Monday, March 30, 2009

Twelve Hours Later

I received the request to be her friend. She called to tell me and I told her to read my blog. Then she called back laughing. Phew.

Monday, March 16, 2009

I found Jesus in a Bag of Potato Chips

I don't eat potatoes chips. May as well just glue them to my ass (not a bad idea as the girls are always complaining that I have no ass) . So this weekend I opened a bag of BBQ chips, not for me, for the girls and their friend who was over and as I was grabbing a handful of chips for them and examining each one for quality--I found Jesus.

I ran into the living room shrieking "I found Jesus!" and they were all very amazed and saw Jesus too. I placed Jesus on my bookcase leaning against a photo frame and they keep forgetting where I put him and keep asking if he's okay. "Where's Jesus Mom?" "Right where I left him." Then they remembered my musical carrot from a year ago and wondered where that ended up.
We were watching a movie and eating baby carrots and one fell on the floor. In my house we don't have a 5 second rule because we don't have pets and the floor hasn't been licked clean. So I picked up the carrot and tossed it into the empty carrot bowl and it made 3 different notes as it bounced to the bottom.
We all listened in awe and I pronounced it "The Musical Carrot" and put it on the bookshelf until I found it three weeks later when it had turned into the "Dry and Wrinkly as An Old Man Carrot" and threw it out.
That will never happen to Jesus. I will watch over him until the day Jesus disappears and no one confesses to eating him, or he dries up and cracks. Maybe Jesus needs some moisture. Maybe I'll lick him. It's a good thing for you, Jesus, that I NEVER eat potato chips.
PS: I have been informed that this potato chip may also look like an alien with 3 eyes. While this may be a good metaphor for Jesus, I have added a diagram so that you can all see the TRUE Jesus. You must appreciate my artistic ability.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

It is 8:00 this morning. The kids walked out the door to catch the bus a few minutes ago and I did my cheering little happy dance in the doorway as I watched them trudge through the cold, turning their heads to glare back at me. I can't wait until it's warmer and I can do my dance at the bus stop.
I make a pot of coffee and sit down to check my email, facebook, the weather, news, and internet gossip. My hair is wet from the shower. Ah, peace and quiet and . . .
A blaring horn . . . the Plow Guy sitting in his big manly truck in the parking lot, calling us over and over with that horn. Mr. Plow Guy is right on time only . . .
I count 11 vehicles that would have to be moved for him to plow.
Eleven people who are in the shower, or in bed, or feeding their small children, or sitting at the table waiting for a cup of coffee like me while . . .
Mr. Plow Guy is joined, after 20 minutes of laying on his horn, by a sand truck. Mr. Sand Truck Driver also lays on his deep fog horn sounding horn and they both made beautiful music together, calling us outside to move for them to plow . . .
Sure, I'm sitting here at the table, watching them, when I could be out there moving my car. I don't want to be the first to give in and I don't want to be the last car out there. I'll move somewhere in the middle.
I watch two other people move their cars. They look disgusted. I'm sure Mr. Plow Guy and Mr Sand Truck Driver are frustrated too. Can they tow us all? Sigh. I should just move. I'm sure they've seen me sitting here watching them. But I'm too stubborn to let them think I moved because they've been sitting out there honking their horns for 30 minutes now . . .
I pull on my winter boots over my fuzzy pink socks and zip up my coat over my pajamas. Yes, I showered and put my pjs back on. I grab my mail, two netflix movies I'm sending back today. I'll move my car but I'm going to the Post Office first, so that they think I only left because I had something I needed to do. It's only convenient that I park in Visitor Parking when I get back. I'm not giving in. Not Really. I just have to go to the Post Office.
I wonder if they'll plow in the summer too.

And this goes to show that I can indeed blog about pretty much anything.

Sunday, March 1, 2009

In Memory of Stanley 1994-2009

She died in her sleep after two weeks of not eating. She was no longer really my cat. My stepmother had adopted her. This blog shares some of my memories of Stanley, to honor her passing.

I remember when I got you from the people in Frenchtown, Montana. Your tale was the size of a pencil stub, so small and thin I laughed at you. Within a year it had grown into an enormous plume, like a peacock's and you proudly swished it behind you as you pranced.
I remember the torture you went through as a kitten when Ollie used to chase you all night and make you cry. You became the best of friends.
I remember the time I was lying in my bed and you got your head stuck through the handle of a plastic shopping bag. All I could see was a pink bag flying around my room, bouncing off the walls at such a high speed I couldn't even see you attached to it. I pounced on the bag and rescued you.
I remember moving into a place with an enormous bathtub that you lived under for so long I wondered if you were still alive.
I remember you sitting by the front door, and when friends came over with their dogs you would reach out and swat the dogs right across the nose and they would leave you alone. You were so frightening for all of your 6 pounds.
I remember having friends who would be so shocked when you would come out late at night. They didn't know I had a second cat!
I remember how you'd play dead if the kids caught you. They could do anything to you, but given an opportunity for escape you would FLY back to the basement.
I remember the last few minutes in my house in Wyoming when you escaped from your cage and I chased you down the stairs and grabbed your tail just as you were going into the ceiling panels. I didn't let go no matter how much you tried to hurt me. I had to bring you with me back to Vermont.
I remember that you used to sleep right beside my head at night, for years and years and then stopped when there were too many dogs to sneak around on your way to my room.
I remember my dog Zoe was your playmate and you two would just stare at each other, only inches away. Then if someone came close she'd chase you down the stairs. Sometimes you would even trap her in the basement overnight because she was afraid to go by you.
I remember when you used to yowl in the middle of the night when the kids were gone and it sounded just like "Mom, mom, mom," and I would get up wondering who was calling me and I would find you.
And sometimes you would call Ollie too, "ollllllieeeee." It was so sweet and I do believe you were trying to talk.
I hope he's okay with out you. I'm sorry I couldn't spend your last years with you. You were a neurotic freak of a cat, but I'll miss you.