha! It IS you!
No, madam, I'm afraid it is not. Perhaps you're just imagining it. Or it might be part of a nightmare brought on, perhaps, by a bit of undigested beef or an underdone potato....
(Beep [pause] beep [longer pause] double beep [pause and repeat]. I hurriedly slipped my feet into my slippers and shuffled over to stand directly beneath the smoke alarm. I cocked my head to listen more intently to the beeps, and, in actual fact, I was no longer certain that they were coming from our smoke detector. I opened the bedroom door and stood in the hall, waiting for the next round of beeps. No, the sound was definitely coming from our bedroom. My zombie-like daughter, son and husband all confirmed it. After scurrying around to find a battery and making sure my half-asleep husband didn't fall off the ladder replacing it, I crawled back under the covers for a dreamy twenty-five minutes more of sleep. But then it happened. Beep [pause] beep [longer pause] double beep [pause and repeat].) Nooohoho! This can't be happening!
Please, I beg you...do not doubt your senses! Ignore not the beeps!
(Oh, that was just so funny. How do you ignore incessant beeping? After disconnecting the entire apparatus from the ceiling, my husband flung it onto the loveseat at the foot of our bed. It was then that we were apparently transported into an episode of The Twilight Zone, because the phantom beeping started again.) This is insane! It won't die! (We all stood under the hole where the smoke alarm once hung, staring in disbelief at what was happening. Then my son very calmly asked this simple question: Umm, don't you guys have a carbon monoxide detector in your room?) Aagghhhhh! (Hidden behind a chair hidden behind mounds of "stuff" was, indeed, a carbon monoxide detector. We pulled it out of the socket, interpreted the sequence of beeps to indicate a low battery, removed the battery and...stopped the beeping! My husband replaced the smoke detector and he and my children went back to sleep. I promised the carbon monoxide detector on the loveseat that I would get it a new battery, too, and then addressed the smoke detector.)
Oh, I don't know what to do. (Then I laughed a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The mother of a long, long line of brilliant laughs.) Well, I guess you can tell I'm not a happy riser! Thanks for being so darned polite about the whole thing.
Think nothing of it, my dear. I never intended to alarm you. (And didn't I know it!)
(P.S. - a nod to Mr. Dickens for this one!)
You couldn't wait just one more stupid hour, could you?
Oh, no. Naturally not. Certainly not. (The voice was most assuredly that of Alastair Sim--though not as he sounded when he was playing mean, crotchety Ebenezer Scrooge in the only really good film adaptation of Dickens' "A Christmas Carol," but rather as the softer, wiser Scrooge after his spirited evening.) If it had indeed been me, that is.
(I must admit it was I who most closely resembled the nasty, ill-tempered miser at the moment.) One hour! I could have been cozy for one whole hour longer! Why, oh why, couldn't you have just waited?
Oh, dear me, no. (A sudden gust of wind literally shook the rafters.) It would have been inexcusable. Simply inexcusable. If it had indeed been me, that is.
(By now it registered to my sleepy brain that our bedroom smoke detector was denying that it had beeped. But then, there it was again: beep [pause] beep [longer pause] double beep [pause and repeat].) A-ha! It IS you!
No, madam, I'm afraid it is not. Perhaps you're just imagining it. Or it might be part of a nightmare brought on, perhaps, by a bit of undigested beef or an underdone potato....
(Beep [pause] beep [longer pause] double beep [pause and repeat]. I hurriedly slipped my feet into my slippers and shuffled over to stand directly beneath the smoke alarm. I cocked my head to listen more intently to the beeps, and, in actual fact, I was no longer certain that they were coming from our smoke detector. I opened the bedroom door and stood in the hall, waiting for the next round of beeps. No, the sound was definitely coming from our bedroom. My zombie-like daughter, son and husband all confirmed it. After scurrying around to find a battery and making sure my half-asleep husband didn't fall off the ladder replacing it, I crawled back under the covers for a dreamy twenty-five minutes more of sleep. But then it happened. Beep [pause] beep [longer pause] double beep [pause and repeat].) Nooohoho! This can't be happening!
Please, I beg you...do not doubt your senses! Ignore not the beeps!
(Oh, that was just so funny. How do you ignore incessant beeping? After disconnecting the entire apparatus from the ceiling, my husband flung it onto the loveseat at the foot of our bed. It was then that we were apparently transported into an episode of The Twilight Zone, because the phantom beeping started again.) This is insane! It won't die! (We all stood under the hole where the smoke alarm once hung, staring in disbelief at what was happening. Then my son very calmly asked this simple question: Umm, don't you guys have a carbon monoxide detector in your room?) Aagghhhhh! (Hidden behind a chair hidden behind mounds of "stuff" was, indeed, a carbon monoxide detector. We pulled it out of the socket, interpreted the sequence of beeps to indicate a low battery, removed the battery and...stopped the beeping! My husband replaced the smoke detector and he and my children went back to sleep. I promised the carbon monoxide detector on the loveseat that I would get it a new battery, too, and then addressed the smoke detector.)
