Archive for July, 2008

It ain’t easy being green.

Thursday, July 31st, 2008

We won’t talk about my emotional state during about 16 out of the last 24 hours. At least not the gory details. Trust me, you didn’t want to be here. I was not fun to be around. I expected that to happen this week and I steeled myself for it. Sometimes I can just sort of go with the flow until it passes. Or not. It seems like no matter how hard I try, I get like this at least once a summer. It is not any more fun for me than it is for everyone else. I don’t now why it’s so hard sometimes to control my emotions. I am an over-the-top, nuclear powered kind of person but not always the most focused. Sometimes I don’t even know exactly what I’m upset about. Anyway, I am over it now. I think.

The slide show for today is from a trip to the abandoned Raco air base and the Betchler Lakes area. The Raco air base is where the Beach Urchins and their first and second cousins and a few friends thereof learned to drive the rusty old Jeep Wrangler. Manual transmission. I think Mouse might have been about eight when she started driving there. Trust me folks, early driving lessons are a *good* thing.

This whole expotition is not one of my favorites. I like driving around the air base and the forest roads and the Betchler Lakes area is beautiful. I don’t like the bugs. Yes, I know I am an old Yooper. I am not a bug woman. Deal with it. I also did not inherit whatever little scrap of DNA made my grandfather such an avid blueberry picker. And I do not, as a rule, participate in activities of too much fun, at least not those that require me to wear earplugs. And no, we were not out there playing piccolos today. But this particular expotition dates from the days of the Uncle Fester Club and it seemed important for it to happen. I tolerated it the best I could by taking photos and processing them, knitting untangling a massive mess of tangled up yarn so I could knit my second sock, and wearing earplugs during the period of time when everyone was engaged in an activity of too much fun.

Click here or on the airbase pic for a slide show. And thanks to Jay for the little reminder about the difficulties that those of us who are green sometimes have with our emotions, although Jay is definitely a lot easier to live with than yours truly.

Wolfgang Amadeus Drywall

Wednesday, July 30th, 2008

Here I go, calling myself Kayak Woman all over the internet and y’all are probably wondering something like, “Well, she calls herself Kayak Woman but she never seems to do any kayaking. I bet she just sits around and hangs around on the internet in front of the soap operas all day.” Roight. The truth is, although I *love* to kayak, I have not been in a kayak since August 30, 2007. That’s almost a whole year ago. And why do I remember the date, you might ask? Well, because. It was a rather momentous day in my life. Oh, not that anything particularly out of the ordinary occurred that day. Uber Kayak Woman and I had been up here on Fin Family Moominbeach for 10 days and we were scheduled to leave that morning. UKW wanted to kayak before we left. *I* wanted to kayak before we left. Problem. For me, not UKW. It was just a leettle bit windier than I am comfortable with in my little Walden Vista on the Big Lake They Call Gitchee Gumee. As UKW would say, I would be riding my edge out in those waves. No spray skirt or anything. Now, UKW’s edge, so to speak, is a lot farther out than mine is. She is an expert with a lot of experience and she knows better than I do when it isn’t safe so I finally screwed up my courage and we took off. Out around to the back side of the island. It was a little bouncy but the waves were really not *that* bad and I relaxed and had a fantastic time. I remember almost every minute of that trip. We got back to shore, swam one last time, had tea with our mothers, hopped into the Dirty Old Green Honda Accord, and hit the freeway. Back to The Planet Ann Arbor and the filthy old cluttered up Landfill for me, UKW to jet off to Maine the next day.

It was all just regular stuff but somehow my life made a sea change that day. Because that night, I had a class to go to. And that was the night that I began the process that resulted in my new career. After a summer of constant worry and wonder about what on earth I was going to do *next* with my life. And just when I least expected it.

For whatever reasons, I haven’t had a chance to kayak since. Either it’s too windy where we are or we don’t have enough vee-hickles to spot one somewhere or I just plain don’t have time. I’ve been here since last Saturday and my kayaks are sitting right down there on Fin Family Moominbeach, so all I have to do is drag one down and fling it in the water. Except it’s windy! Nor’westers every day. Big waves. Etc. Etc. Except this morning! Calm and sunny. Grinch and Dennis were blathering away about oil wells and stuff and I said, “I think I will go and see if I can still kayak.” And I did and I could and I got sunburnt and then the wind came up and I probably *won’t* get to kayak much this summer but there are plenty of kayak rides in my future and you can click here or on the pic for a short and sweet little slide show.

