FINE! NO CATS!

Jim has been adamant.  No more cats.  Every time I bring it up he just points to the door sills.  Miss Tinkerbell left scratches on nearly every single one of them.  Pine is very soft wood that scratches very easily.  Although, I guess to be fair I really should call them gouges and not scratches.  I never caught her in the act but it was clear she would stretch to full height on her back legs, dig in all of her claws and sharpen away.  It looked like a wolverine had been let loose in the house.  

After my daughter moved out and took Tinkerbell with her I was with Jim 100%.  No more litter boxes.  No more cat hair.   Then I started to miss having one around. They can be fun, especially the young ones.  There's no creature on earth more appreciative of a good scratching and petting than a cat.  My desire for a cat only got worse once I started volunteering at the shelter and saw how many homeless cats fill the cages.  Easily 4 - 5 times more than the dogs.  Poor babies. 

I started to test the waters...... all those poor homeless cats.  No way.  Then I tried the "birthday" thing.  Saying I wanted a Siamese kitten for my 49th.  No.  I promised to keep the soft caps on the claws.  No.  I begged.  No. FINE, NO CATS!

Then, as luck would have it, a friend of my daughter's was looking for an emergency kitten sitter.   I offered to take the cute little furball in.  I thought that Jim would change his mind about cats once he got some kitten time.  They're so much fun.

It worked.  Jim loved the kitten and the kitten loved Jim.  Jim loved to play with the kitten and we both loved watching the little guy run all over the house playing with anything he could get his paws on.  He'd run under the bed and hang from the box spring upside down like Spiderman waiting for someone to walk by so he could grab their toes.  

I started picking out names for the new little Siamese kitten I was going to get, Seymour, Biscuit, Ritz.  Then the kitten made a fatal mistake.  While I was getting ready for work one morning I left the kitten in with a sleeping Jim.  The kitten started to do mad dashes across the bed, clawing over top of Jim every time.  Zoom, zip.....  It was over.  One thing I've learned is Jim gets cranky when you mess with his sleep.  Jim's resolve to never own another cat returned with a vengeance.  

We returned the kitten.  I was a little sad to see him go but as I thought about it I realized visiting kittens are one thing but a long term commitment to a cat is another. Too bad you can't just rent a kitten once in awhile.

Substantive Mediocrity

I learned recently there is a well known and often studied sociological phenomenon called "illusory superiority".  It leads humans to think they are better at something than they really are.  It's the reason that nearly everybody you ask  (86%) will say they are an excellent driver.  Even when we know for certain that many of us are not.  I mean many of you.  I am an excellent driver.  


I suspect this phenomenon is also the reason that I've always thought I'd be one of the people to make it through an apocalypse.  I thought I had survival skills.  Now, I know most people don't rate, or for that matter even consider, their ability to survive an apocalypse.   But it's always been one of my favorite entertainment genres. When I read books like The Road, or watch movies like 28 Days Later and TV shows like the Walking Dead I imagine myself in these situations.   I have always assessed my skills pretty highly.  However, after my latest fishing experience I'm not so sure now.  It seems I'm lacking the most basic skill set necessary --- catch food, kill food and clean food.  Though I still rate my ability to eat food pretty highly. 

Our company summer cookout this year was held at a trout farm.   The fishing doesn't really offer challenges to the true fisherman.  Throw your hook in, wait 30 -90 seconds, snag a huge rainbow trout.  Good for kids with little to no patience or those who just want some fresh trout and aren't necessarily there for the fishing experience.  I don't like fish.  I rarely cook it.   My husband loves fish.  I decided to give him a rare treat by catching and cooking some fresh trout.  Well, to be honest my plan was always to ask somebody else to catch it for me.  The worm business really grosses me out and there's no way I'm grabbing that slimy, squirming fish.

So an awesome co-worker/friend of mine caught two beautiful rainbow trout within a matter of 2 minutes.  Plop, into the bucket they went.   Fortunately for me this trout farm will kill, clean and prep the fish for you for a fee. All I had to do was carry the bucket up to the cabin for processing.  Being very aware of my own limitations I quickly realized that as soon as one of those fish flopped around in the bucket I would scream and drop it.   The fish would spill out all onto the ground and there would be no way I could actually touch one to get it back into the bucket. What to do?  What to do?

I asked another co-worker/friend to carry it up to the cabin for me.  He gladly obliged.  We got to the cabin and the fish were dumped into a plastic bin sitting on top of a scale for weighing.  The fish were easily 3 - 4 feet off the ground.  I was a good 5 - 6 feet away from them.  All of a sudden they started to flop around.  I screamed.  One of the fish jumped out of the bin and onto the floor.  I screamed and ran around the other side of the counter.  The fish squirmed its way around the counter and was making a bee line straight for me.  I screamed and started running towards the door.  Finally one of the trout farm employees nonchalantly scooped the fish up.  Ha ha - all very funny and amusing.