Oh, I don't know what to do. (Then I laughed a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The mother of a long, long line of brilliant laughs.) Well, I guess you can tell I'm not a happy riser! Thanks for being so darned polite about the whole thing.
Think nothing of it, my dear. I never intended to alarm you. (And didn't I know it!)
(P.S. - a nod to Mr. Dickens for this one!)
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Fake Moustache
One of the presents my daughter gave to my teenage son this past Christmas was a set of fake moustaches. He's always making incredibly funny videos and since he sometimes plays multiple roles, she thought they might come in handy. I don't think they've made it into any videos yet, but my son has surprised his railfanning friends more than once by showing up with a hilariously hairy upper lip. Today he hopped out of the car looking like he was a member of an 1890's barbershop quartet. When his pals were done laughing, he peeled it off and put it in the car to keep me company. I am no longer surprised when inanimate objects speak to me, but when a moustache sounds exactly like C. Aubrey Smith [see TCM.com], I must admit I was slightly taken aback.
(Harumph!) I say, it's a bit tricky still having the sticky part exposed. Be a good girl and reattach the paper, what ho!
(Being the good girl that I am, I carefully aligned the moustache with the backing paper and gently placed it in the cup holder for safe keeping.) Better?
Much, much. Capital job. Yes, yes. Capital (Harumph!) I daresay that fellow looked rather dashing with my assistance. I'm sure you'd agree?
(Considering that I think he's quite good looking to begin with and that I didn't want to hurt the moustache's feelings, I agreed, then changed the subject.) It must be nice to know that you're...well, uh...reusable?
My dear child, as long as there are roles to play, my usefulness will never be in doubt. Why (harumph!) the young lad may yet star me in one of his pictures!
Well, I'm not quite sure you'd be the star, but....
Oh - quite right. Yes, yes - quite right. (He sniffed rather loudly.) Must keep a stiff upper lip, you know. Supporting character (harumph!)...that's my lot. Yes, yes.
(Oh, I had really created a sticky problem.) You know, now that you mention it, he recently told me the plot to one of his upcoming videos. Something about how a moustache saves a wrongly accused man....
Why, I say! That would be perfect for me! Many's the time I've dreamed of rescuing the hero from a hairy situation. Yes, yes! Perfect.
My son was finally done railfanning, so I decided to cheer up the moustache ever further by asking my son to wear it on the way home. I was just about to reach for the moustache when my son - with what seemed to be superhuman speed - slammed his condensation-dripping ice-melting soda cup into the holder. "Noooooo!" I screamed in slow motion. I quickly handed the cup back to my surprised son. I felt the bottom of the wet cup holder and raised the soaked, limp now sticky-free moustache. Despite its utter droopiness, I am certain I still heard a determined "Harumph!"
(Harumph!) I say, it's a bit tricky still having the sticky part exposed. Be a good girl and reattach the paper, what ho!
(Being the good girl that I am, I carefully aligned the moustache with the backing paper and gently placed it in the cup holder for safe keeping.) Better?
Much, much. Capital job. Yes, yes. Capital (Harumph!) I daresay that fellow looked rather dashing with my assistance. I'm sure you'd agree?
(Considering that I think he's quite good looking to begin with and that I didn't want to hurt the moustache's feelings, I agreed, then changed the subject.) It must be nice to know that you're...well, uh...reusable?
My dear child, as long as there are roles to play, my usefulness will never be in doubt. Why (harumph!) the young lad may yet star me in one of his pictures!
Well, I'm not quite sure you'd be the star, but....
Oh - quite right. Yes, yes - quite right. (He sniffed rather loudly.) Must keep a stiff upper lip, you know. Supporting character (harumph!)...that's my lot. Yes, yes.
(Oh, I had really created a sticky problem.) You know, now that you mention it, he recently told me the plot to one of his upcoming videos. Something about how a moustache saves a wrongly accused man....
Why, I say! That would be perfect for me! Many's the time I've dreamed of rescuing the hero from a hairy situation. Yes, yes! Perfect.
My son was finally done railfanning, so I decided to cheer up the moustache ever further by asking my son to wear it on the way home. I was just about to reach for the moustache when my son - with what seemed to be superhuman speed - slammed his condensation-dripping ice-melting soda cup into the holder. "Noooooo!" I screamed in slow motion. I quickly handed the cup back to my surprised son. I felt the bottom of the wet cup holder and raised the soaked, limp now sticky-free moustache. Despite its utter droopiness, I am certain I still heard a determined "Harumph!"