Sayonara,
Kayak Woman

Tahquamenon Death March

Tuesday, July 29th, 2008

Going up to the upper falls from the lower falls is one thing. It is four miles. There are a lot of stairs. Yes, a *lot* of stairs. Up and down and up and down. When you are not navigating monster staircases, you are traversing tree roots. Or slip-sliding through mud. And, yes, slapping at moe-skee-toes. Fun? Yeah.

The last time I walked BOTH from the lower falls to the upper falls and BACK, I was six months pregnant. YES, I was very healthy. And so was the beach urchin. At least, we figgered she was. Back in those days, ultrasounds were a big too-doo that cost about a billion bucks. So we didn’t do them unless there was some kind of real reason. And there wasn’t, so we didn’t. Was she okay? Yes, she was. And so, when I was six months pregnant, I went for an eight mile hike on a difficult trail where there was a lot of up and down and roots to walk over and all that other stuff I already said.

When we hiked from the lower falls to the upper falls today, we had seven people. The GG and me. The beach urchin who was unborn all those years ago and her younger sister. Pengo Janetto, who wasn’t born until four whole years after the unborn baby. NP Jane and nDave, always good to have around. When we ate at Camp 33 halfway through our trek, that old unborn baby (and her younger sister) were both legally served beers.

It was a death march. I am dead. Mouse sprained or bruised her foot or whatever. I have half a little toenail hanging off. We’re heading over to the Porter’s. Back tomorrow. Click here or on the pic for more…

No time to blahg!

Tuesday, July 29th, 2008

Back later with something more coherent?

[Yet another] small play

Monday, July 28th, 2008

Venue: Fin Family Moominbeach
Characters: The Commander (TC), Kayak Woman (KW)
Scene: In the cabin, The Commander clearing off her sewing table so she can use her ancient old black Singer sewing machine

Act I

The Commander [moving a bottle of Maker’s Mark off her sewing table and into the kitchen]: Do you think this belongs to The Grumpy Growler?

Kayak Woman: Well, you didn’t think it belonged to Softy Beanbag, did you?

TC: No.

Act II
[After about five minutes of silence]

TC: Did you just say “Softy Beanbag”?

THE END.

She who names her frogs based on descriptors.

Sunday, July 27th, 2008

Youse guys, thees ees Flash 😉

bacon widgets

Saturday, July 26th, 2008

This is the picture my iPhone took. Da-da-da-da, da-da, da-da.*

sing it to the tune of here we go ’round the mulberry bush.

One grumpy old man, a rusty leaky old Wrangler, and about 100 bags.

Friday, July 25th, 2008

Oh, and a few implements for having too much fun but those are going with me. Maybe in case the rusty ol’ Wrangler draws the attention of the authorities. Hmmm…. Travelin’ li-ight. Travelin’ li-ight. (doo da doo doo doo)

Can somebody write me a use case for getting five people and three vee-hickles to two up-north-type destinations in three days?

Thursday, July 24th, 2008

Back in the dark ages, aka the late 1980s, every night while I was getting dinner ready, Lizard Breath would sit in this little spot at the end of the kitchen table or counter or whatever you want to call it. She would “read” books or color or draw or, well, here it looks like she’s doing a workbook. If I could do it all over again, I’d prob’ly not buy workbooks for 4-year-olds. Then again, when *I* was a little kid, I liked workbooks, so maybe that’s why I bought them for my kids. Go figger. What you can’t see is our little “kitchen TV”. Every Sunday evening from 6-7 PM, on Channel 50 (I think), Star Trek re-runs were on. I was never a Trekkie but I liked sci-fi books when I was a teenager and Star Trek re-runs became a comfortable sort of background noise for getting dinner ready. I could be anywhere from totally tuning it out to actually watching the show. And then one day I turned on the little kitchen boob tube and to my sheer utter horror, instead of Star Trek re-runs, there was a horrible show called something like Star Search 90. That would be 1990 and there were horrible singers on there who could take one syllable and add enough vowels to make it last about 30 seconds. I Lo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ve bacon, for example. Each “o” is a different pitch. Y’know, opera singers do that kind of thing but they are, like, trained? Yaknow? The awful thing about all of this is that for whatever odd reason, Star Search 90 became the *new* background music for getting dinner ready on a Sunday night. But then the 1991 Gulf War happened and Mouse turned the little kitchen TV off and I never quite totally got my groove back about TV. Nowadays, I listen to NPR. [Say that with one o’ those sorta upper-crust “I went to Hahvahd” American accents. But I didn’t and I’m just an old bag trailer trash mom. And the GG calls NPR “National Petroleum Radio” but he does listen to it. So.]

