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!

Here, Birdie, Birdie, Birdie...

One of the things that has suffered since moving to the attic is my ability to diet, not that I ever had much ability, but we will pretend for the sake of today's post.

Between being a road warrior with my sales job (think lots of fast food), coming home to the excellent cooking of my daughters-in-law, and the delights of my new little dorm fridge, I have managed to gain a couple more pounds. This is seriously not a good thing, and causes me more than a little grief.

Tonight I opened my scriptures with thoughts of dieting in mind (doesn't everyone read scriptures when they think of dieting)? Of course that could be because thoughts of missing a meal scares the "heck" out of me, but I digress...

Psalms 124:7-8 leapt out at me: Our soul is escaped as a bird out of the snare of the fowlers; the snare is broken, and we are escaped. Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth. My mind immediately visualized me as a bird (albeit a fat one), breaking free from the net and flying upwards. And the net? It was made from strings of words: McDonald's, Wendy's, Whataburger. So maybe the fabulous cooking of my daughters-in-law is not the problem here. What do you think?

Back to the Beginning III

Gus was so fat that people would stop and stare when they saw him; their jaws would drop. We tried to put him on a diet, to no avail. He couldn't even jump up on our bed anymore. At night, he would stand there looking sad until one of us picked him up. Then, he would walk across our stomachs, looking for a comfortable spot. He was so heavy, it felt like he was poking holes in us with his feet.

One day, Kevin had a "great" idea: Gus needed a kitten to pester him and run the weight off of him! He just happened to know a family whose cat had a new litter. With many misgivings, I agreed to not only one kitten, but two! One short hair and one long hair. They came with the usual promises that I would never have to scoop the litter box, etc. Right.

When we brought the newly weaned kittens home, they saw Gus lying on his side in the living room, swollen belly and all. They literally ran to him, nuzzling his stomach with their little faces and kneading it with their paws. When they found what they were looking for, they each latched on. Of course they got nothing, but they didn't stop trying for two weeks, at which time Gus had had enough and let them know it in no uncertain terms...