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Hot Air
It's been so chilly at night in our den recently that I began to wonder if heat was actually coming into the room. I pulled my blanket tighter around me as I bent down to check if warm air was indeed making its way up from the heater. After the kind of week I'd had (week? How about couple of weeks? How about even longer than that??), the last thing I needed was a heater on the blink.
Great. Oh, that's just swell. (The slightest whisper of heat was all I could feel. Totally defeated, I sat right down on the floor and pulled the blanket over my head. ) I seriously can't take this.
Don't worry, dear. It's not as bad as you think. (I peeked out from under my blanket and glanced around to see where Spring Byington's voice was coming from. The TV wasn't on, so I knew it couldn't possibly be a movie on TCM.) You just need to change the filter, that's all. A simple little thing, really.
How...how do you know that?
My dear, don't you know it's usually always something that can be easily fixed? (Her voice was so soothing...exactly like the moms she played in "Meet John Doe" or "You Can't Take It With You" - see TCM.com.) I suddenly found myself musing that I really could use one of those moms about now.)
Oh, I wish life was like that...always something that could be easily fixed.
Why, what's the matter, dear? Is something troubling you? (Gee whiz, she sounded so genuinely concerned that I immediately began to blubber.)
Oh, if you only knew! It's work, it's money, it's practically everything! (Okay. So I was a bit melodramatic. Stress can do that to people.) Every day I go to work where my co-workers are all shallow women whose main concern seems to be when they will get their next pedicure - "pedi" as they call it. They're going on trips to Alaska, Cancun, Florida and I can't even afford a trip to the grocery store. My car was last washed in 2007, and they go every week! They can tell you who won "American Idol" but not who their senators are. Every day I have to hear about their dogs getting better treats than I can give my own children, and it's so depressing for me. I just don't know how to cope...
Yes, dear. I think I see what you mean. You'd like not to envy them, but you'd like their freedom, wouldn't you?
I was in the National Honor Society, for goodness sake, and I end up like this? Scrounging for every penny? Having to listen to women gush about having jewelry that has a name - just like their handbags? It's tough. And I'm not.
I know it's difficult, dear. But you must remember that just because these women can have and do things that you can't, doesn't make them any happier than you. It is quite true, dear, that money can't buy happiness.
Oh, I know you're right. They all have their own problems. But just not having to worry about money...
You have to promise me one thing, dear...that whenever you start to feel this way, you'll think of "You Can't Take It With You." Family is what really, truly matters. Heater filters, trendy co-workers and everything else are just nuisances, but with the kind of family you have, you are probably the luckiest woman in the world.
(I knew for certain that she was right. I lifted myself up off the floor and decided to head for the basement to change the filter.) Thanks so much for letting me vent.
That's what I'm here for, dear.
Great. Oh, that's just swell. (The slightest whisper of heat was all I could feel. Totally defeated, I sat right down on the floor and pulled the blanket over my head. ) I seriously can't take this.
Don't worry, dear. It's not as bad as you think. (I peeked out from under my blanket and glanced around to see where Spring Byington's voice was coming from. The TV wasn't on, so I knew it couldn't possibly be a movie on TCM.) You just need to change the filter, that's all. A simple little thing, really.
How...how do you know that?
My dear, don't you know it's usually always something that can be easily fixed? (Her voice was so soothing...exactly like the moms she played in "Meet John Doe" or "You Can't Take It With You" - see TCM.com.) I suddenly found myself musing that I really could use one of those moms about now.)
Oh, I wish life was like that...always something that could be easily fixed.
Why, what's the matter, dear? Is something troubling you? (Gee whiz, she sounded so genuinely concerned that I immediately began to blubber.)
Oh, if you only knew! It's work, it's money, it's practically everything! (Okay. So I was a bit melodramatic. Stress can do that to people.) Every day I go to work where my co-workers are all shallow women whose main concern seems to be when they will get their next pedicure - "pedi" as they call it. They're going on trips to Alaska, Cancun, Florida and I can't even afford a trip to the grocery store. My car was last washed in 2007, and they go every week! They can tell you who won "American Idol" but not who their senators are. Every day I have to hear about their dogs getting better treats than I can give my own children, and it's so depressing for me. I just don't know how to cope...
Yes, dear. I think I see what you mean. You'd like not to envy them, but you'd like their freedom, wouldn't you?