Fast forward three hours and here I sit with my raw, processed trout.  This primal feeling, brought on by the thought of cooking a freshly caught fish for my man disappeared as quickly as it came when I realized the stupid things still had their tails, spines and skin, ewww....  I couldn't bring myself to touch them in order to prep them for the grill.  I had to ask for Jim's help in turning them over and putting them on the fish rack.  

That's when the whole apocalypse thing hit me.  I'll need Jim if I have any hopes of surviving.  I couldn't do it on my own.  Now I am asking myself all sorts of other survival questions Could I start a fire without a match or lighter?    Am I physically fit enough to outrun a zombie?  How far could I conceivably hike in one day?  How long before my lack of food catching skills and dwindling physical capabilities move me from "help" to "hindrance" in people's minds?    A dear friend of mine insisted my managerial abilities will be useful in a survival situation.  I'm not so sure the ability to flowchart, mediate and delegate will be quite as marketable as putting food in people's bellies and kicking zombie butt.     

It's Like Magic

I've been troubled by something for quite some time now.   It's not my imagination either.  I'm not perceived by others to be very friendly. It's true.  Family, friends, co-workers and strangers have all told me so.  But nothing could be further from the truth.  I'm very friendly once you get to know me. I'm generally optimistic, fun loving and generous (a little cynical and sarcastic too, but in a funny way).  Apparently, I send out the exact opposite signals.  It's not that I don't like people.  Well, actually, I really don't like most people but find them tolerable.  Spending time with dullards is the price you pay to meet the really interesting, funny and smart people.

There are a few reasons I scare people off.  My stature and heritage, very tall and a stern German countenance. It's intimidating.  I have a tendency to place both fists on my hips, legs spread far apart, body language for "Yeah? You got something to say?"   Another thing working against me is I'm an introvert.  I will never be the life of the party.  Unless it's a very small party with people I know really well.  Oh and my tendency to speak bluntly can put people off too.  Once I work up the courage to confront something I don't bother sweetening things up before they come out of my mouth.  Time-waster.

I've always just accepted this about myself but a few comments recently had me wondering if I should and could change my image.  When comparing me to my sister recently my uncle said "Well,  everybody knows your sister has always been the friendly one."  Ouch.  Then a store clerk asked me recently if I was OK.  I answered that I was and asked why she thought I wasn't.  "The scowl on your face." was her answer.

Wow.  Scowl?  Really? I decided I needed to do something about this.  As much as it pained me to think of myself walking around looking like a simpleton I vowed to start smiling at people.   I'd always heard smiles bring out the best in people.  That smiles connect people.  When you smile at someone they smile back.  It's also one of the universal, innate expressions of emotion.  We are born to smile, we don't learn it.

My former method of connecting with strangers was to make some sort of witty comment about whatever circumstances we found ourselves thrust into together.  Nine times out of ten I would get a sideways puzzled glance and a cold shoulder.    Definitely not working for me.

At first I treated this smiling thing as an experiment.  Would walking around with a forced smile plastered onto my face really make a difference? I am happy to report that it IS working.  People are nice when you smile at them. Plus, smiling is becoming more natural for me, less forced. I'm not even thinking about it, just doing it.

This morning as the McDonald's lady handed me my coffee she said "It's so nice to see that big smile of yours.  Have a wonderful day."  That made my smile even wider. Two weeks of smiling and the world is already acknowledging my newfound friendliness.

Me? A Nerd?

I am reposting this in honor of Embrace Your Geekness Day.  I know some will argue that there is a difference between geeks and nerds.  I think there's some overlap there. After all, didn't we all sit at the same lunch tables back in high school?



Someone accused me of being a “closet nerd” the other day. I am definitely a nerd.
Below is the irrefutable evidence that I am a Nerd (and proud of it too).

1) I love everything Star Trek
(except the original TV show which is just OK in my opinion.)
2) I have been to Star Trek conventions. Read plural, conventions
3) I have stood in line to get autographs at said Star Trek conventions
(Capt. Janeway and Worf(swoon)among others)
4) I regularly kick ass in Trivial Pursuit
5) I regularly kick ass in Scrabble
6) I offer up interesting tidbits of useless information
(usually to people who could really give a rat’s ass)
7) I love Battlestar Galactica
(the new one not the old one)
8) I play World of Warcraft
9) I love all the Star Wars movies
(even the one with JarJar Binks)
10) I won my Jr. High spelling bee
( I still have the dictionary with my engraved name to prove it)
11) I read about Human Anthropology and genetics for fun
12) I have interrupted a million conversations so I could go look something up on google because I have to know the answer NOW!