Where was I? Transition days are always interesting. This morning the grown-up version of the kid in the picture arrived back here in the Great Lake State from her home in Callyforny. Her flight was a half hour early! I think I heard her say that the pilot on the first leg of the journey (to Minneapolis-St. Paul) called himself a rock star pilot for getting them there from SFO in 2.5 hours. Huh? (keep me honest here, Lizard). Anyway, I shouldda checked on the flight info well *before* I went to work but I was all doy-doy-doy this morning and didn’t and then, when I got to work and checked, it said they had already landed but weren’t at the gate yet. A half hour early. So, I had to call the nitroglycerin and make sure that she knew to get out there directly. It ended up all good and I met the Lizard for a quick little lunch at Panera on Eisenhower. And to think last night I was nitzing around taking dark walks to calm myself down, etc.

So there you are. 50-something, and the babies that you guarded with your very life are flying across the country alone and picking each other up from the airport and you are still saying, “beeeee careful”. Sigh. I know. It will never really end.

I dunno what else. I guess that is all. Mouse and I walked around and to the Plum Market after work today and there’s chicken pot pie (homemade) in the oven and we’re bringing fancy beer up to the beach and blah blah blah blahg.

Sayonara,
Kayak Woman

While I looked around for my possibilities

Wednesday, July 23rd, 2008

I am so ha-ard to please. But look around…

Birthday, birthday, blahgiversary

Tuesday, July 22nd, 2008

The Marquis beat me to this but here it is anyway!

Mid-summer flowers to the birthday folks, from my early morning walk today. Started out a little foggy and just a little less swampy today. The flowers are a little fuzzy and I even had my “good” cam as opposed to my iPhone cam. Ah well, just can’t stand still long enough, especially with moes-kee-toes buzzing me. The occasion? Or two? Or three? First, it is Uber Kayak Woman’s birthday. That is first because I have known her forever. She is my uber cousin. That means she shares my birth year. So, if y’all know my age, you also know hers. Second, it is the Marquis’s birthday. And he is not my uber cousin but he is married to my uber cousin. But not to Uber Kayak Woman. He is married to our cousin Pooh (UKW’s and mine), who I (we) have also known forever. Like we used the potty behind the door together when we were little. And the outhouse. Anyway, we are all the same age. 35! (Or not.) So happy birthday!

Last and most definitely least: it is my five year blahgiversary! Can you believe I’ve been blathering about my boring life on this goofy blahg for five whole years? I have less to say about that than you might think. Or maybe not. This blahg is a living thing of sorts. It refuses to let me neglect it. So, in honor of our blahgiversary, I have updated my about page. Yup. More long-winded blather.

Zizzywig.

Monday, July 21st, 2008

Okay, “Blah” would probably be a better title but then y’all wouldn’t want to read this, right? Roight. And, to tell the truth, there is an element of zizzywig underneath all the blah. I am facing my first week’s vacation in my new career next week and why the heck am I so apprehensive? I’m going to Fin Family Moominbeach, the absolute best vacation spot on earth in my not-so-humble opinion. But I am always like this before a vacation. As hot and swampy as it is here in the Landfill in the summer, when it is time to leave, I get this whole separation anxiety thing going. I *know* that as soon as I get on the freeway, or at least when I have hit the north-country again, I will be okay and I will start to relax. But now? It is six days before I leave town and I am a nervous wreck. I have the time to take next week off and I have even been granted the go-ahead to work remotely for some of the time so I don’t have to drain every hard-earned hour of vacation that I have as a new employee. My cute little first-born beach urchin is due in Thursday morning from San Francisco. How the heck did an old Michigan bag like me get to have a daughter in SF? Lots of people that I love will be up there and I know we will all be whoopin’ it up. And we will miss those who are not there. Jay and her family because they are too busy to head out here this summer. [Jim, Grandroobly, Don, and Katie. Sigh.] Uber Kayak Woman, who will be there briefly toward the end of the summer and by hook or by crook, I’ll meet her there. The next week will be okay. I will manage to leave the Landfill and I don’t even care what the weather is like up there. But I am still in a kind of blah state with zizzywig running through the background and I haven’t quite switched into glide yet. Somebody switch me, okay?

