As If He Needs Something Else To Be Afraid Of

Jun 192013
 

Thor has had this terrible obsession lately:  chewing on garbage bags.

It actually started out with him finding anything that resembles a food wrapper or plastic baggie, dragging it to the rug in front of the front door (which just so happens to two feet away from my bedroom door), and chomping the heck out of it.

Usually at 2 am.  Sometimes 3:27 am if he’s had a particularly busy day and was a wee bit tired.

This has since escalated to chewing on the part of the garbage bags that fold over the edge of the garbage cans.  To say that this drives me crazy is putting it lightly, because there is no word to describe the shredded, slobbery mess that remains when he is done.  Not to mention that I’m sure it’s not great for his digestive system.

So when I went shopping the other day I tossed around the idea of getting him some kind of chew toy from the dog supply section at Wally World.  First I thought about pig ears because I remember how much our dog Tipper used to love those things, but then I dismissed that idea because I would just be confirming that Thor was, in fact, a reincarnation of Tipper.

Not that that would have been a bad thing, but it wasn’t what I was setting out to  do on that particular day.

* Side note:  Ever notice that the selection for cat toys is about 1/1000 the amount that is available for dogs?  There should be a petition against this sort of favoritism.  

There were bungee toys, things with feathers, miniature mice that could only been seen under a microscope and other nonsensical items that would entertain the normal feline (of which Thor is not), but nothing that could be considered a “chew” toy.

Not wanting to leave empty handed and possibly feeling just a little generous, I decided to get something for the silly cat (as if he didn’t already have 497 toys already, of which most are under the bed).

This seemed to fit the bill quite nicely.  It was unique to anything that he already has and the tail looked like something he could chew on that might possibly take his mind off of plastic.

The real coolness factor of this particular toy was that when you tossed it or jolted it even a tiny bit it squeaked just like a mouse being tortured buy a cat.  And it’s eyes lit up.

Surely Thor would love this thing!

Nope, he was scared to death of it.

I do have to give him credit though.  He did paw at it once.  But then the eyes started flashing and it started squeaking and he took off like his tail was on fire.

Maybe I should put it by the garbage can.

 

Weirdest Pedicure Ever

Jun 122013
 

The deity that lives beyond the clouds and past the sun, who placed me in this lifetime, has given me many wonderful attributes.

I’ve also been blessed with some oddities also.

Some have been a thorn in my side that I’ve either just learned to accept, while others keep making their presence know every so often, granting them PITA status in my life.

One that has plagued me for the better part of the last 40 years are a couple of these little piggies.  The largest ones on each foot to be precise.

I’ve always had “ugly” toes, ones that if you doll up with pretty paint and fasten glittery shoes to only highlight their less-than-glamorous persona.  Good thing I’m a low-maintenance type of gal and don’t give two flips about that king of stuff.

But what I do care about is being pain free, and those little oinkers weren’t making it easy by constantly growing their nails “into” my toes instead of out like they were supposed to.  And apparently that wasn’t good enough for them so they started curling inward while increasing the thickness of their body.

It really was quite gross.  And painful.  And I finally decided to do something about it.

Enter into the picture the most fabulous podiatrist in the world.  After I explained to him the suffering I’d endured for all these years (along with the personal non-surgical procedures I’ve had to preform on those little lovelies to keep them in line) I was offered several options, of which I took the second-to-the-last extreme.

Yep, took them puppies right off (The nails, not the toes.  Thought I should clarify for those of you throwing your hands to your mouths and gasping).  Well, that was after he shot me up with a ton of numbing stuff which promptly wore off as I was pulling into the driveway an hour later.

I’ll spare you the “after” photo.

You’re welcome.

Worst-case scenario is that they’ll grow back just like they were before and I’ll be faced with the most extreme choice of surgery (which is a little gory and I won’t give you all the details).  There is no best-case scenario because that’s the way my toes are I’ll likely have to face this again.

So for now, I think I’ll just buy some bright red nail polish and paint the rest of my toes to match and maybe nobody will notice the difference.

 

I Guess He Does Know Me Too Well

May 222013
 

A couple weeks ago Rick went out to his folks to spend some time with his Mom (and Dad) for Mother’s Day.

On the Saturday that he left, his Mom and sisters were also having a Tea Party shindig that gets as many wayward family members together as possible to laugh, do crafts, spend time together, and of course drink Tea.

While I was sitting at my desk doing who-knows-what, I happened to look out the window and saw something large and black move around the fence towards the tree that I hang my bird feeders on (which by that time were empty and I just hadn’t taken the 2 seconds that it takes to put them away).

Thinking it was just one of the neighborhood dogs, I didn’t give it much thought and started to give my attention back to the oh-so-important-whatever thing I was doing before.

That was until the black something appeared to be getting larger.  But it really wasn’t getting larger.

It was climbing the tree.

No damage was done and I was super proud of myself for getting a somewhat acceptable photo of the little dude, so I shot it out to Facebook to share with others.

