Category Archives: Confession

What I did for love

Confession, Family, Pets, , , , ,

You have probably guessed this is not going to be a confession about my secret life because you know I don’t have a secret life.  No, as usual, this is about our pets.

We had the carpet taken up and replaced by wood a few months ago.  I had no idea how dull and dark and bare  the room would look without the lighter carpet.   So I bought a rug.  Before I could unroll it and put it down,  Scooter–the fuzzy boy cat–walked to the middle of where I’d planned to put the rug, started hacking, and threw up.   I took the rug back because, obviously Mr. Scooter made it very clear he doesn’t want one.  The first thing I did for love.  Of course, I didn’t want to have to scrub it either.

When we got our first dog many, many years ago, George and I had a double bed.   The dog took up one third, George took up half which left 1/6 of the bed for me.   I demanded a queen-sized bed.    That lasted until we got three cocker spaniels.  Small dogs but even three small dogs take up a lot of room on the bed.   We bought a king.   The second thing I did for love:  give up half of my side to whatever dog we had.  Fortunately, the cats don’t demand that much.

My sister-in-law called a few minutes ago and asked why my Tuesday blog wasn’t up.  I explained I’d forgotten  today was Tuesday (please see earlier blog on this subject) because yesterday was a holiday.   To calm her, I told her I had a title and an idea and promised  it would be up soon.   She said that what she does for love is take her dog for a walk when it’s raining or snowing.  I’m impressed by that.

How do you spoil your pets?  Please share.  It always makes me feel so much better to know I’m not alone.

Tiny bubbles. . . in the windshield

A question, Confession, , , ,

I wasted the morning.  The entire morning.  Four hours–gone, never to be seen or lived again.

A few weeks ago, I noticed a little blurring on the back window of my car but this isn’t a story about the white car.  It’s about that wasted morning.   Because I’m always willing to leave the car or an appliance time to heal themselves, I ignored it.  Two weeks ago, I realized there were bubbles around the defroster wires but I could still see through it.  What are a few bubbles?  I could almost think of them as decorative.   But last week, the number had doubled, then tripled and the windshield wasn’t going to get better by itself.  I called the dealer and set up an appointment for Wednesday, explaining to the man who set the appointment that I had bubbles across the back window.

Many of you may know what the problem was.  I didn’t.  That’s why I called the dealer.   When I took it in, the customer service guy looked at the window and said, “That’s your glass tint.”   I had no idea what he meant.   In a voice dripping with “what-a-stupid-woman-you-are” he said, “The bubbles are in the tint.”   It was as if he were speaking a different language.  Did I have tinted windows?   And, if I did, isn’t tint something that’s brushed on?     Seems not.  Seems as if I am really stupid because everyone knows this.   As I was attempting to sort this out, the manager grabbed me, explaining this employee sometimes speaks too harshly as he escorted me into his office.  He explained well but said that, because this is a used car, the tint wasn’t under warranty.    Hey, if that’s the rule, I’m okay with that.

However, because everyone in the world knows all about tinted glass, I asked the manager, “Why didn’t they tell me this when I called?”   The manager answered, “Maybe you didn’t describe it well.”  Then he said and I am NOT making this up, “He couldn’t see the window over the phone.”   Yes, he said, “He couldn’t see the window over the phone.”   He apologized after losing a few layers of skin. I think I got over to him that this had been a rude and condescending comment.   Then he called the company that does their tinting, set up an immediate appointment, and got me directions there, all done very politely. 

The place was hard to find, taking me two trips down the frontage roads of I-35.   After I found it and handed my keys over, I settled in the waiting room.  After five minutes, a man came in.  I asked, “This will cost about $100?”  He said, “Yes.”  After a pause he added, “We don’t have a credit-card hook up yet because we just opened.  You’ll need cash.”    I never carry more than forty dollars with me.   Carrying a hundred dollars around would terrify me both because I’m a coward and I’m cheap.   And I lose things really easily.   I leaped to my feet–those of you who know me realize this was not a fast leap–and said, “Stop.  I don’t have that much money.”   Of course they don’t take checks so the man said, “Don’t worry.  We’ll just charge it to the dealership.”    Sadly, I have a deep vein of honesty.  George always said I was a twit.  I do things like give too much change back.     Nothing to do but go back home.