And that there picture is some sock yarn. I dredged that sock yarn out the other day and I couldn’t remember buying it so I wasn’t sure if it was mine or Mouse’s. It turns out that it is indeed mine. So now I have yet another unfinished (unstarted?) prodject to get going on.

Don’t worry, you guys, it’s a stick, not a bird foot

Sunday, July 20th, 2008

[subtitle: Mouse, I love you!]

Going to the grokkery store in the 1980s… It wasn’t enough that you had to wrestle everybody and their mouse into whatever clothing was appropriate for the weather, easy enough during the summer months but I think I’ve blocked the process of struggling with snowsuits and toddlers. And there was the stack of books that had to be gathered for the five minute ride to the store. And we won’t talk about car seats. Or candy or Cheezits or pizza rolls or the two packages of stickers I had to buy every time we went to the grokkery store. Yes, two. Every time we went to the store. I think that added up to about eight bucks a week. Yes. Really. What? Did I spoil my beach urchins rotten? Of course I spoiled my beach urchins rotten. What were you thinking?

All this while avoiding the scrutiny of the Michigan Child Protective Services. I think the Planet Ann Arbor invented the Parenting Police. A cadre of busybodies always ready to interfere in your business with politically correct, careful psychobabble and then turn around and call the CPS on you. Like, “Ma’am, don’t you know that it’s 10 degrees and blowing snow? Doesn’t your baby have a hat?” Said as we are walking 30 yards or so from the car to the store and Mouse has yanked her hat off for about the 50th time and I have given up and stuffed it into my pocket so we don’t lose it. Or the looks I used to get when I would grab under Mouse’s *armpits* to lift her out of the way of some impendending disaster and the verbally advanced little rodent would yell at the top of her lungs, “STOP STRANGLING ME!” Or the time Mouse screamed at the top of her lungs all the way through the checkout line and about half the way home until she fell asleep. Why? Because I wouldn’t buy her any lipstick. The Mouse moments are the ones that are coming to mind but, make no mistake, there were plenty of Lizard moments too. “I *had* to cry.” Just for one.

I dunno why the Parenting Police weren’t doing something constructive, like lobbying for grokkery carts that could actually accommodate a couple or three babies and toddlers without making the tired old moom jump through super-hoops to schlep around the store. Nowadays, there are these Little Tyke-like vee-hickles that attach to the front of the grokkery carts. Some of them even play little cartoons and things. Why didn’t we have those then?

But darn. Somebody always hits the blasted fast-forward button on my life. So this morning I was on about my third trip to a grokkery store this weekend and Mouse decided to go with me. And it seemed miraculous that she was even up at that hour since the annual two-week festival of the Ypsilanti Artichoke Gatherers ended last night. Anyway. Okay. Off we go. There was something about the a/c setting that I’m blocking and then, “Moom, why do you always park way over here on the other side of the parking lot?” Uh, because this is the only place the runaway carts don’t go? Then a tussle with picking a cart. I was too incompetent to separate them. Then a bunch of stuff that I won’t even try to describe in the recycle room where one of the machines was outright broken and another one was barely limping along. And I was too incompetent to deal with the ones that almost worked. And then I was in trouble because another woman and I avoided a head-on cart collision when she *graciously* backed up and let me through and I think I even said, “thank you.” But it was still embarrassing for some unfathomable reason. And there was more description-defying jockeying around at the uscan. Which I am incompetent at using. All to the background sound of “Ugly ol’ witch in a big ol’ ditch. Ol’ witch. Ol’ witch.” Say it in a frog voice.

Nowadays when I shop with my children, they spend my money on healthy food. Fruit and vegetables and soy milk and I can’t think what else. Often healthier food than I buy. So today, we didn’t come outta there with any stickers and nobody actually yelled or screamed. We did end up with a box of Cheezits.

And that really *is* a stick in the picture up there. I thought it was a bird foot at first too. But when I removed it from the back of the Cute Little Blue Honda Civic and dropped it on the ground, Mouse protested that it had been there all week and it was “cute”, so I caved in and picked up the cute little stick and placed it back on the vee-hickle. Honestly, the things I do.

P.S. I love you, Mouse!

PPSS. Nobody *ever* called the CPS on me. There were a few people who thought that I was young (um, I had my first baby at *30*, duh?) and incompetent. And I am the first to admit when I am being incompetent. But I think I did do okay in the grand scheme of things.

