Greetings From the Ground Floor!

I should probably rename my blog as we haven't lived in the attic for several months now! We are currently empty nesters, if you don't count the extra cat we inherited from my mom. But that is a different story...

Something rather disturbing brings me out to blogland today. There is something unnaturaly nice about the people that surround me in the general public these days.

I was in the checkout at Costco today, and while I was in the process of running my debit card through, the checker (who should have been sitting in a classroom somewhere), felt the need to suggest: "Just press that button, Honey."

HONEY???

I'm reasonably sure she doesn't call everyone who goes through her line, "Honey." And why didn't she think I knew to press a lousy button? I go to Costco multiple times a month for the free samples and I press that same button every time!

This might not be so upsetting if it were the first time something like this has happened.

Just a few days ago we returned from a wonderful vacation, a cruise, where voyagers tend to eat themselves into oblivion. As I was making my way through a buffet line, a cute little Phillipino girl approached me with a tray and wanted to assist me. I looked at her and said that I really didn't need any help. "Oh, no, I insist!" she said, following me through the line, putting my selections on her tray, and then following me to my table. As I sat eating my dinner, I watched her repeat this with several women who were, shall we say, "of a certain age." None of them were amused.

So.
Don't call me, "Honey."
Don't try to help me with my dinner.
And above all, don't try to take my arm as we cross the street, unless you are Kevin!

But, if you want to give me a senior citizens discount, I'll take it every time, Honey.

Toilet Training?

You may or may not have noticed that I have been absent from the blog. At the risk of sounding like an old lady, I will just say that a painful arm problem took a lot of my enthusiasm and stuffed it down the proverbial toilet for a good long while. But I have learned to manage it, and I am back. No more to say on issues of my own physicality. As Hugh B. Brown once said, he knew he was getting older when the recitation of his aches and pains started to sound a little too sweet to his own ears. Not going there yet!

Speaking of toilets, I took up residence in a public one for a few minutes this weekend after doing a day's worth of traveling. My next door neighbor was a mother with her little girl, probably about three years old. The little girl, unfortunately, became aware of my presence for obvious reasons. I immediately heard the inquisitive little tattle-tail say (in a loud voice), "Who tooted?" The mother tried to shush her and reason with her, but she was having none of it. "But Mommy, somebody tooted!" Obviously, there was a culprit somewhere in the Ladies Room that needed to be exposed, or there would be no justice in the world. Her sweet little voice rose several decibals as she continued to proclaim that there was a villain in our midst. Should I wait her and her mother out? I imagined the Ladies Room line filling up with giggling, knowing women. Would I have to wait them all out, or should I just emerge shame faced, wash my hands and beat a hasty retreat? Finally, I decided to take matters into my own hands and confess my sin: "It was me," I admitted, "I did it!" If I was a little more dramatic, I would have said, "And I'm glad I did it!" But in this case, I thought that brevity was the better part of valor. The mother and I shared a laugh between the stalls, and the little girl was satisfied. I emerged with a smile, washed my hands, and dragged my suitcase out behind me, wondering who found the experience funnier, me or the little girl's mother. I'm pretty sure I did, since there were no other witnesses :):):)

Twinkle-Toes?

My eyes flew open this morning right before the alarm went off at 5:30 A.M.
Some people are morning people. I am not one of those people.
Nevertheless, I showered and got ready for the day and headed to Fort Worth where I was covering 8:00 A.M. and 2:00 P.M. appointments for a vacationing program advisor.
I slept in the truck between appointments...
Neither prospect wanted to enroll today. Each one suggested May would be a better month...
In my mind, I screamed, so why did you have me drive to Fort Worth to see you TODAY!
But I smiled and simply said I would call them back in May and wished them a good day.
I stepped lightly out their doors each time and down the sidewalk to my truck and finally drove back home from Fort Worth.
I dragged myself up the stairs, up to my attic lair to hibernate and soothe my deflated ego.
I feel a nap coming on.
The one saving grace of the day: Fort Worth is the home of Railhead Barbecue :):):)

I GET A KICK OUT OF YOU!

Frank Sinatra sang it way before my time, but the Fuzz ball was certainly snarling it last night. Sometime in the wee hours, I stretched my legs full length, only to run into...a hot mass of fur. I did not like it. I nudged--no movement. I nudged harder--still no movement. I then purposefully poked my foot at him and got a little nip in return. So, I told old man cat to GET OFF MY BED while giving him a good sized shove. To use Nephi's terminology, he was obliged to leave his warm spot at the foot of the bed and find a more hospitable environment.

On the other hand, my red headed daughter-in-law invited me to feel her expectant tummy this evening. When I placed my palm down firmly on it, I was rewarded with a couple of quick little kicks. I liked those, but her baby didn't appreciate me. He/She quickly retreated to a less threatening place closer to her backbone. Somewhere in my imagination, I'm pretty sure I heard an in-utero grandchild saying, GET OFF MY BED!

Three Little Monkeys?

Three men out and about, accomplishing manly endeavors
Three women chatting away, eating their yummy dinner
Three kids escaping upstairs, thinking they're very clever
One cat's food bowl, laying in multiple slivers
Hmmm...

Not Bad For a Strictly No-Talent Outfit...

You are the poem I dreamed of writing;
The masterpiece I longed to paint.
You are the shining star I reached for
In my ever hopeful quest for life fulfilled.
You are my child;
Now, with all things I am blessed.
author unknown.

All who know me, understand that I am haunted by feelings that I have no discernable talents. This weekend, however, in stake conference, the visiting authority told us that if we wanted to know how effective we were as parents, look not at our children's accomplishments, but look at the way our children parent their children. If that is really true, I acknowledge, in this one case, of being an artiste extraordinaire because my children are AMAZING parents!

Gus Goes to the After Life...

So, there we were with three cats. That's dangerously close to the "collector stage." You hear about people like that--the city finally breaks their doors down and finds their house filled with animals. We weren't that close, but I felt like we were! I never knew how the house would smell when I returned home from work, and would frequently have people meet me elsewhere if they needed to see me. This was not a favorite stage of life.

Adding insult to percieved injury, the kittens played with each other and did no more than aggravate Gus; the hoped for exercise was just wishful thinking on our part, and he remained a 25 pound cat.

One sad night, I looked back at Gus as I made my way from the living room to the bedroom and I noticed him laying in a strangely still manner on the living room floor. He was gone. He must have had a massive heart attack while following me back to my room. We gave him an Egyption style burial in the back yard, sending him to the afterlife with a can of tuna and a baggy full of meow mix. We said a few words over his grave, and I cried for days. Strange behavior for a person who doesn't like cats!