I was in the National Honor Society, for goodness sake, and I end up like this? Scrounging for every penny? Having to listen to women gush about having jewelry that has a name - just like their handbags? It's tough. And I'm not.
I know it's difficult, dear. But you must remember that just because these women can have and do things that you can't, doesn't make them any happier than you. It is quite true, dear, that money can't buy happiness.
Oh, I know you're right. They all have their own problems. But just not having to worry about money...
You have to promise me one thing, dear...that whenever you start to feel this way, you'll think of "You Can't Take It With You." Family is what really, truly matters. Heater filters, trendy co-workers and everything else are just nuisances, but with the kind of family you have, you are probably the luckiest woman in the world.
(I knew for certain that she was right. I lifted myself up off the floor and decided to head for the basement to change the filter.) Thanks so much for letting me vent.
That's what I'm here for, dear.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Liquid Paper
Today was "Payroll Monday" at work. It happens every two weeks. I go nuts making sure everyone's hours (on paper) match up to the scanner program, that their overtime is either marked as money or comp time, that they're paid at a higher title for those four hours last Thursday afternoon. It's always a crazy, hectic day but with my best friend next to me, I always manage to get the thing done just in the nick of time. My best friend on these wacky Mondays is, of course, Liquid Paper. "Oh, you didn't want it marked as vacation - you wanted a personal day?" No problem. I just reach for the Liquid Paper. Today, however, I believe that someone switched my bottle because the Liquid Paper on my desk was in an extremely horrific mood. I knew this because as soon as I reached for it this is what I heard:
Vat do you think you are doing? You don't dare to expose me to the light of day! Release me, I command you! (I swear Bela Lugosi was speaking to me. I was so scared that I actually dropped the bottle. Luckily the cap was still mostly on.)
You...you...you're not my regular bottle, are you?
Mwa-hah-hah-hah. (His evil laugh sent chills up my spine.) That veakling vill trouble us no longer. (An icy stare punctuated his last remark.)
Wh-what have you done with it? (I quickly looked away...that stare was mesmerizing.)
Do not concern yourself any longer vith that! I'm afraid that I must insist that you put me vay in the back of the drawer...at vonce!
But, it's payroll Monday! I simply can't finish in time without white-out! (I could feel myself beginning to get hysterical. The back of my hand suddenly darted to the corner of my trembling mouth. Stifling a sob, I practically begged him to reconsider.)
Oh, it's qvite true that I love the feel of the cool milky vite liquid drinking up those unvanted verds (it almost seemed as if he was drooling at the mere thought), but I insist you put me in the drawer!
But, it's payroll Monday!
That matters not to me! You vill obey my command!
(My right hand reached for the bottle as my left hand began to open the drawer. It was as if I was, well, hypnotized.) Wait! I...I...I just can't do this!
You cannot resist! I have vays of making you obey!
(His threat was ominous, but I continued to plead.) Please...please...you must stop do
Mwa-hah-hah-hah. (My words were being sucked into the mouth of the bottle as I spoke!)
Stop tha
Perhaps now you vill reconsider?
Nev
But it's payroll Monday! It's useless for you to resist me! (I knew he was right, and that I had no choice but to do as he demanded. I quickly grabbed the bottle and threw it in my trash bin. I immediately heard a piercing shriek, and then the strangest thing happened - when I moved my half-eaten slice of garlic pizza to see the bottle, it just wasn't there anymore! I went to the supply cabinet to get another bottle of Liquid Paper and went back to my desk. I knew as soon as I heard Boris Karloff's voice that it was indeed going to be a monstrous Monday. )
Vat do you think you are doing? You don't dare to expose me to the light of day! Release me, I command you! (I swear Bela Lugosi was speaking to me. I was so scared that I actually dropped the bottle. Luckily the cap was still mostly on.)
You...you...you're not my regular bottle, are you?
Mwa-hah-hah-hah. (His evil laugh sent chills up my spine.) That veakling vill trouble us no longer. (An icy stare punctuated his last remark.)
Wh-what have you done with it? (I quickly looked away...that stare was mesmerizing.)
Do not concern yourself any longer vith that! I'm afraid that I must insist that you put me vay in the back of the drawer...at vonce!
But, it's payroll Monday! I simply can't finish in time without white-out! (I could feel myself beginning to get hysterical. The back of my hand suddenly darted to the corner of my trembling mouth. Stifling a sob, I practically begged him to reconsider.)
Oh, it's qvite true that I love the feel of the cool milky vite liquid drinking up those unvanted verds (it almost seemed as if he was drooling at the mere thought), but I insist you put me in the drawer!
But, it's payroll Monday!
That matters not to me! You vill obey my command!
(My right hand reached for the bottle as my left hand began to open the drawer. It was as if I was, well, hypnotized.) Wait! I...I...I just can't do this!