Nerds have nothing to be ashamed of. Nerds are curious about the world and how it works. Nerds have imagination. Nerds don’t care what others think.

I don’t think I’m a closet nerd. I would say I am a “flaming nerd”. But after consulting with my family they say "closet" because you wouldn't know I was a nerd unless you talked to me. But isn't that really true about everybody no matter what? You really don't know them until they open their mouths and reveal something about themselves.

Got me again.

We worked in the yard most of the weekend.  Weeding and planting flowers.  Jim found a toy rubber lizard that some passersby had dropped in the driveway.   He brought it over to me on a shovel, pretending that it was real.  I jumped and screamed.  He's a practical joker.  Loves to take advantage of my universal fear of anything creepy, crawly or scaly.

It didn't take me long to figure out it was fake but it still gave me quite a scare.  He left it sitting on one of the downspouts.  One of the dogs grabbed it and Jim had to take it away from him before he ate it.  I didn't see the lizard again, until about 3 hours later when I was standing at the kitchen sink getting a glass of water.  Glance out at the yard and nearly pee my pants when I see a lizard staring back at me.  Hardy har har har.  He thinks he's so funny.  I let him have the satisfaction of telling him how it scared me since he didn't get to witness it first hand . 

I'll be damned if that thing didn't scare me again later that day.  Quicker recovery time but still gave me a startle.  I promised myself I wouldn't let it happen again.  Remember the lizard.  Remember the lizard.  Next day, standing at the sink, I notice the lizard is gone.  Then boom - he had moved it to the other side of the window and got me again.  I have got to go get that thing and hide it or he's going to be terrorizing me all summer long.

He's not just a father.... He's Dad!

He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.  ~Clarence Budington Kelland

As I was growing up, every now and then I'd glance over at my Dad and he'd be looking right back at me.  That look was filled with pride and love.  It made me feel secure, my Dad was there for me.  I also knew that he cherished the job of father.

I learned a lot from my Dad.  A hard working man who never complained.  He was away from home a lot, a truck driver.  Day in and day out.  He had to provide for his family and put some money away for retirement.  He put us through college, something he takes great pride in considering he dropped out of school at 16 and joined the army.

Not only is my Dad a man of principle, he's a man willing to fight for his principles.  He's walked many picket lines over the years and not just his own.  He fights the good fight.  Yet, he's the least cynical person I know.  Always believing that right will win out over might in the end.  Honest and loyal to his friends.  Generous to those in need.   Just a good guy and a good father.

Flyswatter Included

 This is a picture I scanned and sent to somebody interested in taking the camper off our hands. I had never noticed before that Jim was pretending to hit me with a flyswatter just as our daughter snapped the picture.   Ah, memories.  We haven't camped in years and this thing is taking up valuable garage space.  It's a  difficult and surprisingly sad decision but it's time to let the camper go.  We're closing a chapter in our lives.

I think this is the State Park in Petoskey but it might be Cheboygan.   We camped in so many places over the years it's hard to remember which was which.  I do remember this campsite clearly though.  The lake was right behind our camper.  The kids would wander off to explore with their Dad while I lounged on my lounger reading all day.  We'd end the day with hot dogs or burgers cooked over the campfire and then gooey, way too sweet s'mores.  We'd play games or go for bike rides before turning in.  Midnight trips to the bathroom were always a pain but all part of the fun in the end.

We took this camper to Disneyworld.  Best campground we ever stayed at even though the lot itself was an asphalt slab a mere twelve feet from the neighboring campsite.  Only campground I know where you go watch Disney movies and have Chip & Dale serenade you with camp songs around the fire every night.  The wildlife was fun too, spotting armadillos everywhere we went instead of the squirrels and raccoons we were used to.

The camper and Jim's new car got damaged once when Jim stubbornly refused to listen to my advice about a tree he was about to hit as he backed the camper into our spot.  It was late at night, because we couldn't ever seem to manage arriving during the day.   Trying to be quiet so you don't wake up the whole campground.

Me:  Ah, ah, ah...... watch that tree.

Him:  I see the tree.

Me:  Pretty sure you don't because you're about to hit it.

Him:  I SEE EVERYTHING.

Me:  (Silently cross arms and watch him back into tree)

That's how he damaged the car.  The camper got damaged because he was so mad about the tree that he kept cranking it up even though one of the clasps was still attached.  Snap - one of the supports broke and the roof over one of the beds drooped.  I called it the Clampett Camper that week.

So the camper's for sale.  We will rent cabins from now on if we want to get back to nature.  Less hassle and the campfires are just as good.  I'm including the dishes and other miscellaneous stuff we picked up over the years to deck her out with.  But the memories, well, I'll be keeping those.  The new owners will have to get their own.