So, at 12:30, four hours after I left the house, I returned still with bubbles in the back window.   I took a nap.  But I do have one questions:  Does everyone out there know about bubbles in the tinted windows? 

I never know what day it is

Confession, Musings, , , , , ,

There’s an old song with the title I Didn’t Know What Time It Was.  That’s not my problem.  I have clocks all over the place.   But what day is it?  I never know.

For example:  My sister-in-law called yesterday and asked what I was going to blog about.  Blog?   I didn’t even realize today was Tuesday.  It’s a problem I’m having more and more often.

Second:    I had  carefully written on my calendar that I was going to lunch with my good friends, the Jones at 11:00 on Friday.   I was writing, finishing up a proposal for my agent and lost track of time when a call came from the complex office that my friends were here. I realize it doesn’t help to make a note if one doesn’t look at the calendar.    Being a writer, I hadn’t even showered yet.  I tossed on clothes, drew on eyebrows, and combed my hair which looked only slightly better than Edward Scissorhand’s.  The Jones were lovely about it and we had a delicious lunch and good time.

Part of the problem is that I’m retired and the only days I have to remember are Sunday for church and any day with a doctor’s appointment.   Not that I haven’t forgotten them as well.   The other part is that I  do not have a calendar in my head.  I’ve really never known what day it was.   I still have delivery of the newspaper because I want to support in-print papers but also because I can check it for the date.  Oh, and I do read some of it.    In mental hospitals, one way staff finds out if a patient is oriented in time is to ask them the date.  I’d fail that every time, would probably never be released.

Before I retired, I had the framework of, well, work.    It’s lovely to look ahead of days to write and hours to read and time to spend with friends–if I don’t forget.

Guess you’d call me chronologically challenged.  Anyone else out there have the same problem?  Please tell me.  I’ll feel so much better.

 

Help! I bought a new computer and I can’t set it up!

Confession, Musings, Writing, , , ,

Actually, what I wrote in the title isn’t true.  I have much of it set up but still have some glitches.  I was on the phone for an hour this morning with MOZY to get my files transferred from one to the other and need to talk to them more,  then AOL, and then the Apple store.  Maybe by next week I’ll figure out how to do everything on the iMac.

The reason for the change is that my PC is sooooooooooo slow loading and was freezing up all the time and I had to restart two or three times a week, usually completely wiping out the most beautiful sentences ever written in the English language.    My friends with Macs tell me they never freeze.

George was always pushing me to upgrade.  Without him, I still would be using an Apple IIE.    We started in 1981 with a TI (Texas Instrument for you young ‘uns) which save to a tape recorder.  No pictures only words on the screen.    A few years later, we started on Apples but by 1993, we’d switched over to PCs because of the software.  And I fought George every step because I was comfortable with the previous models.

And now I have an iMac which I don’t now how to use.

But I’m sure I’ll be a much better writer.  Perhaps now I can work on that proposal and first twenty-five pages my agents has requested with out cursing (but only in the nicest, least nasty words) because I can’t finished the sentence without restarting.    I hate to pretend that’s the reason I haven’t done the proposal but it’s as good an explanation as any.  I can only hope she’s note reading this.

I’m writing this blog on the old PC because I can’t figure out how to get into the backdoor on my blog on the new computer.  Someday I will.  Nor can I figure out how to save pictures–someday I will.

Which do you prefer?  A PC or a MAC?  Why?    Please tell me all the hassle with the iMac is worth it.  I’d feel so much better.

I Hate to Confess, But. . .

Confession, Musings, , ,

Several months ago, I confessed something:  I am not a flexible person.  This was a sad realization because I’d always considered myself to be open to new opportunities, unafraid of change.

Alas, this isn’t true.  Today, that problem I attempt to ignore was savagely reinforced.

At noon,  I reached into the cabinet to get a plate for George’s lunch.  When I looked at the one I’d brought down, I realized I’d grabbed the hamburger plate.  Yes, that’s right.  I have a hamburger plate.  Actually, two:  one for each of us.  His is gold—because he likes mustard—and mine is orange because I don’t.