Cosmo girls and men from the moon. Or more likely they’re from Zephron III. The men, that is.

Saturday, July 19th, 2008

In the first place, when Kayak Woman comes home from a long day of work, she likes to take off her shoes, put away her work computer and change out of whatever rags she’s trying to pass off as business casual before she does ANYTHING. She doesn’t appreciate it when she encounters an ALIEN standing IN THE ENTRY WAY obfuscating her ability to take off her shoes. In a THUNDERCHICKEN t-shirt, NO LESS! And when he immediately asks, “You’d like to take Ernie and Alfred for a walk, wouldn’t you?”, in those exact words, BEFORE she has even come in the door? She does not appreciate that either. And of course, the words “Ernie”, “Alfred”, and “walk” only kicked Ernie and Alfred into overdrive so that they began barking frantically and trying to jump over the dog gate and out of the kitchen but only Ernie was actually able to make the leap because Alfred is too short.

Secondly, Kayak Woman does not often talk about her dreams because, not only are they too convoluted to describe so that anyone could actually understand them (including Kayak Woman), they are also often quite disturbing. Sometimes they are so disturbing that she doesn’t manage to shake loose from them until she has had a shower and several miles of walking. Dodging skunks in the dark has a way of bringing one back to reality in short order. So she’ll just say that a tiny little subplot of nightmare du jour consisted of watching a movie on DVD in which the female star kept getting assaulted by men while she walked in a nice, “safe” neighborhood. Kind of like Kayak Woman’s neighborhood except that a sorta Lombard Drive-looking street was right in the middle of it all. With ice and snow on it. Go figger. Kayak Woman protested repeatedly (in the dream), “this is so stupid, it’s perfectly safe to walk around town by yourself. I do it all the time and that never happens to me.” And then she woke up. Yes, the rest of this blather is not a dream. When she walked into the school yard this morning, there was an old coot with a bicycle and NO CLOTHES who was picking big round white flowers out of the Haisley garden. Except it turned out that he actually had pants on, she just hadn’t been able to see them at first because he was partially obscured by a bush. As if this wasn’t odd enough at 6:00 AM, KW RECOGNIZED him! A neighbor. Numbers’s dad. She called out a cheery, “Good morning!” and he looked at her as if he had been caught red-handed. He needn’t have worried. KW is not the Haisley Garden Police. And so, she went on her way, wondering about the phase of the moon or if it was just the art fair bringing out the crazies.

Oh, and KW does not regularly have dogs or any other beasties. She just borrows Ernie and Alfred once in a while because it is so much fun to pick up dog poop and haul it around in a plastic bag.

Ciao, Bambinos

To the poor woman in the 314 area code, I’m sorry that The Marquis asked if you were Kayak Woman.

Friday, July 18th, 2008

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

Orange.

Orange who?

Orange ya glad I didn’t say chair again?

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

Orange.

Orange who?

Orange ya glad I didn’t say dress again?

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

Orange.

Orange who?

Orange ya glad I didn’t say cookie again?

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

Orange.

Orange who?

Orange ya glad I didn’t say alligator again?

Knock knock.

There’s been a huge shock! Dogberry does *not* know his lines!

Thursday, July 17th, 2008

Say it with a British accent, please.

That there hallway is my old office. Or, I should say, one of my old offices. There was another one in the green room of the Lydia Mendelssohn Theatre. And one in the cafeteria of Scarlett Middle School. And the lobby of Clonlara School. And various nooks and crannies around the Ann Arbor Academy. And my kitchen counter. For six years, my office was wherever I happened to be, in and around the Planet Ann Arbor. And sometimes outside it too. Like the dining table at the cabin on Fin Family Moominbeach. Or inside that infamous rolling beastie, none other than the old Island Teal POC.

The STAC hallway there in the picture was one of my favorite offices. I spent two sweltering weeks there every summer for six years doing whatever I could do to support elaborate theatrical productions created by 70-plus young actors, ages 8-18. And their teachers. In two weeks. There’s almost nobody in the hall in this picture but you can see a little scrap of Tina’s shirt (the "8" there on the left). This summer she’s using my old “desk” as a changing table for her beautiful new baby. Wait a minute or so and one or two or three or 50 kids will come stampeding through. Those ratty looking old chairs and couches? Covered in blood, sweat, and tears. Little girls who weren’t cast as the leading lady. Sick kids. Hot, tired teachers and staff members. Administrators at the absolute ends of their ropes. Stage combat teachers with kitchen knives embedded in their feet. (Okay, that did *not* happen anywhere near the camp and we* do NOT have knives at the camp.) There was plenty of laughter too. Kids and teachers and everyone doing crazy things and frogs grokking away at the top of their lungs. And serious work, too. Learning lines, practicing scenes, working on costumes and props. Fighting with the decrepit old copy machine.