You cannot resist! I have vays of making you obey!
(His threat was ominous, but I continued to plead.) Please...please...you must stop do
Mwa-hah-hah-hah. (My words were being sucked into the mouth of the bottle as I spoke!)
Stop tha
Perhaps now you vill reconsider?
Nev
But it's payroll Monday! It's useless for you to resist me! (I knew he was right, and that I had no choice but to do as he demanded. I quickly grabbed the bottle and threw it in my trash bin. I immediately heard a piercing shriek, and then the strangest thing happened - when I moved my half-eaten slice of garlic pizza to see the bottle, it just wasn't there anymore! I went to the supply cabinet to get another bottle of Liquid Paper and went back to my desk. I knew as soon as I heard Boris Karloff's voice that it was indeed going to be a monstrous Monday. )
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Stapler
I work at a sewer plant. Of course, I didn't know it was the sewer plant when I initially applied for the job. It was touted as "Water Pollution Control" and I couldn't help thinking how nice it would be to work for an environmentally-conscious industry. Water Pollution Control = sewer plant. Yuck. George Orwell would be so proud of the community for which I work. We have "Water Pollution Control" and our garbage dump is known as the "Ecological Facility." No sewer plant or garbage dump in our town! It's not really so bad, though (except on those days when the vanilla filter isn't working just right), but sometimes when someone comes in to our office from just having left one of the REALLY stinky buildings, well, let's just say that I've learned to have entire conversations without breathing once through my nose. I also keep a giant bottle of hand sanitizer - watermelon scented - on my desk, right next to my stapler. Recently I've started to wonder whether my stapler might feel slightly neglected, considering how often I employ its neighbor. So I asked it:
Does it bother you at all that I reach past you so often to get to the hand sanitizer?
No, dahling, not one bit. (She was a beautiful stapler - a purple and black Swingline with just a hint of yellow. She sounded very much like Tallulah Bankhead [see TCM.com] - a deep, raspy, world-weary voice with an accent like a Southern belle schooled in England.) Ah absolutely love it when you wash your hands. Really ah do. And watermelon brings back some lovely memories.
But (I hated to admit this), I've actually knocked you over a few times. (She was ergonomically designed - an upright model.) I hope you'll forgive me.
Listen, dahling, ah've been pushed over plenty of times, but that doesn't mean ah'm a pushover. Ah know you never did it deliberately. Ah gladly accept your apology.
Thank you so much. You know, it's a shame you have to work down here. You seem like you should at least be in the Mayor's Office.
(She chuckled.) Ah could say the same of you, don't you think?
Oh no, not at all. Everything's so casual and relaxed down here. And we even have an office cat!
Well, yes, dahling, but you see ah'm not as sophisticated as you may think ah am. Ah simply adore all the nitty gritty, as one might say. Plus ah'm the first to read all the really good gossip, since you are essentially the entire personnel department, beg pardon - human resources - down here.
You read what I staple?
Of course, dahling. What else did you expect me to do with my time?
And you gossip about it? To who?
To WHOM, dahling..to whom! Why simply everyone, of course. As a matter of fact, ah'd be careful what papers ah leave next to that telephone, if ah was you. Between you and me, she just can't keep her mouthpiece quiet.
(I glanced suspiciously at my phone, which startled me something silly when it suddenly rang. I gingerly reached for the receiver, wondering whether my entire upcoming conversation would be fodder for gossip after we all left for the day.)
Does it bother you at all that I reach past you so often to get to the hand sanitizer?
No, dahling, not one bit. (She was a beautiful stapler - a purple and black Swingline with just a hint of yellow. She sounded very much like Tallulah Bankhead [see TCM.com] - a deep, raspy, world-weary voice with an accent like a Southern belle schooled in England.) Ah absolutely love it when you wash your hands. Really ah do. And watermelon brings back some lovely memories.
But (I hated to admit this), I've actually knocked you over a few times. (She was ergonomically designed - an upright model.) I hope you'll forgive me.
Listen, dahling, ah've been pushed over plenty of times, but that doesn't mean ah'm a pushover. Ah know you never did it deliberately. Ah gladly accept your apology.
Thank you so much. You know, it's a shame you have to work down here. You seem like you should at least be in the Mayor's Office.
(She chuckled.) Ah could say the same of you, don't you think?
Oh no, not at all. Everything's so casual and relaxed down here. And we even have an office cat!
Well, yes, dahling, but you see ah'm not as sophisticated as you may think ah am. Ah simply adore all the nitty gritty, as one might say. Plus ah'm the first to read all the really good gossip, since you are essentially the entire personnel department, beg pardon - human resources - down here.