I put the plate back on the shelf, right above my breakfast plate.  Yes, I have a breakfast plate.  In fact, I also have a breakfast fork, an old salad fork that has survived for thirty years, the only surviving part of that set.

What would happen if I didn’t use my breakfast fork or plate?  Or if I served a sandwich on the hamburger plate?  I don’t even want to consider that.  The thought makes me shiver.

How did this inflexibility begin?  When did I start having a breakfast plate and two back backup breakfast plates?

And, of course, there’s always that toilet paper thing.

What about you?  Do you have a certain way you have to do things?   Do any of your foibles this bother those you live with?  Can you laugh at yourself about these?  If you share, I’ll feel so much better.  Maybe even normal.

 

No new year’s resolutions here

A question, Confession, Holidays, Musings, ,

I don’t make new year’s resolutions for three reason.   I could probably dredge up more if I really wanted to explain away my lack of resolution about resolutions, but here are the ones I can think of.

1)  I don’t want to.

2)  I don’t remember to.

3)  No one keeps them.

Okay, the first two are self-explanatory so I will delved quickly into the third.  I once belonged to a work-out place for four years.   What long-time members hated was January because the gym was flooded with new members and became so crowded no one could get close to the machines or the weights or find a place in the exercise classes.   However, we knew that after the fifteenth, the number there would be cut in half.  We also knew that by February, for the most part it would be only us long-timers and a sprinkling of the dedicated resolvers. 

My belief is if I’m determined enough to do something, I SHOULD start immediately, not that I do.  If not, if it’s a gimmick like the new year, no resolution will last long.  Any one have a different opinion?  Did you make any resolutions you’d like to share with us?

The ugliest Christmas present ever

A question, Confession, Family, Holidays, , , ,

Before Christmas, I asked for your suggestion for a special present for George.  I told you what a great guy he is and what wonderful presents he gets me but I always fall short.  You came up with wonderful ideas.

For that reason, I’m so ashamed to tell you what I gave him.  Oh, there was salami, which he loves, and a bunch of soup mixes and chocolate.  And there were also. . . the sheets.

Do you know how hard it is to find an interesting set of sheets for a queen-sized bed?   I’m really tired of stripes and flowers and dots or plain.  A few years ago, I found a set of NASCAR sheets which were fairly macho.  Not that either of us watch NASCAR or cheer for Jeff Gordan but they had a different pattern and were cheap.

Just before Christmas, I found a great set of unique sheets.  They were very cheap, one of my prime reasons to buy because I really hate to spend money.  They were colorful–okay, pink and raspberry usually isn’t considered at masculine color–and had foxes in the colorful squares.  Foxes are macho, right?   Well, I thought they were foxes until I got home and put on my glasses.  Instantly and with a deep feeling of remorse, I discovered the creatures were not foxes,  They were skulls.  What I’d thought were little fox ears was a bow.  I have no clue why these skulls were wearing bows.  Oh, yes, and there were bones crossed under the skulls.  Macabre describes the pattern best but they only cost $12.00.  Hey, worth that, right?  For a set of sheets.

In the picture on the right, you see the true beauty of the gift:  the squares in raspberry and pink make nice and fairly straight lines.  However, you can’t see the skulls that I’d mistaken for foxes.

So, here a picture of the pattern up really close. 

Okay, is this the ugliest Christmas present ever?  Do you have an uglier one to share?  What’s you opinion.  Does George deserve an apology from me?  Do the skulls look at all like foxes to you?  And why are they wearing bows?  Does this make them girl skulls?

The Perfect Christmas Present

Confession, Holidays, Musings, , ,

George comes up with the best ideas for presents.  Many years ago, he gave me a microwave oven when I didn’t really want one.  He knew me well enough to know I’d use it ten times a day.   He’s also much more romantic than I.  For our anniversary many years ago he gave me a pair of peach-faced lovebirds.  Beautiful creatures.  Sadly, they hated each other–that’s another story–but the idea was lovely.