I am adjusting a lot better to cube life than I thought I would. I like my work and, of course, the pay is *much* more than a small non-profit could ever think about paying me. Unfortunately, that’s life. But I was invited to the annual YAG camp hot dog barbecue today. Beef or vegetarian option, if your child needs a more specific sandwich alternative, please provide one (fer kee-reist). We’ve* come a long way since the year no one thought to bring barbecue tongs and Jean had to turn the hot dogs with a garden trowel. I do miss the old vagabond office days. And sometimes I even miss the actors’ parents. Some of them, anyway.

*It’s been almost three years since I resigned (abruptly in the midst of an emotional crisis) from YAG and I STILL say “we” when I talk about the organization. Obviously, my heart is still in it.

Einstein working at the garbage dump

Wednesday, July 16th, 2008

“Are you all right?” Thus asked MWCB when I met her at the Jackson Road Coney Island for breakfast this morning. Whereas MMCB (note that MWCB and MMCB are different people) and I have been meeting at Barry’s every Monday for *years* give or take the times when she or I are off gallivanting and we have to miss or switch the day (horrors!), MWCB and I rotate through three restaurants. And we take turns paying. That’s triplets vs. duplets and while I was always a pretty good whiz at playing triplets in one hand on the puano and duplets on the other hand, I cannot wrap my brain around our restaurant schedule and I have to ask MWCB every week: where are we this week and who’s paying? So, would-be stalkers of old bags, good luck.

I was fine this morning. But I was running late. Why? I dunno. Why is it that I am always ready to leave the house ahead of schedule and then I get to putzing around with something or other and all of a sudden I’m looking at the clock going “Oh my gawd! I’m gonna be late!”? And then, I got behind some aging hippy chick in a rusty old Subaru or something who was going about ten miles under the speed limit and, for the life of me, I couldn’t zipzap around her. I know, I know… She was probably just dealing with an aging stick shift. Anyway, I was fine, but, I was late, frustrated, and generally discombobulated. With unkempt hair (stop lights were not long enough for brushing) and a dazed look on my face.

I think this is the first day of my latest career that I just did not wanna go to work. It wasn’t for any particular reason. I mean, there have been times when I was apprehensive about going to work because I had to present something to a group of people. But that was last week. Today I just had about a gazillion picky little detail-type issues to deal with and although I like detail work, I wouldda rather been a vagabond today. I’ve been working every day since before New Year’s 2008 with only one day off, I guess it’s okay if I felt that way today. Roight? It’s okay. It was a quiet day and I got into that zen kind of a mood and got all of those little picky things done. I guess I am settling in to this career and I hope it continues to work out.

Oh, btw, the title is something Woodring said about a quadrillion years ago. It is *not* related to me and my career (I am still learning). And it is not related to the fact that my first high school boyfriend once told his very unworldly girlfriend (that would be me) that he had worked for Superior Sanitation the week before and it took his very unworldly girlfriend (that would be me) months to figure out that he had worked for the local garbage company.

G’night,
Garbage Woman

Summer head o’ hair

Tuesday, July 15th, 2008

Didja see that baggy ol’ woman sitting in her Cute Little Blue Honda Civic at the Dexter/Maple stoplight this morning? She was trying to brush the knots and tangles out of her damp bushy hair? Betcha thought she was running late to work and didnt have time to brush her hair before she left the house. Well, guess again. Because that messy-looking old kayak woman was ME! And I was EARLY. It was just after 8:00 AM and I got up at 0-dark thirty and between 0-dark-thirty and 8:00 AM, I took a shower and washed my bushy hair, walked three miles, tended my weed bed and threw some compost out, ate breakfast, checked my email, did my on-line banking, washed, dried, and put away a load of laundry, made my bed, cleaned the Blue and Only Bathroom, washed the crumbs off the dining table, packed up a load of junk that was cluttering up Lizard Breaths bedroom, decluttered the table in the kitchen, washed dishes (about five times), and put a couple bags of garbage into the Handy Dandy A2 Garbage Cart. Oh, and changed out of kayak clothes into what passes for business casual (no pantyhose, thank you very much), and said good morning to my Mouse. And I think I actually did brush my hair a few times in there but by the time I got my vee-hickle over to the Dexter/Maple stoplight, it was still damp and full of knots and tangles.