You read what I staple?
Of course, dahling. What else did you expect me to do with my time?
And you gossip about it? To who?
To WHOM, dahling..to whom! Why simply everyone, of course. As a matter of fact, ah'd be careful what papers ah leave next to that telephone, if ah was you. Between you and me, she just can't keep her mouthpiece quiet.
(I glanced suspiciously at my phone, which startled me something silly when it suddenly rang. I gingerly reached for the receiver, wondering whether my entire upcoming conversation would be fodder for gossip after we all left for the day.)
Friday, November 6, 2009
Garage Door
Now that winter has set in, our garage has been cleaned and reorganized so that once again my car can squeeze in and be sheltered from the blustery wind, the freezing rain and the accumulating snow. Well, that's not actually true. Having the car in the garage for the winter is so that I don't have to wake up 15 minutes earlier to scrape off the frost and warm it up. Last night was the first time it dipped below freezing, so I wasn't all that surprised when I heard a loud shudder as I approached the car. I was surprised, however, when I realized it was the garage door, not the car, making the sound.
Sounds like somebody's not ready for winter. (I could see my breath as the words came out.)
Brrrrrrr! (Another shudder.) I'm chilled all the way through. (It was true. There was actually a little frost on the inside panels. We really had intended to fix that gap at the top of the door....) If only you'd fixed that gap near the top of....
I know, I know. You don't have to become unhinged about it.
Who's unhinged? I merely mentioned that you might have done a menial repair and you recoil from my remark.
I just feel guilty about not fixing it, that's all. (I muttered something about having meant to fix it in the Spring.)
What? You're planning to fix my springs, too? Oh, I'm so glad. They're creaking something fierce. And how about the caulking? And maybe weather stripping?
I'll get to them, too. Really...I'll put them on my list. (I had a list? I had to switch gears fast or the requests might never have ended.) So, other than that, life's treating you well?
Oh, it has its ups and downs.
Look, first nice day and I promise I'll fix the gap. And the springs. Will that do?
Well, you'll at least be on the right track. It's a deal.
(I got in the car and hit the power button for the garage door opener. Squeaks and moans filled the garage as the door not-so-gently glided over my car.)
First nice day...I promise!
(It's funny, but as I backed out and lowered the door again, that gap actually seemed to resemble a hopeful smile.)
Sounds like somebody's not ready for winter. (I could see my breath as the words came out.)
Brrrrrrr! (Another shudder.) I'm chilled all the way through. (It was true. There was actually a little frost on the inside panels. We really had intended to fix that gap at the top of the door....) If only you'd fixed that gap near the top of....
I know, I know. You don't have to become unhinged about it.
Who's unhinged? I merely mentioned that you might have done a menial repair and you recoil from my remark.
I just feel guilty about not fixing it, that's all. (I muttered something about having meant to fix it in the Spring.)
What? You're planning to fix my springs, too? Oh, I'm so glad. They're creaking something fierce. And how about the caulking? And maybe weather stripping?
I'll get to them, too. Really...I'll put them on my list. (I had a list? I had to switch gears fast or the requests might never have ended.) So, other than that, life's treating you well?
Oh, it has its ups and downs.
Look, first nice day and I promise I'll fix the gap. And the springs. Will that do?
Well, you'll at least be on the right track. It's a deal.
(I got in the car and hit the power button for the garage door opener. Squeaks and moans filled the garage as the door not-so-gently glided over my car.)
First nice day...I promise!
(It's funny, but as I backed out and lowered the door again, that gap actually seemed to resemble a hopeful smile.)
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Street Light
My son is a crazy obsessed railfan. Of course, I mean that in the nicest way. Since he's too young to drive, that means that either my husband or I have the privilege of taking him to his favorite trackside spots. Tonight was my turn. We parked in a lot right next to the tracks, making sure to be directly under a street light so that he could set up his cameras right in front of my car and so I could see what I was writing. And even though it's really starting to get cold, I still left the window open a crack to better hear my son. Imagine my surprise when, instead of my son's voice, I heard what sounded exactly like Edward G. Robinson.
So, you think you're pretty clever parking there, huh?
(I looked through the windshield. Edward G. Robinson was nowhere in sight.)
Look up here, you dumb broad. Yeah, I'm the bright guy doing the talking, see.
(I leaned forward and gave the street light a dirty look. I certainly did not appreciate being called a dumb broad, particularly by a dim-witted light fixture.) Um...if you're talking to me then yes, I do think I'm pretty clever, thank you very much.
Listen sister...I ain't free and loose with the compliments, see. You're on my turf, see. Better keep your face clean, see.