In late November, he told me he’d ordered a present, a perfect gift, for me and not to open any packages that came by UPS.

First, however, I must explain that I am a TiVo addict.  I record programs to watch later so I can fast forward through commercials or rewind to see a great basketball play.   I do record programs at the time they start but wait twenty minutes to watch them.   Unfortunately, I have a bad habit of wandering off, putting the remote down, and not being able to find it again, a tragedy when one is as dependent upon one’s remote as I am.  I’ve considered having it surgical implanted in my arm.

A few weeks ago,  a package arrived.   I  checked the label to see if it was addressed to George or to me.  When I did, I also saw the return address.  It came from a company with the name “Where’s the remote?”  That really ruined every bit of surprise.   He had me go ahead and open it.  Together, we attached the receiver to the back of my remote.  It’s about the size and shape as the remote that unlocks your car. 

I used it once or twice to find the remote when it fell off the end table or found its way under the cushions.  One day when I couldn’t find it, I picked up the transmitter.  The remote beeped from my purse.  On my own, I wouldn’t have found it until I left the house days later. 

Thank you, George.  As usual, the perfect present.   

On Thursday, I need all of you to help me think of the perfect present for George.  Please–I’m really bad at this.

 

I hit the wall

Coming up, Confession

I hit the wall yesterday.  Forgot it was even Thursday.   No second blog this week.

BUT next week, a new CRAFT TUESDAY on, you guessed it, TUESDAY!   Hope to see you! 

Later:  Whoops–I must be foggy from hitting the wall or perhaps I’d like to get this election over sooner and dropped a week off the calender.   Next week’s topic is still under consideration.  The NEXT week is Craft Tuesday.

Why, oh why do I love football?

Confession, Musings, , , ,

I know that not all who read this blog are sports fans.  However, because I am,  I may mention them now and then, from time to time–and this is the NOW and this is THE TIME!  

My husband–who is also a sports’ nut–always says the best thing my father did was to teach me to love football, basketball, track, and baseball.  I learned to love  a few more on my own.  I grew up in Kansas City, MO, and my father was a HUGE Jayhawk–University of Kansas–fan.  We went to every home football and basketball game starting from when I was about three years old.   A legend in our family which my older brother disputes is that there was actually a picture of him when he was very young  in the Kansas City Star, shouting during a KU football game, “Let’s score a home run!”    We went to games in good weather and endured rain, freezing weather, and snow.  In fact, we didn’t think we were having a good time if we weren’t  cold and wet and miserable.  

However, by the time I graduated from high school, I decided to enter new and–to my parents, both KU grads–hostile territory at Kansas State University in Manhattan, KS.   At that ime, the Wildcats had great basketball–Final Four my senior year–but the worst football team in the country for years!   We were regularly blown out 70-0.  We were so bad, I tell my husband, that when we actually scored a touchdown, we’d have victory dances in Aggieville.

All of which brings up my joy with Kansas State’s football this year–and last and during all of the seasons Bill Snyder has coached.  Yes, this makes me shallow and interferes with my doing worthwhile things like writing books or–ugh–cleaning house.   However,  our success this year fills me with fear.  In fact, as the Wildcats dominated West Virginia this weekend, I didn’t relax halfway through the fourth quarter although we had a huge lead.  I’ve seen it vanish too often to ever feel comfortable.

But I’m not sure loving sports is completely shallow.  When my team wins a football games, I’m happy.  Okay, I’m shallow BUT happy and I don’t see anything wrong with this.  Oh, sure, if any sports program overtakes and overshadows the importance of ethics and honesty and education, that’s wrong.   I’m not in favor of that but I do love my team.  I belt out the Fight Song over and over during games.  I have a POWERCAT magnet on the side of my car and zip through town feeling  proud and meeting other K-State fans.  I tape every sports program after the game to revel in the win.

My team is number THREE in the BCS ratings.  Not something to build my life on but something to enjoy as well as filling me with trepidation.

What do you think?  Do like or dislike sports?  Why?    Do we emphasize athletic success to much?  Of course we do but is there anything wrong about enjoying the victory of your favorite teams?  I’d like to know how you feel.