telling stories - making memories

You are here: Home / 2008 / Archives for October 2008

Archives for October 2008

Lethal Love

I’m a lover not a fighter, except for about one week per month.  Even during that dreadful week of hormonal upheaval (and I do mean DREADFUL…imagine tiny droplets of blood dripping from the R, A, & F), I LOVE my husband.  I do not wish him bodily harm for my personal gain, nor do I consciously plot to eliminate him at my earliest possible convenience.  Now there’s no telling what my subconscious is thinking, but let’s not discuss that right now.

Today I bring you another chapter in Long Island Love Stories, only this time it’s ripped right from the headlines (Law & Order aren’t the only ones reading the papers).  If you haven’t read my Long Island Love Stories, what in the world are you waiting for?  Yes, click that link and then hurry back to read this next tale of love. 

You really will appreciate this news article more after reading a Long Island Love Story.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20081030/ap_on_re_us/teacher_killed

What can I say?  I know you thought I was exaggerating when I accused the yard-saler of dime shopping while her husband suffered symptoms of a heart attack.  I also suspect that you surmised my story of Deli Love was a fabrication of my imagination.

Now I’ve proof!  The media supports my theory that marriage may be lethal…at least on Long Island.

Go now; give your boyfriend or hubby a kiss (Not both! One or the other…boyfriend OR hubby.)  Since I believe in equal time for both sexes, guys give your wives or girlfriends a kiss (not the kiss of death).  This weekend be a lover, not a fighter.

Do you think men may secretly read this blog?  I don’t know.  They run scared the minute you mention h-o-r-m-o-n-e-s.

On a lighter, somewhat spookier note, I’ll have “dress-up” pictures posted Saturday.  Hope you all get lots of good candy.  Honestly, I just hope my kids get lots of chocolate.  I’m going to need it!

 

Puppy Mania & More

My wicker coffee table is soon to be a pile of splinters.  Apparently wicker is only slightly less tasty than rawhide.  I’m certainly glad I rescued this castaway table from a trash pile; total investment being a whopping $1.98 in cheap spray paint.

Either I was going to have another baby or get a puppy and a puppy won the vote of my family, especially since my son wanted me to deliver an 8 or 9 year-old boy.  It’s bad enough my daughter weighed 9.8 pounds at birth.  I cannot imagine the stitches I would need after delivering a 65 pounder.  No, I’m just not a hardy enough woman for that kind of birthing and epidurals scare me.  I have a slight aversion to large needles entering my spine.

Nowadays adopting a puppy from the local pound is more difficult than planning for a child.  Twice I left the hospital with newborns and no-one called friends and family for a reference check.  I had no home visits and not one person asked if I had a playpen for the backyard.  Why doesn’t that make sense to me?

It seems fitting that this puppy has a slightly unusual name.  I am already getting the raised eyebrow and questioning glare when after a slight hesitation, I reveal her name.  I can take no credit for naming Oriana.  At 9 weeks, she already knows her name and responds to our call.  Oriana it is…my constellation puppy.  Doesn’t “Oriana” sound like something in outer-space?  Right now she looks a little like a martian with her lamp shade.  Take a peek.

Her “fix” just finished being restitched.  This feisty pup successfully removed her first set of stitches and I can’t blame her.  Who wants those little knots irritating their tummy anyway?  Poor girl…no babies in her future…no getting up twenty times a night for feedings…no changing stinky diapers…no cleaning spit-up of her new couch…no calling 911 every-time her little guy sneezes…Oh, we’re talking about the dog, right?  Sorry, I got carried away.

Watch out when she gets the lamp shade off!  She’s a handful that can’t wait to eat my sofa.  If I let her sleep on it I think she may forgo making it her next meal.

Oriana is in the festive fall spirit.  She’s determined to get this pumpkin and she’s not even waiting for pie.

She’s a lap dog already.  Let’s hope this mutt doesn’t get too big.  I warn you now, this post is about to go downhill in a hurry. 

Look at those dirty feet!  End of the day foot dirt and toe jam should never make its way into a photo.  I know what you’re thinking…I haven’t bought my poor children any shoes this fall and they are forced to run through the streets of NY barefoot…that’s about right.  I do give them plastic baggies once the snow flies.   It’s called waterproofing.

Speaking of snow…it hailed something fierce this morning and snowed just North of us.  I left Maine because of snow in October and May.  What’s going on?

If you actually read this entire post, please do let me know.  You deserve a purple heart or something…at least a door prize of sorts.  I know, most of you just scanned through the cute puppy pictures.  I don’t blame you!

My Maine Find

In my post where I debuted my lovely covington blue cabinet, I left this sign sitting on the floor.  Several people left comments saying that they liked it, so I thought I’d show you the hung version.  I cannot tell you exactly why I like this sign SO much, but I love it.  It spoke to me one morning on our vacation and it said, “Buy me!  Do it for your Town & Country.”

There was nothing to do but open my wallet, swat at the escaping moths, and hand over $2.  Yard sales happen to be my number one favorite place to shop.  I’d do so well in countries with open air markets.

I even went junking on my vacation…Maine is such a great place to junk…everything is old in Maine.  Yard sales were not the only reason I awoke before the roosters (on my VACATION!).

Yes, I can hardly believe it myself; however, ON MY VACATION, I did drag my lazy body out of bed to catch a chilly sunrise.  Unfortunately, my waves were a mass of corkscrew like hay blown haphazardly around my head.  No, I don’t have a picture! 

The fact that my hair expands at night as if it were being pumped with air like a mattress never reaching its maximum firmness, does nothing to help my pre-shower appearance.  After almost 11 years, my husband (bald, I might add) still gawks at me upon awakening.