What?!? (This lamp was talking like it was in an old gangster movie. I figured it was time for me to play along.) Listen wise guy...I'm not just some dame from around the block. I got connections, you know.
Trying to play rough, hey doll? Ain't nobody connected like me, see. Except maybe the boys. Go ahead, boys...show her what you got.
(Suddenly the other street lights began to dim and brighten at random intervals. I, however, refused to be intimidated.)
Okay, bright guy. So you and your shady cohorts can play games. You're all still stuck in the ground. I can actually move, mister. Let me shed some real light on the situation for you, you big lug.
(With that, I directed my son to immediately get in the car. I started the engine, threw on the high beams and backed up. As we started to pull away, I couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for those lonely lights so I yelled out, "In case you didn't know it, you guys really are good track lighting." Suddenly, my son and I heard what sounded like gunshots. But then we noticed that one by one, the street lights were blowing out. I just stepped on the gas and floored it out of that parking lot!)
So, you think you're pretty clever parking there, huh?
(I looked through the windshield. Edward G. Robinson was nowhere in sight.)
Look up here, you dumb broad. Yeah, I'm the bright guy doing the talking, see.
(I leaned forward and gave the street light a dirty look. I certainly did not appreciate being called a dumb broad, particularly by a dim-witted light fixture.) Um...if you're talking to me then yes, I do think I'm pretty clever, thank you very much.
Listen sister...I ain't free and loose with the compliments, see. You're on my turf, see. Better keep your face clean, see.
What?!? (This lamp was talking like it was in an old gangster movie. I figured it was time for me to play along.) Listen wise guy...I'm not just some dame from around the block. I got connections, you know.
Trying to play rough, hey doll? Ain't nobody connected like me, see. Except maybe the boys. Go ahead, boys...show her what you got.
(Suddenly the other street lights began to dim and brighten at random intervals. I, however, refused to be intimidated.)
Okay, bright guy. So you and your shady cohorts can play games. You're all still stuck in the ground. I can actually move, mister. Let me shed some real light on the situation for you, you big lug.
(With that, I directed my son to immediately get in the car. I started the engine, threw on the high beams and backed up. As we started to pull away, I couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for those lonely lights so I yelled out, "In case you didn't know it, you guys really are good track lighting." Suddenly, my son and I heard what sounded like gunshots. But then we noticed that one by one, the street lights were blowing out. I just stepped on the gas and floored it out of that parking lot!)
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Plunger
Ever since we moved into our house we've had problems with the downstairs toilet. It always seems to take multiple flushes to, uh, clear the bowl. My husband, who is known affectionately to our family as "Ten Thumbs" when it comes to home repair, actually replaced the entire interior workings in pursuit of one flush. Poor guy. Even that didn't work. So, no matter how desperate I may be, I run upstairs where one flush guarantees success. But today, I just couldn't do it. I knew I'd never make it upstairs. I reached for the handle and crossed my fingers. Then I reached for the plunger that lives next to the bowl.
By jove, why don't you just try flushing again? (What James Mason was doing in my bathroom was beyond me. But that's exactly who the plunger sounded like - James Mason from "North by Northwest" [see TCM.com].)
P-pardon me? (Not only was I shocked by the voice, but I couldn't help thinking what an awful job it must be for something that sounded so debonair.)
You lot are frightfully quick to reach for the trigger, as it were. (He was frightfully patronizing, as it were.)
Well, I hardly ever use this bathroom so I don't really know the protocol.
So naturally one would assume that one attempt would be sufficient? (I felt he was mocking me.)
Naturally one would. (That second flush he recommended was swiftly being thrown aside for a good, long plunge.)
Not that I object to providing you any necessary assistance, mind you. I was simply considering your time and effort. (Okay, I admit it. The veddy British accent got to me.)
Well, since you put it that way... (I gave the handle another push. The sloshing and whooshing was music to my ears.)
Well done! Superbly enthusiastic attempt! (I didn't know if he was congratulating me, or himself.) Cheerio!
Yeah, right. Cheers.
(From now on, I don't care how desperate I am, I will force myself to run upstairs. The last thing I need is a suave plunger bowling me over.)
By jove, why don't you just try flushing again? (What James Mason was doing in my bathroom was beyond me. But that's exactly who the plunger sounded like - James Mason from "North by Northwest" [see TCM.com].)
P-pardon me? (Not only was I shocked by the voice, but I couldn't help thinking what an awful job it must be for something that sounded so debonair.)
You lot are frightfully quick to reach for the trigger, as it were. (He was frightfully patronizing, as it were.)
Well, I hardly ever use this bathroom so I don't really know the protocol.
So naturally one would assume that one attempt would be sufficient? (I felt he was mocking me.)