Now here’s the part where my husband knows me all to well.

Not more than 4 minutes later I get a call on my cell from my husband, and it went something like this:

Me:  Hi Honey

Rick:  Where are you at?

Me:  Umm… sitting at my desk… why?

Rick:  *breathing a sigh of relief*  Phew, I thought you were outside taking a picture of the bear.

Me:  How did you know about the bear?

Rick:  My sister was on Facebook and told me about it.

Me:  Honey, I’m not stupid enough to go outside and take a picture of a bear without you around.

Rick:  ……………

Me:  OK, I did it once, but it was pretty far away and I wasn’t in danger.  I promise I won’t go outside to take pictures of bears unless you’re with me.  Feel better?

The rest of the conversation was pretty much reminding me how I pissed off the bear who got into our garbage by it thinking I was in the mood to fight with it just because I was crouched on the deck.

Good thing he forgot about how camera happy I got with the one that was playing in the dumpsters at work.

Come to think of it, maybe he did have good cause to be worried.

 

Mother Nature Must be on Crack

May 022013
 

That’s the only explanation I can think of for what that wacky woman is putting us through in the Northwoods.

Ugh

Because not less than 24 hours after I gave you proof that Spring had finally arrived to our little corner of heaven she pulls this crap on us.

Ick

Why yes, that is my greenhouse nestling my little seedlings for our garden.  Thankfully I have a space heater in there to keep them warm.

Really, the woman needs an intervention.

Besides those glorious pictures of green grass and sunny skies, another sign of Spring appeared right inside our house.

Rick shaved off his Winter beard.  And let me tell you, the transformation is remarkable!

The guy looks 10  years younger.

Back off ladies, he’s mine.

 

Some Things Are Worth Repeating

Apr 192013
 

I don’t like to repeat previous posts, but last year on this day I made an exception and I’m pulling out that card again today.

As everyone knows by now, I have a lot of love and respect for my Mom, and that is why I like to place her front and center every year on my blog, just like she was front and center in my life.

So here ya go, the original post from April 19, 2011.

:::

This time of year is always hard for me.

Not just because I’m so sick of winter that I could puke and crave the warmth of the sun and the fresh spring air.

No, it’s another reason that brings about a lot of memories.  I wish that I could say that these were good memories, but they are not.  They are reminders of an event that was very painful for me, and others in my family.

You see, 12 years ago today I lost my best friend:  my Mom.

This picture was taken when she finished nursing school in the mid-1950s.

As I’m sure you have guessed, today is not the only day that I think about her, but it is one of several days a year that I miss her the most.

When she quietly passed away, she was finally free from the pain that she had endured from Rheumatoid Arthritis for 7 years.  For those years, she was unable to do the things that she loved the most:  garden and crochet.  She had to end her nursing career early on in the disease because her entire body became affected, and at the time there was no medically known way to deal with it.  She became a guinea pig to the medical establishment, whose doctors were the best in the world.

I was looking back at some old files on my computer the other day, and found something that I had written around this time 8 years ago.

A real keepsake does not need to be a piece of jewelry or an item that is displayed in a home.  I feel that it can be something that a person carries with them in their mind and heart.  It has special meaning; a presence.  For me, it is my hands.  I look at my hands and see my mother, and the gifts that she gave to me.

She taught me that my hands could make meals that would feed my family.  They could dig the ground to plant seeds that would grow to can vegetables to store for future meals.  They would work the land, feel the dirt and pull the weeds.  They would also nurture delicate flowers to blossom and grow; to show beauty.

Her love for playing the piano that she passed down to me with lessons, encouraging me on with her words as my fingers played the notes and listened from the audience as I played in concerts.

The patience and time my mother would take to teach me how to knit and crochet…to create beautiful slippers, potholders, and afghans.  The blankets that I make, asking for her guidance as I work each stitch, hoping that they will turn out as beautiful as hers always did.

My hands look older than their 38 years.  They have planted many gardens, crocheted blankets for babies and families. Blazed trails and built bridges.  Flipped burgers and cleaned tables at restaurants   They have wiped tears and nursed cuts.   I look at my hands and see a lifetime.

My children often ask me what my mother gave me that I cherish the most.

And I tell them about my mother’s hands.

These are just a few of the things that come to mind when I think about her.  There are many other wonderful memories, like how we always used to spend our birthdays together (since they were a day apart) either getting our hair done, going out to eat or meeting up at a casino to gamble (one of her favorites).

One thing I never do is make this a sad day for myself, because there are so many wonderful things that I have in my life because of her.  The many things she taught me that I am able to pass down to my children and grandchildren.

I have to tell you I am not a fan of these kinds of posts.  I do not like to talk about sad things.  So instead of this being something sad, I would like to think of it as the remembrance of a truly remarkable woman and all of the good and happy things that her life represented.

Thank you for allowing me to share this with you.

Phyllis Mary (Papenheim) Larson

October 22, 1935 – April 19, 1999

 

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