Did I mention my kids?

They were NOT interested in seeing a sunrise; however, it was one of those moments in life that I, as their parent, felt certain would be momentous.  So, at precisely 5 am, my husband and I dragged the children from their bunks.  With sleep crusted eyes, a staggering gate, and moans of protest, my husband half-dragged, half-carried my son into the shower. 

As if the streams of never quite hot water were not enough persecution, my husband, in his best drill sargeant’s voice, stood outside the shower curtain grunting things like, “Come on boy, what’s takin you so long?” and “Do you think we’ve got all day…Move, Move, Move!”

No, it was not a happy morning for my children and they were unimpressed by a coastal sunrise.  Did I mention the fact that an extremely thick fog cut down on visibility?  I did get some great pictures of a “lobstah” trap and that made the morning worth while in my book.

Don’t you think this was worth too little sleep?

Street Thrift

As the sun rose above the horizon, its’ rays blocked by the height of the buildings circling the parking lot, a middle aged man paused at the concrete ash tray bolted to the wall.  He was well dressed, wearing blue jeans and a windbreaker, his hair freshly washed and combed. 

Out of his pocket came an empty cigarette box.  Glancing at us from the corner of his eye, he began plucking previously smoked cigarette butts out of the ashtray and plopping them happily into his box.  When filled, he shut the lid and returned the box to his pocket.

Now that’s what I call thrifty.  No doubt about it!  All you folks who quit because you couldn’t afford the high prices and sky high taxes should have thought outside the box.

I wonder if there’s a market for half-used cigarettes.  If so, I may start a new business.

I could call it “Re-purposed Butts” or maybe “The Smoking Butt.”  How about “Pre-Loved Butts?”

Call me crazy, but collecting cigarette butts to smoke is a little like scraping bubble gum off the sidewalk to chew.  I just couldn’t do it.

P.S.  My new header is part of a photo I took in Times Square.  Aren’t you glad you’re not in that traffic?

My Alter Ego

Last October our little town in Maine hosted a Fall Festival.  Students decorated pumpkins which lined Main Street, clowns painted faces, and a live musician sang children’s songs on the corner. 

The library even transformed into a haunted house.  Since I personally financed a wing of the library with my late fees, I had to attend! 

This fall festival provided the perfect opportunity to dress-up.  High heels, pretty dresses, and sparkly jewels are so much fun to wear; however, a girl doesn’t always need to look like a princess when she dresses-up. 

In October children everywhere transform themselves into princesses, pirates, and pixies.  Last year, my kid was a little hesitant to stray from his usual jeans and t-shirt and have some fun with costumes.

Because I’m such a kind, supportive, encouraging mother, I carted him from store to store in search of the “perfect” outfit.  The repressed child in me took over and suddenly I found myself…well, they say a picture is worth a thousand words and this one may be worth several thousand.

Whew!  Had to break-out the Aquanet for this one.

In a small town, everybody knows who you are…especially when your husband is the local minister.  Nobody recognized me that day.  I can’t imagine why.

While waiting in line for face painting (not my face, my kids), a little girl thought I was so cool that she tried to fix me up with her dad…I couldn’t believe it.  Where was my husband!   Could he have been embarrassed to be seen with me?

Oh, there he is.  Those vitamins I ordered online were amazing.  I’d recommend them to all bald men.

The all American family.  That’s us!   I almost sent this picture on my Christmas cards.

Dressing-up is so much fun.  I’m excited to debut my next costume.
P.S. Nina from “Portual Bound” is hosting a fabulous give-away.  Go enter her contest!

My Mental Struggle

Although I am hesitant to disclose yet MORE personal information about myself, I am burdened by my inadequacies.  I am even more desperate for answers to my nagging questions.

My confessions seem to have liberated some in cyberspace and I am happy for even the small breakthroughs my insanity has initiated.  Currently I am struggling with the question, “When have I said too much?”

If you get to know me too well, I may lose your vote for president in 4 years.  As a matter of fact, DON’T VOTE FOR ME.  Our world will be safer that way.  Imagine the scandal if my panties show up in one of those black limos, or worse, on the White House lawn!

Besides, there is so much I don’t know.  That’s what is weighing heavy on me.  Contrary to my children’s belief that I dropped out of school in the second grade, I am educated (technically); however, I find large gaps of knowledge missing from my simple mind…especially in bloggerspace.

The Texas Woman gave a wonderful definition of “blogships” yesterday and that got me thinking (scary, but hang on, I think this idea is a good one) that I need a dictionary of bloggerisms. 

In one comment, I read ROFL.  Puzzled, I thought, Running On Full Legs…since that’s what I do daily.  I kept reading and it just didn’t seem to fit the context of the comment.  With dawning realization it hit me (like a lightening bolt) – Rolling On The Floor Laughing.  Am I right?

I struggle with so many more of these terms.  Perhaps it’s because I don’t text often.  In fact, I hate using the phone.  Perhaps it’s because I’m electronically challenged.  After all, I’m still playing Atari – “an old people’s game,” according to my son’s friends.

When I recently read the word “Meme,” scenes from Gone With The Wind immediately played on my mind’s screen.  Didn’t Scarlet have a “Meme?”

Now you KNOW why you cannot possibly vote for me in 4 years.  There’s such a lack of knowlege that I don’t think I can possibly be competent for the job.  Well, on second thought…maybe I have a chance…just a joke…relax.  My mom is already asking to live in White House.  Imagine that!  No Red Cross bathrooms in the White House mom.  You may not like living there after all.

Would anyone consider writing a bloggy dictionary for those of us who are challenged?  We need your help!