Naturally one would. (That second flush he recommended was swiftly being thrown aside for a good, long plunge.)
Not that I object to providing you any necessary assistance, mind you. I was simply considering your time and effort. (Okay, I admit it. The veddy British accent got to me.)
Well, since you put it that way... (I gave the handle another push. The sloshing and whooshing was music to my ears.)
Well done! Superbly enthusiastic attempt! (I didn't know if he was congratulating me, or himself.) Cheerio!
Yeah, right. Cheers.
(From now on, I don't care how desperate I am, I will force myself to run upstairs. The last thing I need is a suave plunger bowling me over.)
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Puddle
I have never ever been one to hop out of bed the first time the alarm goes off. I shamelessly admit that I am a habitual snoozer. Usually hitting the snooze button just once is good enough for me, but on chilly, rainy mornings it takes at least two hits to get me moving. This morning was particularly tough because the sound of the wind and the rain from the Nor'easter pounding at our windows just made me want to get even cozier and forced me to pull the covers up closer under my chin for just one more snooze. By the time I finally crawled out of bed, I was already 15 minutes behind schedule. While this is really not such an unusual occurrence for me, I also had the additional burden of having to iron my dress for work. By the time I got downstairs I had exactly 10 minutes to fix my two coffees (the giant one for work and the slightly less giant one to wake me up), slap on some make up and dash out the door. Imagine my horror when I looked out back and discovered that the wind had torn our pool cover up on one side, making it likely that our pool cover would soon take flight. I threw on my shoes and rushed onto the porch. That's when I discovered that the rain had turned our yard into a lake. Standing on the bottom step, I heard an ominous warning:
Ah wouldn't take one more step, if ah was you. (I looked down and noticed a deep, deep puddle which, oddly enough, sounded just like Al Gore.)
Thanks for the warning, but I really have to go fix that cover. Maybe I can just jump over you.
And end up in the bushes? Ah rather think not. (He definitely spoke an inconvenient truth. By this time I looked and felt like a drowned rat - my freshly ironed dress was soaked, but unwrinkled. I'm afraid I took out some of my frustrations on the poor puddle. )
What's with all this stupid, lousy weather anyway? I've lived in this area all my life and NEVER experienced weather like this. I mean, we even get tornadoes here now!
Ah know what you mean, believe me. But ah am just a small result of the global community's failure to take quick action to curb the continual polluting of the atmosphere thereby making it probable that major natural weather catastrophes will likely occur more regularly and in unexpected places.
(I stood there in the wind and the rain, awestruck by the wisdom of the puddle in front of me.) Wow. That's really deep.
Well, ah am a deep puddle.
So, um, any idea how much longer this particular Nor'easter will keep up? I do have the pool cover to consider, you know.
Ah'll put it this way. Ah'd just go to work if ah were you. The rain's going to get pretty hard over the next four days so it'll just weigh the cover down so much that it'll be too heavy for the wind to blow it away.
Great. Thanks. Now I'll just worry about the pool overflowing.
(I went to work, weary that it seemed that there was nothing else I could do. Then I went to Blog Action Day and realized that I, too, could be as deep as that puddle.)
Ah wouldn't take one more step, if ah was you. (I looked down and noticed a deep, deep puddle which, oddly enough, sounded just like Al Gore.)
Thanks for the warning, but I really have to go fix that cover. Maybe I can just jump over you.
And end up in the bushes? Ah rather think not. (He definitely spoke an inconvenient truth. By this time I looked and felt like a drowned rat - my freshly ironed dress was soaked, but unwrinkled. I'm afraid I took out some of my frustrations on the poor puddle. )
What's with all this stupid, lousy weather anyway? I've lived in this area all my life and NEVER experienced weather like this. I mean, we even get tornadoes here now!
Ah know what you mean, believe me. But ah am just a small result of the global community's failure to take quick action to curb the continual polluting of the atmosphere thereby making it probable that major natural weather catastrophes will likely occur more regularly and in unexpected places.
(I stood there in the wind and the rain, awestruck by the wisdom of the puddle in front of me.) Wow. That's really deep.
Well, ah am a deep puddle.
So, um, any idea how much longer this particular Nor'easter will keep up? I do have the pool cover to consider, you know.
Ah'll put it this way. Ah'd just go to work if ah were you. The rain's going to get pretty hard over the next four days so it'll just weigh the cover down so much that it'll be too heavy for the wind to blow it away.
Great. Thanks. Now I'll just worry about the pool overflowing.
(I went to work, weary that it seemed that there was nothing else I could do. Then I went to Blog Action Day and realized that I, too, could be as deep as that puddle.)
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