LUUUUUUUCYYYYYY!!! I’M HOOOOOOOOOME!

Monday, July 14th, 2008

Noooooo, it was not Our Fav-o-rite Amphibian who said that. He’s just demonstrating the size of the mouth. Wide mouth frog anyone? This “Lucy, I’m home!” stuff has been going on, oh, I’m not sure, for about the last two years or so. I’m not all that crazy about it. The traditional way to announce your arrival at the Landfill is to, well, I won’t tell the Internet what it is, okay? If you are a Landfill insider, you know what it is. “LUUUUUUCYYYYY! I’M HOOOOOOME” shouted before you have even entered the Landfill and shut the door behind you just does not follow the tradition. I don’t even really mind being referred to as a 50s-era sitcom character. I LOVED Lucy. I remember watching Lucy on an old black-and-white TV set when I was a little kid and it must’ve been re-runs by then because, according to the gospel of Wikipedia, the original show ran from 1951 to 1957. I wasn’t born until 1954. Yeah, go do the math, I could care less and I’ll have fun, fun, fun till my daddy takes the T-bird awayayayay, doo doo doo waaah, wah wah wah wah waaaaaah, etc., etc., ad infinitum, ad nauseam. Er, where was I, anyway? Oh, yeah. We first got TV in my house in Sault Ste. Siberia in 1956 and I watched Howdy Doddy Doody and that was about all there was for kids. I think I was sentient enough at three (1957) to be able to follow a basic sitcom but I’m guessing I remember re-runs of I Love Lucy. But Lucy was funny then and Lucy was funny all the years I watched the re-runs (over and over again). I haven’t watched TV regularly since about the time Mouse turned the Gulf War OFF back in 1991 or whenever, so I don’t have a clue about where the I Love Lucy re-runs are now. Maybe I can buy the DVD? If so, CHREESMAS LEEEST, YOU GUYS! Anyway, the GG has developed a weird habit of yelling, and I do mean yelling, LUUUUUUUCYYYYYYY! I’M HOOOOOOOOME! as he walks in the door after work. Assuming he gets home later than me but that’s a whole ‘nother topic. But last week, Mouse noted that when the GG yells LUUUUUUUCYYYYYYY! I’M HOOOOOOOOME! when he gets home, THE WHOLE NEIGHBORHOOD CAN HEAR HIM! Today? The GG walked in the door and *quietly* announced, “Lucy, I’m home.”

Paradigm Form-factor sh*t shift. And there was something about buggy whips.

Sunday, July 13th, 2008

Er, whatever, I swear, every time I tried to write the word “shift” in that there title, it came out, well, you know. And dinosaurs poop in the grass, don’tcha know?

Anyway, that is Softy Beanbag in the pic and she is draping herself over MY the GG’s 12″ G4 Powerbook. At the Houghton Lake group home. Where we went for the weekend and Mouse even went with us. And the UU was there too. (You guys! I don’t mean the Unitarian Universalist Churst Church. [Uh, I Chursted again. Sorry.]) Anyway, y’all know me well enough to know that I don’t go to church. The UU is the Uncliest Uncle! The one who shares DNA with the GG.

The Houghton Lake kitchen is in the background and anything that is red back in there was definitely channeled by Grandma Sally of “you go girl” fame, which, in this particular memory’s case, is about vee-hickles and brothers-in-law and that’s all I will say.

Anyway, driving up to HL on Friday night was spookily devoid of vee-hickular traffic. And we thought that the point wasn’t particularly jam packed with people like it usually is. I know it wasn’t a holiday weekend and we haven’t been here on a holiday weekend this summer, so maybe it’s just a fluke. And then, coming home today, we made a last-minute decision to take the I75 SUV Speedway and, whaddya know, we were in two slow-downs between West Branch and Bay City. Couldn’t figger why…

I dunno. I am wondering what the $4 gas prices will do to the tourist business. As a property owner, on one hand, I am happy to see fewer people. It makes it easier for me to travel north. But. What happens to the local businesses if there are no tourists. I’m not gonna go any further with the *many* trains of thought I have about this. Sigh…